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Summary
Summary
The captivating, untold story of Hermann Rorschach and his famous inkblot test
NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY NPR * New York Post * Sunday Times (UK) * Irish Independent
In 1917, working alone in a remote Swiss asylum, psychiatrist Hermann Rorschach devised an experiment to probe the human mind: a set of ten carefully designed inkblots. For years he had grappled with the theories of Freud and Jung while also absorbing the aesthetic movements of the day, from Futurism to Dadaism. A visual artist himself, Rorschach had come to believe that who we are is less a matter of what we say, as Freud thought, than what we see.
After Rorschach's early death, his test quickly made its way to America, where it took on a life of its own. Co-opted by the military after Pearl Harbor, it was a fixture at the Nuremberg trials and in the jungles of Vietnam. It became an advertising staple, a cliché in Hollywood and journalism, and an inspiration to everyone from Andy Warhol to Jay Z. The test was also given to millions of defendants, job applicants, parents in custody battles, and people suffering from mental illness or simply trying to understand themselves better. And it is still used today.
In this first-ever biography of Rorschach, Damion Searls draws on unpublished letters and diaries and a cache of previously unknown interviews with Rorschach's family, friends, and colleagues to tell the unlikely story of the test's creation, its controversial reinvention, and its remarkable endurance--and what it all reveals about the power of perception. Elegant and original, The Inkblots shines a light on the twentieth century's most visionary synthesis of art and science.
Praise for The Inkblots
"Impressively thorough . . . part biography of Herman Rorschach, psychoanalytic super sleuth, and part chronicle of the test's afterlife in clinical practice and the popular imagination . . . Searls is a nuanced and scholarly writer . . . genuinely fascinating." -- The New York Times Book Review
"A marvelous book about how one man and his enigmatic test came to shape our collective imagination. The Rorschach test is a great subject and The Inkblots is worthy of it: beguiling, fascinating, and full of new discoveries every time you look." --David Grann, author of The Lost City of Z
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In this clear and well-illustrated study, writer and translator Searls shares the histories of Swiss psychoanalyst and psychiatrist Hermann Rorschach as well as his eponymous test's evolution and reception. As Searles notes, Rorschach's test was not totally original; one precedent was the work of Justinus Kerner, a 19th-century German Romantic poet and doctor. Rorschach's genius lay in attending to patient-sensitive specifics, including those of psychotics, and in developing an interpretative code that revolved around how the patient saw movement, color, and form in the inkblots. After Rorschach's 1922 death at age 37, his test saw widespread use in America during the psychoanalytically oriented 1940s and '50s; it was given to every student entering Sarah Lawrence College starting in 1940 and the army used a multiple-choice version after Pearl Harbor. However, it had fallen in popularity by the 1970s, eclipsed by the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory and other personality tests. Despite its occasional abuse, the Rorschach regained some of its popularity around the turn of the millennium. Searls dutifully shows how the test added a whole new visual dimension to the emerging field of psychology in general, and the study and analysis of personality in particular. Illus. Agent: Edward Orloff, McCormick Literary. (Mar.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
Searls portrays Hermann Rorschach (1884-1922) as a man of great accomplishment and greatly unfulfilled potential due to his untimely death, at 37. He made a considerable contribution to the then-burgeoning field of psychoanalysis with his soon-to-be ubiquitous inkblots: 10 symmetrical amorphous shapes utilized as a tool to delve into a person's subconscious mind. Used for everything from party games to attempting to establish whether there is such a thing as a Nazi mind, the Rorschach test has endured for nearly a century, even as it drifts in and out of favor within the psychoanalytic community due to an ongoing debate over how the patient's responses should be interpreted. Very little has previously been known about Rorschach's private life; Searls now fills in many blanks, drawing a more rounded portrait of the Swiss psychiatrist. From his parents' money and health problems to his school nickname, Klex, from klexen, meaning to dabble in painting, to his decision to follow science rather than art, through to his marriage, illness, and death, Rorschach's genius is apparent, and his famous inkblots ever fascinating.--Chavez, Donna Copyright 2017 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
