CHAPTER 4

LEADERS AND FOLLOWERS: MOVING AWAY FROM PEOPLE

There is no detachment where there is no pain. And there is no pain endured without hatred or lying unless detachment is present too.

—Simone Weil

If a man be gloomy let him keep it to himself. No one has the right to go croaking about society, or what is worse, looking as if he stifled grief.

—Benjamin Disraeli

All of the significant battles are waged within the self.

—Zen proverb

There was once a monk who had made a vow not to become attached to anyone or anything. At a very early age he broke all ties with his family in order to concentrate on meditation. He believed that relationships would hinder his studies to become a Zen master. He became a mendicant, wandering the world so that he wouldn’t become attached to any particular place. One day, a traveler met him in the mountains and decided to follow him. They walked some way in silence, and then stopped under a tree to rest. The traveler offered the monk his pipe, which the holy man accepted out of friendship. After a while, he commented how pleasant smoking was, and the traveler immediately offered him another round of tobacco. After smoking contentedly for some time, the monk astonished the traveler by suddenly throwing both pipe and tobacco away. “I was enjoying it too much,” he explained. “Pleasure disturbs meditation.”

Some years later, when he was 28, the monk settled down for a time and studied Chinese calligraphy and poetry. He grew so skillful that his teacher praised him. He stopped immediately: “If I’m not careful,” he said, “I’ll be a poet, not a Zen master.” He never wrote another poem.

This Zen monk represents a particular personality type, someone who resists attachment. All his life this holy man distanced himself from other people and from pleasurable experiences. This behavior contrasts sharply with that of the personality dispositions dealt with in the previous chapter. That particular parade of personalities has a tendency to move toward others, with self-esteem determined by the perceptions of others. This chapter deals with individuals who tend to move away from people. Their aim is the active avoidance of others. In one way or another, they fear that all relationships will ultimately lead to conflict, frustration, and a bad end. People who fit this prototype fall into one of two categories: detached disposition and depressive disposition.

THE DETACHED DISPOSITION

Peter Prince, an executive working in the IT department of an insurance company, was overheard to say, “I don’t dislike people. I just seem to feel so much better when they’re not around.” This attitude toward his colleagues didn’t endear him to his immediate boss, Joan, who had plans to groom him for a more general management position. But after Peter participated in a 360-degree feedback exercise conducted as part of his performance appraisal, Joan—who had been asked to read some of the written comments—realized that he had great difficulty building relationships and responding to others emotionally.

Some of his colleagues commented on his wariness, his inability to open up. Others mentioned that they would like him to be more outspoken at meetings and wondered why he was always so silent and detached. One of his colleagues, clearly irritated, compared him to Gollum from The Lord of the Rings, a creepy character with solitary habits, spiteful behavior, odd interests, emotional changeability, nervousness, and difficulty in forming friendships. This colleague’s notes made it clear that he felt that Peter, like Gollum, was interpersonally disengaged. Others commented that on the rare occasions when Peter did communicate with others, his remarks were unfocused; he would wander from topic to topic and lose the attention of his audience.

In discussing with Joan the feedback about how he was perceived, Peter said that maintaining relationships was just too much trouble; it simply wasn’t worth the effort. She commended the written and organizational components of his work but pointed out that by keeping his distance, he handicapped his capacity to learn from experience, increase his self-awareness, and develop potentially rewarding relationships with other people.

Peter was clearly a gifted individual, excelling at most hobbies he tried, whether playing the violin or thinking up chess moves. At work, however, he was no standout. Apparently not ambitious to move up in the organization, he had twice refused a promotion, arguing that he liked the work he was currently doing and had no interest in trying something different. He seemed to be happiest on his own, playing the violin or solitary chess, or surfing the Net and playing computer games. But while engaging in these lonely pursuits, he sold short his potential, replacing the expectations of society, where he didn’t seem to fit in, for those of a more imaginary world.

Individuals like Peter are toward the extreme end of the spectrum of the detached disposition. According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV-Tr), this disposition can be subdivided into two separate prototypes: schizoid and avoidant. Schizoid individuals—the more unusual of the two prototypes—may have emotional or cognitive deficits that make them incapable of establishing close relationships. They seem to be genuinely indifferent to others and have no wish to become closer. In contrast, avoidant personalities are actively detached—that is, their detachment is more self-protective. Circumstances have put them on a path away from people, but they would like to move closer ¹,²,³-⁴.

