By Nini Herman
The autobiography of a lady who underwent Jungian, Freudian and Kleinian research.
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Extra info for My Kleinian Home: A Journey Through Four Psychotherapies into a New Millennium
A l l at once the Reichstag burnt. Angertatta told me so. She was my mother's childhood nurse. H e r room adjoined our nursery and she was not supposed to fill our heads with 'rubbish of that sort'. Generally she kept the rule in obvious fear of banishment. But on that Sunday the flames and smoke had sent her scuttling back at once, unable to contain herself. ' T h a n k G o d , it was not the D o m \ her beloved House of G o d , but a mere parliament of men whose ashes fluttered through the air.
In my secret heart I clapped and whispered to myself 'Hurrah'. The large and costly dolls I had could open and could close their eyes and whisper 'Maaaaama'. That was all. They were really like myself because I was expensive too. Dresses, blouses, socks and shoes, white or patent-shiny black, velvet-collared little coats, gloves and bonnets, scarves and muffs, were all exquisite, beyond words. Other children stopped and stared at such perfection in the Zoo. It made me feel uncomfortable. I wanted to be like the rest, but could never quite make out what the rest were really like.
And they no longer lived with us that is to say The Family. Everything we had was theirs. All the carpets, all the rooms, all the pictures on the walls - of which people spoke in whispers - all the silver, the damask, the porcelain and the chandeliers, the marble and mahogany, the plants, the trappings and the cars... Brother and sister known to me as Uncle and Mother, it was they, and they alone, who composed this entity. There was no way of finding out if it included me as well; possibly, when I was good.
My Kleinian Home: A Journey Through Four Psychotherapies into a New Millennium by Nini Herman