10-10-2007, 12:00 PM
I like the idea that Tigger is me ADHD mate...
but this article takes a dim view: (and what is po-faced?)
http://society.guardian.co.uk/socialcare...18,00.html
Do we really want to know whether Tigger suffers from ADHD?
The 'minds' of some of the nation's favourite fairy tale characters have been examined in a new book published to coincide with World Mental Health Day. David Batty explains why he thinks it will fail to captivate its audience
David Batty
Wednesday October 10, 2007
SocietyGuardian.co.uk
Once upon a time there was an author in need of a gimmick. While reading her children a bedtime story she had a sudden flash of inspiration. Some of the characters in classic fairy tales were rather odd, disturbed even, she mused. Imagine, if they existed in the real world might their unusual behaviour attract a psychiatric diagnosis? If so, wouldn't it be clever to write a self-help book for them? It might even give readers some insight into mental illness.
Strange as this may seem, this story isn't make believe. For author Laura James has indeed put some of the nation's favourite childhood characters on the couch in a quest to find out whether they would have "lived happily ever after" with psychiatric help. Her book Tigger on the Couch, which is published to coincide with World Mental Health Day, offers diagnoses of and treatments for the fictional inhabitants of Wonderland, Hundred Acre Wood, Neverland and Oz.
The Queen of Hearts, we discover, has "acquired situational narcissism" - a complaint mainly found in celebrities and politicians. It stems from the sufferer's belief that they are superior and entitled to special treatment. In the Queen's case, the condition manifests itself in her abuse of her subjects and a complete lack of empathy towards others.
"She uses flamingos as croquet mallets and hedgehogs as balls, for instance," writes James. "On one occasion, she insisted the Mock Turtle should explain to Alice what Mock Turtle Soup is, showing no regard for how this might affect him. The Mock Turtle sobbed throughout the exchange, but the Queen had, by this point, moved on to tormenting someone else."
Unfortunately, the Queen's prognosis does not look good as James predicts that she is unlikely to complete the course of psychotherapy that might help her overcome her delusions of grandeur.
Meanwhile Tigger suffers from Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. This manifests itself in his restlessness and impulsiveness, such as interrupting people and intruding into their privacy, as well as lacking a sense of fear and responsibility.
Examples of his erratic behaviour include proclaiming whatever food he is offered is what Tiggers like best, only to find he dislikes it intensely, and climbing up a very high tree with Roo when he didn't even know he could climb a tree in the first place - and, inevitable, getting stuck.
The treatment recommended for Tigger are Ritalin and family therapy, which should include his primary carer Kanga and her son - and his sometime accomplice - Roo.
And so the book continues. Cinderella is diagnosed with approval addition [sic, addiction?] based on her subservient relationship with her stepsisters and agreeing to marry a man she's met only twice. Tinker Bell has a borderline personality disorder, which shows itself in her jealously of Wendy's relationship with Peter Pan and knowingly drinking medicine poisoned by Captain Hook. Goldilocks has antisocial personality traits, as demonstrated by the way she treats the three bears house as her own.
The book treads similar territory to the Politically Correct Bedtime Stories but in its apparent po-faced interpretation of fairy tales. But it lacks the wit or even crude satire that might engage someone unlikely to read a more straightforward explanation of mental illness.
The case studies come across as glib rather than clever. Each one ends with a checklist that suggests how the reader might spot someone with the character's condition. But this over simplification places the book in cod psychology territory.
Tucked away at the back of the book, James offers an explanation for her endeavour. Her own life, she writes, has been touched by the emotional disorders of family members, which at times left her "feeling helpless and alone". Her aim was to present mental illness in an accessible way that might lessen the stigma associated with psychological disorders.
These aims may be laudable, but I'm not sure James has met them. It might have been more effective to consider how the fairy stories concerned might have played out if the characters were receiving treatment for their supposed mental disorders. Stripped of all eccentricity, they would no doubt have contained all the drama of a shopping list. This approach might have raised questions about whether society is too eager to employ cod psychology to people who do not conform to societal norms. James' inclusion of conditions such as generalised anxiety disorder, which many believe to have been invented by drug companies looking to expand the market for their antidepressants, does quite the opposite.