We might call the schizoid subgroup aloof loners and the avoidant group lonely loners. While the former don’t seem to care about relating to others, the latter do care. Put two avoidants together and they’re like hedgehogs trying to get warm during a cold night, wondering how close they can get to each other without being hurt. Looking for closeness, avoidants are painfully alert to the minutest signals of rejection from others, interpreting even the most neutral events as evidence of disdain or ridicule. Concerned about their social inadequacies and afraid that other people will find them uninteresting, they maintain their distance. Although they would like to be closer to others, they have learned to be wary about reaching out. To many of them, intimate relationships are just plain frightening.

The fear of rejection that both subgroups of detached people experience is grounded in reality. They have painful memories of early attempts to move closer to people that ended badly—attempts that taught them to engage in protective withdrawal. While the schizoid subgroup has given up trying for intimacy, the avoidant group may still make the occasional effort. Both groups, however, actively (though not necessarily consciously) work to drive away people who would like to be closer to them. Although this seems self-destructive, it provides detached people with a modicum of control over their lives. They choose to actively push people away rather than risk being rejected by them. In other words, they anticipate the distance and maintain it on their own terms. Fatalistic about human relationships, they find their hermit-like behavior safe and comfortable.

People in the schizoid subgroup show little desire for social involvement; they restrict social relationships out of fear that contact may become disruptive and painful. In contrast, members of the avoidant subgroup are less self-contained. Thus although both subgroups are very private people, those who fit the more schizoid sub-prototype can tolerate isolation with comfort, while those with an avoidant personality are more distressed by their isolation and experience loneliness. Avoidants remain willing to reach out to others in spite of past disappointments, but they’re always on edge in any social encounter, caught between their deep-seated desire for affection and acceptance, and their fear of intrusion and ridicule. Both subgroups perceive the world as an unfriendly, cold, and dangerous place. Not surprisingly, people with a schizoid disposition rarely seek professional help in overcoming their fear, while individuals with an avoidant disposition may do so.

People with a detached disposition are inclined to go their own way, but they do so without obvious defiance or a need to demonstrate their independence. Although they may be nonconforming, they keep a low enough profile to avoid sanctions, both at work and in general society. When they do have contact with others—in comparison with the avoidants—they don’t seem to be genuinely involved or to care (at least on a conscious level) what others think of them. On the other hand, they’re very sensitive to any form of intrusion and will withdraw from external pressure whenever possible.

By preference, they engage in solitary activities, opting for mechanical or abstract tasks. Creative work is also an adaptive response to their detachment: creative activity is a confirmation of their originality and uniqueness. Because they’re more comfortable in a world of fantasy and introspection, they may engage in extremes of eccentric thinking and be fascinated with concepts such as ghosts, UFOs, and reincarnation.

Given their difficulties in relationship-building, detached people are unlikely to marry. With their problems in reaching out, they’re prepared to enter into relationships only if they’re given unusually strong assurances of uncritical acceptance. Love and sex imply closeness and entrapment, situations fraught with danger for the detached personality. They may prefer to live with siblings or other relatives in comfortable but non-intimate stability. If they do marry, their relationship is typically similar to that of roommates, with limited intimacy and rare or no sexual relations.

Typically, people with a detached disposition are:

• alienated from themselves and others

• repressed and isolated

• vague, emotionally absent, and indifferent to praise, criticism, and the feelings of others

• undemonstrative and passive

• bland and lacking in personality

When faced with the need to respond to emotional or problematic situations, they generally:

• withdraw into fantasy

• deflect response through rumination, rambling speech, intellectualization, and conflict avoidance

• diminish emotional events

In fact, their observable mood changes are slight and their emotional range restricted. They show no demonstrative feelings, either of rage or affection, and react passively to adverse circumstances. They’re likely to find it hard to respond appropriately to important events both in their own lives and in a wider context (for example, natural disasters).