TYPE THE PHRASE "like a Rorschach test" into Google and what pops up is everything from Hillary Clinton to Cheetos. In popular myth, the famous inkblots, part gothic horror, part toddler splat painting, are a shortcut to our subconscious, plunging through the artifice of our self-presentation and into our darkest mental recesses. In this cartoonish version of the Rorschach, what we see in the blots - whether a butterfly, or the bloodied stumps of our last victim's limbs after we hacked them off with a salad fork - is who we really are. It is perhaps no surprise that the Rorschach metaphor has become a cliché of modern journalism. It's a fascinating idea that what we see in a given situation often reveals as much about our own selves - our quirks and prejudices and vanities - as it does about the thing we are looking at. This back and forth between self and world is at the heart of art and literature and criticism. Within this metaphorical universe, writing a book review is a perfect Rorschach test. Sadly, as it turns out, Rorschach the metaphor is a lot more compelling than Rorschach the reality. The actual test, still in sporadic use, takes a more persnickety, box-ticking approach to the human personality, less magical psychoanalytic Tarot cards and more Myers Briggs tests with splats. The scoring system is tediously technical, and surprisingly what you see in the blots counts less toward your result than the technicalities of how you perceive form and movement. It is the fortunes of this humdrum test that Damion Searls charts in his impressively thorough, if somewhat dry book. "The Inkblots" is part biography of Hermann Rorschach, psychoanalytic supersleuth, and part chronicle of the test's afterlife in clinical practice and the popular cultural imagination. Rorschach, a young psychiatrist with the tousled rom-com looks of Brad Pitt, was working with deeply disturbed patients in a remote Swiss asylum during the golden years of psychoanalysis. Across the Alps, Freud was busy delving into the ids of rich Viennese housewives using an early version of talk therapy. But Rorschach speculated that in understanding the human psyche, what we see might be as important as what we say. A gifted amateur artist, he created the inkblots to see if his patients' differing styles of perception could help parse out the differences between various pathologies. Early results were promising. Schizophrenics responded differently to the blots than manic-depressives, and both responded differently than the people who were "normal" controls. Before long, Rorschach was using the test to diagnose psychiatric illnesses and predict personality traits, claiming that he got it wrong less than 25 percent of the time. Rorschach died suddenly in his mid30s, but his inkblots had already captured the imagination of both experts and the general public. The rest of the book charts that history. While most of us stare at Rorschach tests and see life reflected back at us, Searls apparently looks at life and sees Rorschach tests staring back at him. His inventory of Rorschach sightings in popular culture over the last half-century is encyclopedic. But outside of journalistic cliché, many of the examples he gives feel relatively marginal, more a series of isolated occurrences than a genuine cultural pattern. more significant was the test's impact on clinical practice. At its peak, the Rorschach was used an estimated million times a year, in murder trials and child custody battles, psychiatric diagnoses and college admissions and job applications. It is only toward the end of "The Inkblots" that Searls introduces research showing that when it comes to predicting human behavior, the Rorschach performs no better than chance. Up until this point, he treats the question of whether the test actually works or not as almost an incidental one, an abstract curiosity in his cultural history. But this is a mistake. Psychology's reputation has suffered body blows in recent years, with an epidemic of overclaiming among psychologists, widespread lapses in scientific rigor and the suggestion that only around a third of psychological findings across the board can actually be replicated. In this context, the question of the Rorschach's basic validity is not an interesting aside, but fundamental to the entire story. Searls, a journalist and translator, is a nuanced and scholarly writer, at his best dealing with philosophical abstractions. His passages on the nature of empathy, for example, are genuinely fascinating. But he is less strong on the human side of storytelling. While he goes into rigorous detail about the technicalities of the Rorschach and the infighting among psychologists, his book largely ignores the people at the sharp end, the patients and ordinary folks whose lives have sometimes been cataclysmically affected by the results of the test. Although he refers to a couple of these "case studies" in passing in the final chapters of the book, their stories are told at a remove, as examples drawn from textbooks rather than key players in the narrative. It's not clear that he interviewed many of these people directly (or if he did, those encounters haven't been included in the finished text). In an insightful moment, Searls acknowledges that the Rorschach encourages experts to believe that they can speak for people better than the people can speak for themselves. But he falls into the same trap. Prioritizing the human beings impacted by this history would have made not only for a more readable book, but also a more responsible one. But, to belabor the Rorschach metaphor one last time, Searls should take comfort in the knowledge that any small criticisms I may have almost certainly say more about me than they do about his book. ? RUTH WHIPPMAN is the author of "America the Anxious: How Our Pursuit of Happiness Is Creating a Nation of Nervous Wrecks."
