Andrew Brink, Creativity As Repair (Hamilton: The Cromlech Press, 1982). 114. $7.50 Andrew Brink, Professor of English and Associate Member of the Depart ment of Psychiatry at McMaster, is engaged in an ambitious, complex study of the creative process. His angle of vision follows that of W. R. D. Fairbairn and a particular school of psychoanalytic revision known as British object relations theory (the American sub-species being somewhat different). He refers to the present book as a “sequel” or “appendix” to his previous book, Loss and Symbolic Repair (Hamilton: The Cromlech Press, 1977). The earlier book studies Cowper, Donne, Traherne, Keats, and Sylvia Plath whose poems, Brink argues, often seek to “repair” the damage caused by the early loss of parents. (Cowper lost his mother when he was not yet six; Donne his father at four; Traherne both parents, apparently, during his fourth year; Keats his father at eight; Plath her “Daddy” at eight.) The earlier book effectively interprets poems by tracing their meanings to issues in the poets’ lives and trenchantly discusses the lives. In the book presently under review Brink challenges “the myth of crea tivity” by which, he says, “The artist is falsely seen as superior to the rest of us in both giftedness and ego strength.” His intent, a radical one that will surely raise opposition in many camps, is to build a “reparative theory of creativity.” From the viewpoint of the reparative theory, “Giftedness be comes the only tool in a desperate creative campaign to prevent ego disinte gration, the fear most typical of obsessional personalities. Creative obses sional are saved from despair by realizing the reparative potential which is a basic part of our human psycho-biological equipment” (79-80). Undoubtedly some of the objections will come from a multitude always resentful of Freud’s belief that works of art express neurotic conflicts. It seems cheeky for critics or analysts to call people capable of the highest human achievements “sick” or “inadequate” or to reduce precious works of art to mere manifestations of, or defences against, neurosis. Assuring the citizenry that not artists alone are called “neurotic” but everyone (who is not psychotic or psychopathic) remains tactless even when one includes one’s self. Nor does it assure the unconvinced that psychoanalysis is less hostile to the arts than to the populace at large. When Brink contends that lyric poets are “weaker” than the rest of us, he will seem to many to stretch an unpleasant, unattractive claim to the snapping point. Perhaps anticipating such objections, Brink concludes his monograph by eschewing normality and cure; he quotes the novelist John Fowles: “ ‘those of us who understand the Loss-Repair mechanism begin secretly to enjoy it and most certainly don’t want to be cured of it.’ What they want is relief from suffering, a means to escape intolerable tensions,” Brink adds. “The art 129 has been bought at too dear a price to give it up in the name of a doubtful concept, ‘normalcy’ ” (94). If the moralisms of diagnosis and object relations theory give offence — as they probably will “in our liberated time” — Brink does not retreat. He cites Milton’s advocacy that the poet “ ‘ought himself to be a true poem; that is a composition and pattern of the best and honorable things; not presuming to sing praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and practice of all that which is praiseworthy.’ ” He tells us that the scholarly community should “reclaim from art its neglected information as a cultural communication about ego distress.” “ If the arts were to become openly self-therapeutic, with the poet a kind of shaman, little would be lost and much guidance given in the bewildering task of holding together an ego. It would be worth trying to show that in other eras of culture, and in other societies, ritual, religion, and the attendant arts served better than they do in ours to sustain mental health” (97, 98). By these quotations I seek to give the flavour of an interesting and serious book. To those stout enough to continue after imperatives so grandly Mil tonic I address the following...