There are a number of factors that contribute to the detached disposition. The detached adult often has a history of grossly inadequate early parenting characterized by distancing, devaluation, rejection, humiliation, and loss. The parents of children who opt for detachment as adults generally lack emotional expressiveness. For example, they don’t give cuddles or other affective forms of expression that are the staples of a healthy childhood. As a result of distancing, children feel helpless, isolated, and abandoned. They fear that they’re not wanted, that they can’t please anyone, or even that they’re hurting those to whom they feel attached.

The family constellation that breeds detachment compounds routine emotional distancing with periodic episodes of outright rejection. Traumatic childhood experiences involving scorn and ridicule are the norm in such households, and they create the expectation that all relationships will be painful and that all human interaction ends badly. Repeated rejection crushes a child’s natural energy and optimism and creates persistent feelings of self-deprecation and social isolation. Children growing up in such a climate don’t acquire the emotional and social cues needed to be able to relate to others. Therefore, as adults they’re reluctant to share their feelings. For them, intimacy is synonymous with vulnerability. It’s no wonder that they have relationship problems!

The defensive outlook that detached children learn in their early years is accentuated by rejection by peer groups at school. If the child of rejecting parents encounters positive, reinforcing experiences outside the hostile home environment, early parental rejection is not so damaging; the child may bounce back and recover. However, if rejection by parents and siblings is compounded by rejection from a peer group, the problem is aggravated. Failure at sports, drama, or social tasks such as finding a partner for the school prom validate parental rejection.

If they’re humiliated and rejected by their peers, detached individuals begin to wonder what’s wrong with them. Why do others reject them? What makes them so unlovable? Predictably, they blame themselves for their predicament. Thus their feelings of loneliness and isolation are compounded by their own harsh self-judgment. Because social ineptitude feeds on itself, the intensified feelings of inferiority and worthlessness that plague detached people exacerbate their tendency to withdraw from others.

While rejection by parents and peers is the number-one cause of detachment, a number of other family dynamics can contribute to this behavior pattern. One is the fear of losing one’s identity as a separate individual because of the intrusiveness or domination of primary caretakers. Children in this situation use distance as a defense against engulfment, a defense that can turn into a lifelong pattern. Children who fear engulfment have typically been infantilized by their parents, never permitted to grow up as they should, and thus they suffer from a developmental imbalance. Victims of learned social incompetence, they subsequently have difficulty relating to people outside their family in a mature, self-confident manner. They develop a habitual pattern of dealing with other people regressively, displaying an overly dependent, awkward manner that makes people who don’t know them feel ill at ease and want to keep their distance from them. Detached people quickly learn, from such reactions, to likewise keep their distance.

This attitude can be exacerbated by persistent advice from parents, peers, teachers, religious leaders, and even the media to be on guard against the evils of the world. When children can’t turn anywhere for validation, withdrawal is the likely outcome. Some of the outward manifestations of detachment—an eventempered, calm, dispassionate, unflappable front presented to the world—are advantageous. But the negatives outweigh the positives: the intense need for private space that detachment indicates results in repeated failures of intimacy and pervasive feelings of isolation.

THE DETACHED INDIVIDUAL WITHIN THE ORGANIZATION

People with a detached disposition can adapt well to life in certain types of organizations, if they’re able to find a niche that suits their personality makeup, but they’ll never be among the movers and shakers. Their emotional isolation restricts them to low-level, lowvisibility positions that require little interpersonal contact. Given their lack of social skills, detached individuals can’t build the organizational networks that are indispensable for getting things done, they alienate whatever social support they might initially have, and they can’t deal with the inevitable conflicts of organizational life. In stressful situations, they may withdraw into their imaginations, perhaps fantasizing or playing computer games. That same lack of social skills—in particular, their lack of personal presence and their inability to assess the subtleties of human behavior—makes them incapable of energizing others and helping them to improve their own performance. Inexpressive, disengaged, and apathetic, they’re the antithesis of organizational cheerleaders. They don’t do much for themselves either: because their behavior isn’t typically goal-directed, their career management is likely to be poor or nonexistent.

So how does a person who has to work with detached individuals influence and manage them? How does someone build a relationship with people whose psychological agenda is to remain totally uninvolved? The first step is to provide the right job and setting: detached individuals function quite well in selected occupations—usually relatively low-status positions such as a night clerk, a movie projectionist, or a night watchman, or higher-status positions such as university researcher or financial analyst.

