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This book was self-congruent: it was a passionate account of human's passion for creation -- art, science, and the self as a person. May wrote about the mind's sense of beauty. Out of many possible forms, dimly seen and partially explored unconsciously, people in creative activity tend to select the one that may not be the most useful or correct, but the most beautiful. This heightened sense of beauty is associated with anxiety, a shaking-up of memories and thought patterns. We can certainly feel that May, while composing the essays in this book, surely was gripped by this beauty and anxiety. He didn't claim that his narrative or "theory" was the closest to a "correct" one. All he said was that it was the one that completed the puzzle beautifully.

As is with all works of creation, the book reflected the limitations of its time and also the tendency to seek breakthrough from them. At the same time, we visit obsolete phrasings and conceptions (e.g. "Lesbian phase" as a label for gender and sexual exploration, Rorschach test perceived as a valid tool, etc.), while encountering timeless insights.

We may as well re-title this compilation using May's own favourite wording: "The Myth of Creating".