Kirkus Review
A history of 20th-century psychology focused on the life, work, and legacy of the inventor of the inkblot test.Translator, essayist, and fiction writer Searls (What We Were Doing and Where We Were Going, 2009, etc.) became fascinated by the "rich and strange" set of inkblots that, he discovered, are still used for psychological assessment. His investigation into the life of their creator, Swiss physician Hermann Rorschach (1884-1922), led to a trove of material collected by a biographer who died before he could write his book; along with other material, that archive informs Searls' richly detailed, sensitive biography of Rorschach's short life and long afterlife. A student of Eugen Bleuler and Carl Jung, Rorschach was trained at a time when "an orgy of testing" dominated psychology. The son of an artist, with artistic talent himself, Rorschach was alert to modernist art movements, which shaped his ideas about the power of visual images to reveal personality and the power of culture to shape perception. He worked assiduously to craft precisely the symmetrical, mysterious, suggestive images that comprise his test, and he devised "a single psychological system" of evaluation that considered the viewer's response to Movement, Color, and Form. Although he admitted that "it is always daring to draw conclusions about the way a person experiences life from the results of an experiment," when he compared his evaluations of patients against other doctors' diagnoses, he was encouraged about his accuracy. As Searls admits, Rorschach never convincingly explained how and why the inkblots worked. Unfortunately, his system, and the permutations that followed as generations of psychologists attempted to standardize it, proves difficult to follow in the author's otherwise engrossing narrative. Searls is stronger when characterizing the "feuds and backbiting" that the test inspired among practitioners in America, where it "was a lightning rod from the start," and Europe, where, for example, it was applied to assess Nazis on trial at Nuremberg.Searls shows persuasively how the creation and reinvention of inkblots has reflected psychologists' scientific and cultural perspectives. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
Writer and translator Searls's book describes and analyzes a major tool in psychology, "probably the ten most interpreted and analyzed paintings of the twentieth century." Now out of copyright (they were created in 1917), these images are widely available, but the parlor game is not the test, and vice versa. Medical insurance covers testing and, besides its clinical importance, the Rorschach (as it is known) is widely used by employers. Not a pass-or-fail examination, the Rorschach aims to measure imagination and personality. Its creator, Hermann Rorschach (1884-1922) at 12 lost his mother to diabetes; soon his father married one of his wife's half-sisters, then died in 1903 when Hermann was 18, with three younger siblings. Reader-friendly, this book has 24 chapters, including "The Queen of Tests" and "Iconic as a Stethoscope." A key player involved is John Exner (1928-2006), credited with resurrecting this "most powerful psychometric instrument." VERDICT An important book that reminds us of the benefits and costs of generalizing about the most complicated matter on Earth: the -human mind. [See Prepub Alert, 8/22/16.]-E. James -Lieberman, George Washington Univ. Sch. of Medicine, -Washington, DC © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
1 All Becomes Movement and Life One late December morning in 1910, Hermann Rorschach, twenty-six years old, woke up early. He walked across the cold room and pushed the bedroom curtain aside, letting in the pale white light that comes before a late northern sunrise--not enough to wake his wife, just enough to reveal her face and the thick black hair spilling out from under their comforter. It had snowed in the night, as he'd thought it would. Lake Constance had been gray for weeks; the water's blue was months away, but the world was beautiful like this, too, with no one in sight along the shore or on the little path in front of their tidy two-room apartment. The scene was not just empty of human movement but drained of color, like a penny postcard, a landscape in black and white. He lit his first cigarette of the morning, boiled some coffee, dressed, and left quietly as Olga slept. It was a busier week than usual at the clinic, with Christmas around the corner. There were only three doctors to look after four hundred patients, so he and the others were responsible for everything: staff meetings, visiting the patients on twice-daily rounds, organizing special events. Still, Rorschach let himself enjoy the morning's solitary walk through the clinic grounds. The notebook he always carried with him stayed in his pocket. It was