Memories, Dreams, Reflections

In a forbidden attic outside Basel, a schoolboy hides a two-inch manikin carved from the end of a ruler, kept in a pencil case beside a painted stone from the Rhine, and tells no one for years. Carl Jung dictated this book in his eighties, warning at the outset that the honours of a long public career count for nothing beside the dreams, so what follows is a life reported from the inside: the vision he fought off for three days and then allowed, in which God drops an enormous turd on Basel Cathedral and shatters the roof; the years after Freud when he lowered himself into the unconscious on purpose, unsure he would come back; the stone tower at Bollingen he built by hand, without electricity.