I finished The Beast In The Nursery by Adam Phillips, which is an alternately vague and quite detailed disquisition on childhood imagination and curiosity, and how the imperatives of childhood can fruitfully be taken into adult life in order to make it happier -- or at least, how the conflict and impossibility that that process entails can be enjoyed. 'Expecting the earth, we get something'. A kind of pleasurable (post-)Freudian mess.
However, as with most stuff that leans on psychoanalysis and Freud, I can't rid myself of the occasional nagging feeling that it's very attractively packaged guff. Phillips does a decent job of addressing those concerns, writes in a way that makes you a bit more interesting to yourself, and sells a nice line in reading and literature as essential pleasures for the psyche.
Verdict: nice tits.
So, I'm reading his Promises, Promises, which is a series of essays on psychoanalysis and literaure.