Ironically, the many advances in voyeuristic technology have proved a bonanza for these people, enabling them to get closer to others (albeit clandestinely) without having to relate to those others in person. This is well illustrated in the gripping television series 24, a techno-thriller starring Kiefer Sutherland as federal agent Jack Bauer, head of a counterterrorist unit. Jack is helped by a group of nerdy characters who snoop on other people’s lives using sophisticated monitoring equipment. This particular pathology was dramatized earlier in Francis Ford Coppola’s film The Conversation (1974). Surveillance expert Harry Caul, played by Gene Hackman, is hired by a wealthy executive to spy on his wife and her lover. As the film progresses, we discover that the main character in the film is as obsessed with maintaining his own privacy as he is motivated by intruding secretly in the life of his clients. Harry Caul’s statements are indicative of his state of mind:

I would be perfectly happy to have all my personal things burned up in a fire because I don’t have anything personal. Nothing of value. No, nothing personal except my keys, you see, which I really would like to have the only copy of. . . Listen, if there’s one surefire rule that I have learned in this business it’s that I don’t know anything about human nature, I don’t know anything about curiosity. That’s not part of what I do. (Harry Caul in The Conversation, Francis Ford Coppola (1974))

Film scripts don’t come out of a vacuum. They’re generally grounded in reality. The character of Harry Caul has a kindred spirit in the real-life person of George Perkins, the CEO of a company providing information-based business solutions to the government. His expertise lay in finding solutions to technical problems. As CEO, he played a rather symbolic role, since he was machine- rather than people-oriented.

George had a background in math and computer science. After earning his doctorate at MIT he was hired as an assistant professor in the computer science department. His teaching career was short-lived, however, because he couldn’t communicate with his students. George then tried to make a living working for a midsized consulting company specialized in IT. His task was to help the partners provide innovative business solutions for their clients. His knack for gathering information and finding new business solutions made him good at the work, but his poor communication skills led to problems with the partners. The resulting conflict made him decide to work on his own, but he found it difficult to acquire and keep clients in spite of his obvious talent.

His luck changed after a chance encounter with David, an old roommate from his college days. David had just quit his job with a large consulting firm and was looking for a new challenge. When George explained his predicament—that he had good ideas but was having a hard time selling them—David suggested that they team up. George was willing to give it a try, given that they had always gotten along in college. He knew very well that he himself wasn’t very good at leading and persuading people, and he knew that David was much better in that role. Together, they functioned as a highly effective executive team, making for the beginning of a very profitable business partnership. George’s brilliance in designing new information technology packages and David’s salesmanship turned out to be an extremely successful combination. Going public ten years later made both of them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

As noted earlier, it’s unusual for detached people to gain leadership positions. George was able to be a successful exception because he didn’t have to deal much with either customers or employees; he led the way in the technical arena only. It was up to his partner to do the essential people-work of addressing the emotional needs of subordinates, setting out expectations, and giving feedback about accomplishments. Only with such an executive role constellation can a detached leadership style succeed. Otherwise, detachment must be mixed with another style to create leadership effectiveness.

THE DEPRESSIVE DISPOSITION

“It’s snowing still,” said Eeyore, gloomily.

“So it is.”

“And freezing.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” said Eeyore. “However,” he said, brightening a little, “we haven’t had an earthquake lately.”

This quote from A. A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh is indicative of the mindset of people with a depressive disposition. But characters like Eeyore aren’t to be found only in children’s tales; in many organizations we can find people with a similar mindset.

To illustrate, Roger Holden, the CEO of a global consumer products company, was concerned about John Green, the executive in charge of a recently acquired beverage firm. John had been running the company for many years before Roger’s company made a bid for it. Although the post-merger integration process was successful, Roger began to worry about John, who no longer seemed like the person Roger had met when the negotiations began. Although John from day one had come across as serious, he now seemed devoid of vigor and focus. He was morose and low-spirited, with a defeatist and fatalistic attitude about almost everything. He painted everything in the blackest light, invariably expecting the worst. Furthermore, he was extremely critical and judgmental of others. His attitude was affecting the atmosphere at the office, where several people had intimated to Roger that John was increasingly difficult to work with. He was certainly not the energizer the company needed to climb out of a market downturn. Roger wondered if he should keep John in his present position or terminate his contract, at a significant financial loss.

