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Paperback
First published December 7, 1999
It was a strange time to build a new hospital. State asylums for the retarded and the harmlessly psychotic were being closed down in rapid succession, courtesy of an odd, coldhearted alliance between right-wing misers who didn’t want to spend the money and left-wing ignoramuses who believed psychotics were political prisoners and deserved to be liberated. A few later, a “homeless problem” would appear, shocking the deacons of thrift and the social engineers, but at the time, dismantling an entire inpatient system seemed a clever thing to do.
But take away the violence and you didn’t have serenity. What remained were what psychiatrists labeled the negative symptoms of psychosis: apathy, flat mood, deadened voice, blunted movement, impoverished thinking, language stripped of nuance and humor. An existence devoid of surprise and joy.
He massaged his temples. “Okay, okay, enough talk, I need to do something. I put in calls to Miami and Pimm, Nevada, this morning. When we get back, I’ll see if anyone called.