Fiction, history and psychology to provoke, instruct and entertain
PSYCHODYNAMIC TENNIS by Ethan Gologor Morrow, 227 pages; $8.95
Ethan Gologor is a psychologist and a tennis player, so it is no surprise when he asserts that "all sports are psychological, but some are more psychological than others. And tennis is the most." Assuming that his readers have the basic tennis skills (no amount of "inner" therapy will compensate for their absence), the doctor outlines the problems of this heady game.
The most serious obstacle is the belief that one must be perfect. "Ironically," Gologor says, "such a belief is held most of all by those who are losing. The leader can say more easily, 'I make errors.' His stature is evident to his opponent, the spectators, and himself. When one is losing, he fears his power may be not at all evident. To accept his errors, then, may be an admission that he's not really so good ... The loser must therefore proclaim his surprise at his error with as many histrionics as the audience will bear." In contradiction to what one may feel during the heat of a match, the author suggests that risks should be taken only when losing. For example, when serving at 0-30 take a chance; your opponent already has a great advantage with 50% of the game points. But when ahead 30-0 play it safe. Most points are won on errors, not winning shots. Gologor covers a lot of psychological ground: the aggression behind politesse, the times when anger and guilt are useful, the devastating aftereffects of missed opportunities. His courtside manner is casual and unintimidating, his prose free of psycho-jargon. There is, however, a bit too much commercial top spin in the book's title. Sensible Tennis may not be so flashy as Psychodynamic Tennis, but it would be more appropriate.
THE SENSE OF ORDER by E.H. Gombrich Cornell University; 411 pages; $38.50
Ordinarily, art histories are not the stuff of summer reading. But E.H. Gombrich is not the usual historian, and The Sense of Order is not a standard history. Subtitled "A study in the psychology of decorative art," this wittily illustrated volume ranges from a New Yorker cover of Saul Steinberg's to a wall inscription of Pompeii. Gombrich's central thesis concerns the need for order that resides in every human brain. Sometimes nature is accommodating: in hexagonal snowflakes, in the rhythmic chirping of crickets, in the natural laws of gravity and motion. Far more often, the eye sees chaos and the hand seeks to regulate it. The manner of regulation, says Gombrich, exhibits itself in decorative art. From the most elaborate Gothic structures to the smallest Christmas trees, individuals constantly attempt to fill in blank spaces and correct eccentricities. Some of the book's conclusions are debatable: "There are no laws imposing the same aim on any artist working at a given time ..." The Renaissance of Christian art would seem to refute that thesis; the poverty and angularity of urban environments surely have their influence on children who have to go to museums for anything more baroque than an equestrian statue. Yet even when he is perverse, Gombrich stimulates and entertains. His own volume is an imposition of high order on the profusion of art books that offer a thousand views but not a single vision.