comfortable, rambling home in Carmel, California, he has broken off his exercise routine to declare that there is no definition of a mental disorder. Its BS. I mean, you just cant define it. Then an odd, reflective look crosses his face, as if hes taking in the strangeness of this scene: Allen Frances, lead editor of the fourth edition of the American Psychiatric Associations Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (universally known as the DSM-IV), the guy who wrote the book on mental illness, confessing that these concepts are virtually impossible to define precisely with bright lines at the boundaries. For the first time in two days, the conversation comes to an awkward halt.

But he recovers quickly, and back in the living room he finishes explaining why he came out of a seemingly contented retirement to launch a bitter and protracted battle with the people, some of them friends, who are creating the next edition of the DSM. And to criticize them not just once, and not in professional mumbo jumbo that would keep the fight inside the professional family, but repeatedly and in plain English, in newspapers and magazines and blogs. And to accuse his colleagues not just of bad science but of bad faith, hubris, and blindness, of making diseases out of everyday suffering and, as a result, padding the bottom lines of drug companies. These arent new accusations to level at psychiatry, but Frances used to be their target, not their source. Hes hurling grenades into the bunker where he spent his entire career.