Books like Madness in Civilization

The abuse of power is a running theme in the history of psychiatry. Psychiatry has often been wielded to control those who challenge the status quo. This book neatly and creatively unearths one such attempt to stifle dissent by labeling it mad.

Focusing on a mental hospital in Michigan, Jonathan Metzl shows how schizophrenia was harnessed to pathologize Black Civil Rights activism in the 1960s. In the process, schizophrenia was transformed from a condition mainly diagnosed in whites to one that stressed violence and aggression and was mainly diagnosed in black males. I especially love how Metzl punctuates his historical analysis with poignant stories of individuals caught up in this dark period of racism in psychiatry. 

No list on the dubious history of psychiatry would be complete without a book about psychiatry’s efforts to control women. This is a classic in this regard. Focusing on the first quarter of the twentieth century, Elizabeth Lunbeck shows how psychiatrists, in an effort to assert their relevance and professional authority, brought issues related to marriage, sexuality, and gender into their ambit.

This book is deft in revealing how psychiatrists wielded the power to define normality to pathologize nonconforming women and insinuate themselves into our most intimate spheres. Although the history that Lunbeck recounts is now a century in the past, its lessons echo to this day.

I am a sucker for books that bridge the uncanny valley between the past and present to answer the question, how in the hell did this happen? Lobotomy is the most infamous of all psychiatry “treatments.” From our perch in the present, it is hard to fathom the popularity of such a barbaric practice.

In this book, Jack Pressman tells the chilling story of lobotomy but does so in a way that stresses how normal, and even banal, it was for psychiatrists of the day. Faced with overcrowded mental hospitals, psychiatrists turned to lobotomy out of desperation, willfully swallowing its hype. And with their probing transorbital ice picks, they perpetrated horrific abuses on their patients in what might be the darkest moment in psychiatry’s past. 

Most of us seek out history with an eye to the present. In this book, Allan Horwitz explains the emergence of our current brand of psychiatry. Sometimes called “biomedical psychiatry,” this is the psychiatry of the DSM and ever-rising rates of mental health diagnoses, of Prozac and psychopharmaceutical drugs, of chemical imbalances and neurological accounts of mental disorders.

Horwitz shows how the shift to this present was driven not by science but by professional crisis. In the 1970s, besieged by critics and exposés of their failings, psychiatrists ditched the Freudian-inspired psychodynamic model for one that emphasized diagnosis and medication. But the science was always dubious, and the upshot of this shift is a culture awash in psychiatric diagnoses for seemingly everything.  

My book starts with a series of conversations with people who have psychosis and hear voices. Some people described to me a particularly unusual experience: the feeling of a voice being there, even when it wasn’t speaking.

As an undergraduate student one of the books that first got me thinking about these topics was Richard Bentall’s Madness Explained. It really opened my eyes to the possibilities of the mind and how we can think about experiences like hallucinations without necessarily pathologizing them.

This book was my gateway to then learning about things like the International Hearing Voices moment, which argues against an overly medicalized understanding of unusual experiences like voice-hearing. My book is quite wide-ranging, but I’ve tried to retain some of the ethos of Madness Explained in how I’ve approached the world of uncanny presences. 

This next book is gritty in its authenticity. It isn’t for the faint of heart to read about the heartbreaking struggles of thirteen-year-old Anna Collette whose mother tries to take her life and is hospitalized. Anna has to live with her distant father, his new wife, and their baby where she doesn’t feel like part of the family. But the author gives us a warm and loving character in her stepmother who shows Della what family can be. I’m enthralled by true and complex characters in this book who represent the highs and lows of real life.

I read this novel when I was twenty-two years old.

I remember exactly where I was (in the kitchen of a dilapidated apartment I loved) and what time of day I read it (early afternoon until early evening). I cackled and sobbed (I am not a sobber), and afterward, I couldn’t get the main character’s voice out of my head for days. He narrated everywhere I went and everything I did.

Before then, I’d always written casual nonsense for my own entertainment, but I knew afterward I wanted to do that—I wanted to make people laugh, horrify them, and put their hearts through the wringer. 

I typically don’t read YA, but I’d just finished writing a book about searching for an ancient shipwreck, so I thought, why not see what someone else did with this idea? And I’m so glad I did. Otherwise I would have missed out on this compelling inner journey of a teenager who tries on adult responsibility and explores who she wants to be: someone who flees, breaks down, acts out, steps up, reaches for meaningful connection, or (and) loves.

In all honesty, what I liked most about this book is out of all the books I’ve read about mental illness, this one comes closest to my own book.  

It looks at the ramifications of mental illness through the gaze of a person that loves the main character. In the case of this book, it is two Asian American sisters: Lucia and Miranda.  

Lucia, like many people with a mental health diagnosis, like the character Bowie in my novel, suffers from anosognosia - a lack of insight about having a mental illness; making her oppositional to any treatment that would help level off her symptoms. Mira T. Lee compellingly describes the arrogance of ‘experts’ who know nothing about Lucia, ignoring the well-informed input from Miranda, prescribing meds that Miranda already knows from experience will have adverse effects. 

The book also examines how people with severe mental illness endure shifting diagnoses:… show more.

Robert Kolker's book tells the unforgettable story of the Galvin’s, a Colorado family with twelve children—six of whom were diagnosed with schizophrenia. Through meticulous reporting and sensitive interviews with two of the daughters, Kolker weaves together the family's history with the evolving science of schizophrenia research.

The book reveals the heartbreaking toll mental illness takes on individuals and families while offering hope through scientific advancements. It is both a family saga and a medical mystery, painting a profound portrait of violence, love, loss, and resilience in the face of unimaginable challenges. Kolker’s book underlined that mental illness is a combination of genetic heritability and environment.