Stephen Grosz's Love's Labour: What was love?

After a long break, this is actually the first book I have read outside my own academic field. I discovered it through an Instagram account I really enjoy following, @artindetaill, and decided to give it a try. In the past, I had read and written about psychoanalytic literary theory, but to be honest, this is the first time I have read a book written by a psychoanalyst.

When I write about a book, I usually care more about its content than its language. So when I picked up a non-fiction book written by a psychoanalyst, I naturally expected a heavy, academic style of writing. Grosz surprised me completely. His language is simple, smooth, and easy for anyone to understand. Maybe this is actually the real strength of the book: Grosz takes complex psychological ideas out of the heavy atmosphere of the therapy room and turns them into familiar stories, stories that feel close to our own everyday lives.

The book is built on real human stories taken from the author’s own clinical experience and life. As you read each case, you feel that Grosz has probably changed only the names, following the rules of patient confidentiality, while the psychological journeys themselves remain completely real.

The book is made up of independent chapters, and in each one, we witness a different, striking story. Yet behind all these different lives, the author always returns to the same central theme: Love.

Three stories in Grosz’s book affect us the most. The first is about Sophie, who can not bring herself to send out her wedding invitations just before her marriage. In therapy, we learn that Sophie is actually afraid building a new life will destroy the tightly bonded family she grew up in. In other words, she cannot let go of her past.

The second is Ravi, a man who develops impossible delusions that his wife is cheating on him. His unhealthy jealousy is not really about his wife at all. It is a shield, one that hides fear of abandonment from his childhood and protects him from real emotional closeness.

The third story is Kate, who crosses boundaries with both her uncle and her boss, and who eventually steals. From the outside, Kate looks simply guilty. But what she is truly searching for is not sexual pleasure. It is something much deeper: an “impossible mother’s love” that could finally fill the huge emptiness left by her mother’s rejection in childhood.

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To be honest, the part of the book that affected me the most, and the part I want to focus on here, is Sophie's story. It really shows that we do not have to live through someone else’s experience to understand it. What Grosz tells us through Sophie feels like a mirror of something almost all of us go through at some point in life: those unnamed hesitations, those quiet fears we can not fully explain, even to ourselves. 

Of course, I am not a psychoanalyst, so I cannot speak with the authority to explore the deep psychological layers of this story. As a reader, I simply want to focus on the impression it left on me and the lesson I personally took from it. Sophie’s story made me ask myself some powerful questions about marriage and love: Is love alone enough to get married? Is love something we need to work on, something that requires effort or is it supposed to grow naturally, on its own, between two people? And if love does require effort, is it still pure love, or does it slowly turn into something else? These are questions that, once you start thinking about them, are hard to let go of.

I want to end this blog with one of Stephen Grosz’s words: “When we cannot find a way to tell our own story, our story finds a way to tell itself to us by entering our dreams, turning into symptoms, or making us act in ways we cannot explain.”