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by Daniel J. Carlat , Free Press, New York, 2010, 256pp.
They don't come anymore. There was a time when subtly attractive women, occasionally men, would linger in my waiting room hoping to catch my attention. Sure, come in. I have a few minutes.
These were the drug reps. Beyond their flattering attentions, they always had something to leave for me, a sample or a pen or a brochure with scientific studies. They don't come anymore. I didn't write enough prescriptions. I am a "low writer." For them, a nonentity. But for Daniel J. Carlat, I am a member of the "lost" generation of psychiatrists approaching retirement age, those trained prior to the advent of the psychopharmacology explosion and whose points of view are primarily psychotherapeutic, those who regard...