As Freud predicted, there has always been great anxiety about the place of psychoanalysis in contemporary life, particularly in relation to its ambiguous and complicated relationship to the realm of science. There is also a long history of widespread resistance, in both academia and medicine, to anything associated with the world of the supernatural; very few people, in their professional lives, at least, are willing to admit a serious interest in occult phenomena. As a result, paranormal traces have all but vanished from the psychoanalytic process though not without leaving a residue. This residue remains, Brottman argues, in the acceptably clinical guise of projective identification, a concept first formulated by Melanie Klein, and widely used in contemporary psychoanalysis to suggest a different variety of transference and transference-like phenomena between patient and analyst that seem to occur outside the normal range of the sensory process.In this book, Brottman considers the nature and implications of the connections between projective identification and thought-transference, as well as the slightly embarrassing associations between ordinary psychoanalysis and telepathy. Her project, then, is to adumbrate the implications of the psychoanalytic notion of projective identification, with particular reference to the ways in which this concept can be considered a doorway from the traditional realm of psychoanalysis into the realm of the occult and paranormal. In particular, she considers the connections between projective identification and mind-reading, clairvoyance, and other well-known paranormal phenomena."

Why are jokes funny? Why do we laugh? In "Funny Peculiar, " Mikita Brottman demurs from recent scholarship that takes laughter-- and the broader domain of humor and the comical--as a liberating social force and an endearing aspect of self-expression. For Brottman, there is nothing funny about laughter, which is less connected to mirth and feelings of good will than to a nexus of darker emotions: fear, aggression, shame, anxiety.
Brottman rethinks not only the mechanisms of humor but also the relation of humor to the body and the senses. To this end, she provides an engrossing account of the life and work of Gershon Legman, exiled author, publisher, and sexologist, Alfred Kinsey's first bibliographer, and legendary compiler of the dirty joke. Like Freud, Legman was convinced of the impossibility of understanding humor apart from sex, and Brottman shows how his two massive works on the subject, "Rationale of the Dirty Joke" and "No Laughing Matter, " provide a framework for understanding the ambivalent and often hostile impulses that underlie the comic impulse in its various guises. In lively and enlivening chapters, she traverses dirty jokes, the figure of the "evil clown" in popular culture, the current popularity of "humor therapy," changing fashions in stand-up comedy, and the connection between humor and horror. Brottman's sparkling prose, laced with wit, does not obscure the seriousness of "Funny Peculiar." It is a thoughtful and wide-ranging elaboration of the Freudian claim that joking, in point of fact, is no laughing matter.

As Freud predicted, there has always been great anxiety about the place of psychoanalysis in contemporary life, particularly in relation to its ambiguous and complicated relationship to the realm of science. There is also a long history of widespread resistance, in both academia and medicine, to anything associated with the world of the supernatural; very few people, in their professional lives, at least, are willing to admit a serious interest in occult phenomena. As a result, paranormal traces have all but vanished from the psychoanalytic process - though not without leaving a residue. This residue remains, the author argues, in the acceptably "clinical" guise of projective identification, a concept first formulated by Melanie Klein, and widely used in contemporary psychoanalysis to suggest a different variety of transference and transference-like phenomena between patient and analyst that seem to occur outside the normal range of the sensory process.

Why are jokes funny? Why do we laugh? In Funny Peculiar, Mikita Brottman demurs from recent scholarship that takes laughter-- and the broader domain of humor and the comical--as a liberating social force and an endearing aspect of self-expression. For Brottman, there is nothing funny about laughter, which is less connected to mirth and feelings of good will than to a nexus of darker emotions: fear, aggression, shame, anxiety. Brottman rethinks not only the mechanisms of humor but also the relation of humor to the body and the senses. To this end, she provides an engrossing account of the life and work of Gershon Legman, exiled author, publisher, and sexologist, Alfred Kinsey's first bibliographer, and legendary compiler of the dirty joke. Like Freud, Legman was convinced of the impossibility of understanding humor apart from sex, and Brottman shows how his two massive works on the subject, Rationale of the Dirty Joke and No Laughing Matter, provide a framework for understanding the ambivalent and often hostile impulses that underlie the comic impulse in its various guises. In lively and enlivening chapters, she traverses dirty jokes, the figure of the "evil clown" in popular culture, the current popularity of "humor therapy," changing fashions in stand-up comedy, and the connection between humor and horror. Brottman's sparkling prose, laced with wit, does not obscure the seriousness of Funny Peculiar. It is a thoughtful and wide-ranging elaboration of the Freudian claim that joking, in point of fact, is no laughing matter.

A scholar, psychoanalyst, and cultural critic explores the multifaceted role dogs play in our world in this charming bestiary of dogs from literature, lore, and life.

Mikita Brottman wonders, just why is reading so great? It's a solitary practice, one that takes away from time that could be spent developing important social networking skills. Reading's not required for health, happiness, or a loving family. And, if reading is so important, why are catchy slogans like "Reading Changes Lives" and "Champions Read" needed to hammer the point home? Fearlessly tackling the notion that nonreaders are doomed to lives of despair and mental decay, Brottman makes the case that the value of reading lies not in its ability to ward off Alzheimer's or that it's a pleasant hobby. Rather, she argues that like that other well-known, solitary vice, masturbation, reading is ultimately not an act of pleasure but a tool for self-exploration, one that allows people to see the world through the eyes of others and lets them travel deep into the darkness of the human condition.

In almost every culture, hyenas are regarded as nasty, scheming charlatans, skulking in the back alleyways of the animal kingdom. Scorned as little more than scavenging carrion-eaters, vandals and thieves, since the earliest times hyenas have been both mistreated and misunderstood. In her new account Mikita Brottman offers an alternative view, showing that the hyena is in fact a complex, intelligent and highly sociable creature. Hyena investigates representations of this fascinating animal throughout history. Shrouded in taboo, it has been the source of talismanic objects since at least the ancient Greek and Roman Empires. Many cultures have used parts of the hyena, including excrement, blood, genitalia and hair, to make charms that both avert evil and promise fertility. The book also considers depictions of the hyena in contemporary popular fiction, from The Lion King to The Life of Pi. Despite its reputation the hyena is an intriguing animal with many distinctive and unusual qualities. This book is, in part, an attempt to restore the hyena's tarnished reputation. Richly illustrated, Hyena is aimed at all animal-lovers with an interest in the unusual and the offbeat.

Brottman offers up a study of movies so offensive, some are practically unwatchable. From the ever-popular "Faces of Death" movies to purported snuff films, from classic B-movies such as "The Tingler, " to more popular but no less controversial films such as The "Texas Chainsaw Massacre, " Brottman takes a wide-eyed look at movies most folks watch only through parted fingers.

While most critics have been quick to dismiss such films as mere shock-fests (if they even bother to talk about them at all), Brottman argues that these movies tell us quite a bit about who we are as a society, what makes us anxious, and what taboos we truly believe cannot be crossed. Part anthropology, part psychoanalysis, "Offensive Films" vivisects these movies in order to figure out just what about them is so offensive, obscene, or bizarre. In the end, Brottman proves that these films, shunned from the cinematic canon, work on us in sophisticated ways we often choose to remain unaware of.