As it stands, the book falls flat with its knowingly, faux po-faced gravitas. James comes off as someone who might give lectures at orphanages to explain that Father Christmas doesn't exist.
but this article takes a dim view: (and what is po-faced?)
http://society.guardian.co.uk/socialcare...18,00.html
Do we really want to know whether Tigger suffers from ADHD?
The 'minds' of some of the nation's favourite fairy tale characters have been examined in a new book published to coincide with World Mental Health Day. David Batty explains why he thinks it will fail to captivate its audience
David Batty
Wednesday October 10, 2007
SocietyGuardian.co.uk
Once upon a time there was an author in need of a gimmick. While reading her children a bedtime story she had a sudden flash of inspiration. Some of the characters in classic fairy tales were rather odd, disturbed even, she mused. Imagine, if they existed in the real world might their unusual behaviour attract a psychiatric diagnosis? If so, wouldn't it be clever to write a self-help book for them? It might even give readers some insight into mental illness.
Strange as this may seem, this story isn't make believe. For author Laura James has indeed put some of the nation's favourite childhood characters on the couch in a quest to find out whether they would have "lived happily ever after" with psychiatric help. Her book Tigger on the Couch, which is published to coincide with World Mental Health Day, offers diagnoses of and treatments for the fictional inhabitants of Wonderland, Hundred Acre Wood, Neverland and Oz.
The Queen of Hearts, we discover, has "acquired situational narcissism" - a complaint mainly found in celebrities and politicians. It stems from the sufferer's belief that they are superior and entitled to special treatment. In the Queen's case, the condition manifests itself in her abuse of her subjects and a complete lack of empathy towards others.
"She uses flamingos as croquet mallets and hedgehogs as balls, for instance," writes James. "On one occasion, she insisted the Mock Turtle should explain to Alice what Mock Turtle Soup is, showing no regard for how this might affect him. The Mock Turtle sobbed throughout the exchange, but the Queen had, by this point, moved on to tormenting someone else."
Unfortunately, the Queen's prognosis does not look good as James predicts that she is unlikely to complete the course of psychotherapy that might help her overcome her delusions of grandeur.
Meanwhile Tigger suffers from Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. This manifests itself in his restlessness and impulsiveness, such as interrupting people and intruding into their privacy, as well as lacking a sense of fear and responsibility.
Examples of his erratic behaviour include proclaiming whatever food he is offered is what Tiggers like best, only to find he dislikes it intensely, and climbing up a very high tree with Roo when he didn't even know he could climb a tree in the first place - and, inevitable, getting stuck.
The treatment recommended for Tigger are Ritalin and family therapy, which should include his primary carer Kanga and her son - and his sometime accomplice - Roo.
And so the book continues. Cinderella is diagnosed with approval addition [sic, addiction?] based on her subservient relationship with her stepsisters and agreeing to marry a man she's met only twice. Tinker Bell has a borderline personality disorder, which shows itself in her jealously of Wendy's relationship with Peter Pan and knowingly drinking medicine poisoned by Captain Hook. Goldilocks has antisocial personality traits, as demonstrated by the way she treats the three bears house as her own.
The book treads similar territory to the Politically Correct Bedtime Stories but in its apparent po-faced interpretation of fairy tales. But it lacks the wit or even crude satire that might engage someone unlikely to read a more straightforward explanation of mental illness.
The case studies come across as glib rather than clever. Each one ends with a checklist that suggests how the reader might spot someone with the character's condition. But this over simplification places the book in cod psychology territory.
Tucked away at the back of the book, James offers an explanation for her endeavour. Her own life, she writes, has been touched by the emotional disorders of family members, which at times left her "feeling helpless and alone". Her aim was to present mental illness in an accessible way that might lessen the stigma associated with psychological disorders.
These aims may be laudable, but I'm not sure James has met them. It might have been more effective to consider how the fairy stories concerned might have played out if the characters were receiving treatment for their supposed mental disorders. Stripped of all eccentricity, they would no doubt have contained all the drama of a shopping list. This approach might have raised questions about whether society is too eager to employ cod psychology to people who do not conform to societal norms. James' inclusion of conditions such as generalised anxiety disorder, which many believe to have been invented by drug companies looking to expand the market for their antidepressants, does quite the opposite.
As it stands, the book falls flat with its knowingly, faux po-faced gravitas. James comes off as someone who might give lectures at orphanages to explain that Father Christmas doesn't exist.