People with a depressive disposition are governed by the belief that they’re bad. They see themselves as inconsequential at best and anywhere from reproachable to contemptible at worst. Believing that they deserve to be criticized and derogated, they indulge in acts of self-denial, self-punishment, and self-torment. They see their lives as a series of failures and themselves as helpless victims, manipulated by forces beyond their control. Not surprisingly, then, they give off a sense of permanent hopelessness and wretchedness ⁵; ⁶. Against this black background, depressives see life as a system of duties and responsibilities, and they repudiate pleasure and all forms of play and frivolity.

Defeatist and fatalistic about almost everything, depressives offer the gloomiest possible interpretation of any event, despairing that things will improve in the future. Whatever the situation, they invariably focus on its negative aspects (often assuming blame for whatever went wrong). Deploring the past and fearing the future, they believe there’s no bright side to look on. The only interesting news is bad news, and bad news is reassuring because it represents reality.

For depressives, memory represents only emptiness and nothingness. Life’s early experiences suggest a desert, barren ground. It’s the pain rather than the pleasure of the past that predominates. Early recollections seem drained of any richness, joy, or meaning. A major defense mechanism to deal with painful memories is repression—that is, subduing distressing feelings at as low a level as possible. But this is a Faustian bargain, because it results in lifelessness. As with memories, so in the present: depressives have a limited emotional repertoire. When faced with conflict, they don’t know how to react.

Typically, depressives demonstrate:

• a sense of helplessness, hopelessness, and worthlessness

• a poor appetite and weight loss

• sleeping problems

• loss of energy and chronic fatigue

• general apathy

• lack of sexual interest

• inability to concentrate

• irritability

• dejection and joylessness

• guilt, remorse, and wretchedness

• recurring thoughts of death and suicide

When at their lowest point, depressives sometimes kill themselves as a final, desperate act of defiance—a gesture that demonstrates initiative in a way that their general behavior does not. Suicide can also be chosen as retaliation toward others, an indictment suggesting that nobody cared.

As with all the other prototypes we’re looking at in these chapters, the depressive disposition is an outcome of nature and nurture; biogenic (or constitutional) factors interact with psychogenic factors to produce depression. Depressives typically learn their self-defeating ways of looking at the world during early childhood, generally as the result of extremely adverse parenting. The most salient contributing factor is early loss of emotional support, sometimes as the result of an overwhelming external circumstance that causes a disruption in caretaking. The death of a major figure in a child’s life, for example, causes feelings of abandonment and desertion; so do less dramatic circumstances such as divorce, exposure to marital conflict, or living with a depressed parent. Consistently, a major contributing factor to the depressive disposition is a child’s perception of loss, lack of comfort, and feelings of isolation.

The reason that this sort of disruption is so traumatizing to a child is that it happens just at the stage in life when the child is determining whether the environment is caring or indifferent. During those years when the need is greatest, such a disruption robs the developing child of a comfort-providing caretaker, leaving feelings of loss and disappointment that linger for decades. In the absence of needed comfort, the child (and then adult) internalizes painful, self-critical, and self-destructive thoughts, believing himor herself worthless and undeserving of care. As time goes on, the individual’s self-image becomes greatly distorted, churning out feelings of ineptitude, inadequacy, and helplessness. These people continue to feel unlovable throughout life.

Depressives also feel responsible for their circumstances. If a parent leaves the home, it’s the child’s fault (so he thinks) for not being lovable enough. This state of mind creates feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. Prolonged exposure to unhappy events that are beyond one’s control leads to apathy, pessimism, and loss of motivation. As a result of their childhood experiences, individuals with a depressive outlook acquire what psychologists call learned helplessness, a belief that they can’t control the outcome of events in their lives. This contributes to their feelings of worthlessness and low self-esteem. They see themselves as inconsequential, guilty, and undeserving of warmth and care. All their aggressive impulses are turned inward on themselves and expressed through self-denigrating comments.

Self-deprecation brings depressives some respite from their inner pain. One unconventional interpretation suggests that it’s actually a tactic (though not necessarily a conscious one) for dealing with feelings of anger and resentment. Depressives present themselves—not without reason—as victims: vulnerable, defenseless, abandoned and deserted. Unfortunately, this isn’t the kind of selfprojection that makes others want to reach out to them.