cold, though nothing compared to the Christmas he'd spent in Moscow four years earlier. Rorschach was especially looking forward to the holiday this year: he and Olga were reunited, they would be sharing a tree as husband and wife for the first time. The clinic celebration would be on the twenty-third; on the twenty-fourth, the doctors would carry a small tree lit with candles from one building to another, for the patients who couldn't join in the communal ceremony. On the twenty-fifth the Rorschachs would be free to go back to his childhood home and pay a visit to his stepmother. This he tried to put out of his mind. Christmas season at the asylum meant group singing three times a week, and dance classes run by a male nurse who played a guitar, a harmonica, and a triangle with his foot, all at the same time. Rorschach didn't like to dance, but for Olga's sake he forced himself to take lessons. One Christmastime duty he truly enjoyed was directing the holiday plays. They were staging three this year, including one with projected images--photographs of landscapes and people from the clinic. What a surprise it would be for the patients to suddenly see faces they knew on the screen, larger than life. Many of the patients were too far gone to thank their relatives for Christmas presents, so Rorschach wrote little notes on their behalf, sometimes fifteen a day. On the whole, though, his patients liked the holidays as much as their troubled souls allowed. Rorschach's adviser used to tell the story of a patient so dangerous and unruly she had been kept in a cell for years. Her hostility was understandable in the restrictive, coercive clinical environment, but when she was taken to a Christmas celebration she behaved perfectly, reciting the poems she had memorized especially for January 2, Berchtold Day. Two weeks later she was released. He tried to apply his teacher's lessons here. He took photos of his patients, not only for his own sake and for the patient files, but because they liked posing for the camera. He gave them art supplies: pencil and paper, papier-mâché, modeling clay. As Rorschach's feet crunched the snow on the clinic's grounds, his thoughts on new ways to give his patients something to enjoy, he would naturally have mused on the holidays of his own childhood and the games he had played then: sled races, Capture the Castle, Hare and Hounds, Hide and Seek, and the game where you spill some ink on a sheet of paper, fold it in half, and see what it looks like. Hermann Rorschach was born in November of 1884, a light-bringing year. The Statue of Liberty, officially titled Liberty Enlightening the World, was presented to the US ambassador in Paris on America's Independence Day. Temesvár in Austria-Hungary became the first city in continental Europe with electric streetlights, put up not long after those in Newcastle, England, and Wabash, Indiana. George Eastman patented the first workable roll of photographic film, which would soon let anyone make pictures with "the Pencil of Nature" by capturing light itself. Those years, of early photography and primitive movies, are probably the hardest era in history for us, today, to see: in our mind's eye, everything then looks stiff and rickety, black and white. But Zurich, where Rorschach was born, was a modern, dynamic city, the largest in Switzerland. Its railway station dates from 1871, the famous main shopping street from 1867, the quays along the Limmat River from midcentury. And November in Zurich is shocks of orange and yellow under a gray sky: oak and elm leaves, fire-red maples rustling in the wind. Back then, too, the people of Zurich lived under pale blue skies, hiked through bright alpine meadows dotted with deep blue gentian and edelweiss. Rorschach was not born where his family had been rooted for centuries: Arbon, a town on Lake Constance some fifty miles east. A small town called Rorschach is four miles past Arbon down the coast of the lake, and that must have been the family's place of origin, but the Rorschachs could trace their ancestors in Arbon back to 1437, and the history of the "Roschachs" there reaches back another thousand years, to a.d. 496. This was not so unusual in a place where people stayed put for generations, where you were a citizen of your canton (state) and city as well as country. A few ancestors roamed--one great-great-uncle Hans Jakob Roschach (1764-1837), known as "the Lisboner," made it as far as Portugal, where he worked as a designer and perhaps created some of the mesmerizing, repeating patterns for the tiles that cover the capital city. But it was Hermann's parents who truly broke away. Hermann's father, Ulrich, a painter, was born on April 11, 1853, twelve days after another future painter, Vincent van Gogh. The son of a weaver, Ulrich left home at age fifteen to study art in Germany, traveling as far as the