Title: What Claptrap
Review: "Soul" turns out to be something like "pornography": Moore cannot define it, but he knows it when he sees it. Everybody knows he or she has one (do they?), and all of the world's troubles can be attributed to sick souls...whatever they are. Since Moore never really pins down what "soul" is, he does not have to worry about being consistant or inteligible. He is free to intrepret dreams, Greek myth, and Jung in whatever way fits his thesis--which seems to be that people are complex and they should accept their complexity. Do we need a book for that? Moore talks about the troubled people he has seen in his theraputic practice, but I am not sure he ever talks about helping them in any meaningful way. (I have to admit that I gave up halfway through the book; life is too short to waste on New Age claptrap like this.) Since he is only "caring" for souls, not "curing" them, I guess it does not make any difference, but I ache for those people who found this book a help and a guide.
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