There are numerous reasons for reading this book by Siri Hustvedt (apart from her dedication “To Oliver. Happy Birthday” which M. acquired when Siri Husvedt gave this year’s Freud Lecture in Vienna). But this excerpt should be convincing enough: “There is a brewing, oh yes, there is some whitches’ stew brewing. I know because I lived it. But before I get to that, I want to tell you, Gentle Person out there, that if you are here with me now, on the page, I mean, if you have come to this paragraph, if you have not given up and sent me, Mia, flying across the room or even if you have, but you got to wondering whether something might not happen soon and picked me up again and are reading still, then I want to reach out for you and take your face in both my hands and cover you with kisses, kisses on your cheeks and chin and all over your forehead and on the bridge of your (variously shaped) nose, because I am yours, all yours. I just wanted you to know.” (Picador, 2011)