Netherlands. He returned to Arbon to open a painter's studio and in 1882 married a woman named Philippine Wiedenkeller (born February 9, 1854), from a line of carpenters and boatmen with a long history of marrying Rorschachs. The couple's first child, Klara, born in 1883, died at six weeks old, and Philippine's twin sister died four months later. After these hard blows the couple sold the studio and moved to Zurich, where Ulrich enrolled at the School of Applied Arts in the fall of 1884. For Ulrich to move to the city at age thirty-one, with no stable income, was unusual in staid Switzerland, but he and Philippine must have been eager to have their next child in happier surroundings. Hermann was born at 278 Haldenstrasse, in Wiedikon (Zurich), at 10 p.m. on November 8. Ulrich did well in art school and got a good job as a middle school drawing and painting teacher in Schaffhausen, a city some thirty miles north. By Hermann's second birthday, the family was settled where he would grow up. Schaffhausen is a small, picturesque city full of Renaissance buildings and fountains, situated on the Rhine, the river that forms the northern border of Switzerland. "On the banks of the Rhine, meadows alternate with forests whose trees are reflected, dreamlike, in the dark green water," says a guidebook from the time. House numbers had not been introduced yet, so each building had a name--the Palm Branch, the Knight's House, the Fountain--and distinctive decorations: stone lions, painted facades, bay windows jutting out like giant cuckoo clocks, gargoyles, cupids. The city was not stuck in the past. The Munot, an imposing circular fortress on a vineyard-covered hill with a moat and a grand view, dating from the sixteenth century, had been restored for tourism in the nineteenth. The railroad had arrived, and a new electricity plant was exploiting the river's plentiful water power. The Rhine poured out of Lake Constance at the Rhine Falls nearby, low but wide enough to be the largest waterfall in Europe. The English painter J. M. W. Turner drew and painted the falls for forty years, showing the water massive like a mountain and the mountains themselves dissolving in whirlpools of paint and light; Mary Shelley described standing on the lowest platform while "the spray fell thickly on us . . . looking up, we saw wave, and rock, and cloud, and the clear heavens through its glittering ever-moving veil. This was a new sight, exceeding anything I had ever before seen." As the guidebook put it: "A heavy mountain of water hurls itself at you like a dark fate; it plummets, and all that was solid becomes movement and life." After Hermann's sister Anna was born in Schaffhausen, on August 10, 1888, the growing family rented a new house on the Geissberg, a steep twenty-minute hike uphill out of town to the west, where Hermann's brother, Paul, would be born (December 10, 1891). The house was roomier, with larger windows and a mansard roof, more French château than Swiss chalet, and with forests and fields to explore nearby. The landlord's children became Hermann's playmates. Inspired by James Fenimore Cooper's Leatherstocking adventures, they played Pioneers and Indians, with Hermann and his friends slinking through the trees around a nearby gravel quarry and making off with Anna, the only "white woman" they had. This was the setting of the children's happiest memories. Hermann liked to listen to the roar of the ocean he had never seen, in a seashell a missionary relative of their landlord had brought back from abroad. He built wooden mazes for his pet white mice to run through. When he came down with the measles at age eight or nine, his father cut out enchanting tissue-paper puppets and Hermann made them dance in a glass-lid box. On walks, Ulrich told his children the history of the city's beautiful old buildings and fountains and the meaning of the images they bore; he took them butterfly hunting, read to them, taught them the names of the flowers and trees. Paul was growing into a lively, chubby little boy, while Hermann, according to a cousin, "could look at something for a very long time, absorbed in his thoughts. He was a well-behaved child, quiet like his father." This cousin told the nine-year-old Hermann fairy tales--Hansel and Gretel, Rapunzel, Rumpelstiltskin--"which he liked because he was a dreamer." Philippine Rorschach, warm and energetic, liked to entertain her children with old folk songs and was an excellent cook: pudding with cream and fruit was a favorite with the children, and every year she would throw a pig roast for all of her husband's colleagues. Ulrich's own parents had fought bitterly, to the point where Ulrich felt they had never loved each other; it was important to him to create a loving home for his children, the kind he had never had. With Philippine he did. You could joke with her--light a