There are, however, situations in which depressives themselves can reach out successfully. Their familiarity with suffering helps them identify with the suffering of others. One thinks of the late Diana, Princess of Wales, whose public statements about her feelings of empathy for the victims of AIDS and landmines met derision and admiration in equal parts. However, there’s no doubt that her activities on behalf of international organizations working in these areas—including personal contact with sufferers—helped her through difficult times in her own life by proving her genuine usefulness to others. Such instances are rare, because depressives are generally reluctant to show that side of themselves. They prefer to obtain sympathy from others, although their attempts are frequently self-defeating, since many people are turned off by their behavior.

Another interpretation of this kind of behavior is that it’s a cry for help. Self-denigration can bring what psychologists call secondary gain in the form of attention and help from others. There are always some people who respond to a cry for help, people from whom this kind of behavior evokes nurturing, reassuring, protective responses. Such responders try to convince depressives that they have value, that there’s hope. Perversely, that sort of positive response can actually encourage the perpetuation of misery, since misery brings the sufferer the attention he or she craves.

There are also times when a depressive style gives people a way out of difficult situations, absolving them from unpleasant duties or unwelcome responsibilities. It can also be used as a strategy to rationalize poor performance. Because depressives openly admit their worthlessness, they have the perfect excuse when things go wrong. It may also enable them to blame others for not having been sufficiently helpful.

DEPRESSIVES WITHIN THE ORGANIZATION

People with a truly depressive disposition have constricted interests and difficulty understanding different lifestyles or points of view. They’re poor bets for leadership positions because of their lack of spontaneity, their indecisiveness, and their inability to take initiative. Because of their pessimism, they’re inclined to overestimate their difficulties and underestimate their capabilities. Hypochondriacal and anxious, they adhere to routine and don’t allow themselves to be distracted by impulses and passion. Their negativity hinders both their productivity and their progress within an organization: even if things are going well, they’re continually preparing for the worst. Constantly anticipating disaster, they’re by definition not problem-solvers. Furthermore, anticipating failure can turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy and threaten the future of the enterprise.

The same sense of vulnerability that makes them see the world as a dangerous place leads them to seek constant assurance from others that they’re good enough, that they’re coping. This can be oppressive to co-workers, especially since if reassurance isn’t forthcoming, depressives may retreat into silence and guilty selfreproach. Furthermore, in craving sympathy they may overplay their helplessness and make their colleagues feel guilty.

Their negativity also makes them extremely critical and judgmental of others and therefore incapable of motivating people to exceptional achievements. At work, which they see as unpleasant drudgery, a duty to be fulfilled, their skepticism and cynicism create a downbeat, discouraging, destructive atmosphere. Not only are they very hard on themselves, but they put considerable pressure on others. They expect the people who work for them to take on a great deal of work, and they nag about getting things done while simultaneously criticizing their subordinates’ performance.

Depressive tendencies in a leader create a negative and noncommunicative organizational culture. Constantly fearful that they will fail in their duties and responsibilities, depressive leaders react with intense self-flagellation to any setback. An innocuous remark may set in motion a seemingly endless process of worrying. Knowing this, colleagues will be inclined to minimize their interactions.

As we’ve seen in our discussion of people who move away from others, there’s often a fine line between normalcy and dysfunction, humor and anguish, laughter and sorrow, comedy and tragedy. For many people the tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that they wait so long to begin, stuck as they are on a treadmill of dysfunctionality. But maybe the most poignant observation of mankind in all its foibles is one offered by Albert Schweitzer, who once said, “The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives.”

REFERENCES

1 Barlow, D. H., Ed (2001). Clinical Handbook of Psychological Disorders. New York, The Guilford Press.

2 Beck, A. T. and A. Freeman (2004). Cognitive Therapy of Personality Disorders. New York, The Guilford Press.

3 Millon, T. (1996). Disorders of Personality: DSM IV and Beyond. New York, John Wiley.

4 Millon, T. and G. S. Everly (1985). Personality and its Disorders. New York, John Wiley & Sons.

5 Beck, A. T., A. J. Rush, B. F. Shaw and G. Emery (1979). Cognitive Theory of Depression. New York, The Guilford Press.

6 Solomon, A. (2001). The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression. New York, Simon & Schuster.