firecracker under her wide skirts, as Hermann's cousin remembered having happened once--and she would join in the laughter. Ulrich, too, was respected and genuinely liked among colleagues and students. He had a minor speech impediment, probably a lisp, "which he could, however, overcome when he tried." It made him unusually reserved, but he was kindhearted to students during exams, giving hand and head signals and whispered encouragement. "I can still see this modest man, so ready to help, before my eyes more than half a century later," one student would recall. Or else he would spend half an hour correcting a student's drawing, patiently making line after line, erasing the student's wrong efforts, "until finally the picture stood before me, not differing from the model in any way. His memory for forms was astonishing; his lines were absolutely sure and true." Though artists in Switzerland were not trained at universities or given a liberal arts education, Ulrich was a broadly cultured man. In his twenties he had published a small compilation of poetry, Wildflowers: Poems for Heart and Mind, writing many of the poems himself. His daughter Anna claimed he knew Sanskrit--and whether he had somehow learned it or spoke fake Sanskrit to fool the kids and amuse himself says much the same thing about him. In his spare time, he wrote a hundred-page "Outline of a Theory of Form, by Ulr. Rorschach, Drawing Teacher." This was not a collection of middle school lecture notes or exercises but a treatise, opening with "Space and Spatial Apportionment" and "Time and Temporal Divisions." "Light and Color" eventually moved into "the primary forms, created by concentration, rotation, and crystallization," and then Ulrich set out on "an orienting stroll through the realm of Form": thirty pages of a kind of encyclopedia of the visual world. Part II covered "The Laws of Form"--rhythm, direction, and proportion--which Ulrich found in everything from music, leaves, and the human body to Greek sculpture, modern turbines, and armies. "Who among us," Ulrich mused, "has not often and with pleasure turned our eyes and imagination to the ever-changing shapes and movements of the clouds and the mist?" The manuscript ended by discussing human psychology: our consciousness, too, Ulrich wrote, is ruled by the basic laws of form. It was a deep and thoughtful work, not of much practical use. After three or four years in the house on the Geissberg, the Rorschachs moved back into the city, to a new residential area near the Munot fortress, closer to the children's school. Hermann was active, a good ice skater, and there were sledding parties where the children would link their sleds together in a long line and ride down the hill around the Munot on wide streets into the city, before there were too many cars. Ulrich wrote a play that was performed on the roof terrace of the Munot with Anna and Hermann as actors; another time, he was commissioned to design a new flag for a Schaffhausen club, and the children looked for wildflowers for him to use as models. Afterward they were delighted to look up at the flag embroidered with his design in the colors of their poppies and cornflowers. Hermann, for his part, showed skill from an early age in drawing landscapes, plants, and people. From woodcarving, cutouts, and sewing to novels, plays, and architecture, his childhood was a creative one. Excerpted from The Inkblots: Hermann Rorschach, His Iconic Test, and the Power of Seeing by Damion Searls All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.Table of Contents
Author's Note | p. ix |
Introduction: Tea Leaves | p. i |
1 All Becomes Movement and Life | p. 11 |
2 Klex | p. 21 |
3 I Wane to Read People | p. 29 |
4 Extraordinary Discoveries and Warring Worlds | p. 38 |
5 A Path of One's Own | p. 53 |
6 Little Inkblots Full of Shapes | p. 65 |
7 Hermann Rorschach Feels His Brain Being Sliced Apart | p. 78 |
8 The Darkest and Most Elaborate Delusions | p. 88 |
9 Pebbles in a Riverbed | p. 102 |
10 A Very Simple Experiment | p. 113 |
11 It Provokes Interest and Head-Shaking Everywhere | p. 126 |
12 The Psychology He Sees Is His Psychology | p. 150 |
13 Right on the Threshold to a Better Future | p. 162 |
14 The Inkblots Come to America | p. 168 |
15 Fascinating, Stunning, Creative, Dominant | p. 181 |
16 The Queen of Tests | p. 198 |
17 Iconic as a Stethoscope | p. 208 |
18 The Nazi Rorschachs | p. 222 |
19 A Crisis of Images | p. 237 |
20 The System | p. 248 |
21 Different People See Different Things | p. 261 |
22 Beyond True or False | p. 271 |
23 Looking Ahead | p. 285 |
24 The Rorschach Test Is Not a Rorschach Test | p. 305 |
Appendix: The Rorschach Family, 1922-2010 | p. 317 |
Hermann Rorschach's Character by Olga Rorschach-Shtempelm | p. 319 |
Acknowledgments | p. 323 |
Notes | p. 327 |
Illustration Credits | p. 389 |
Index | p. 391 |