This book is about the intrusive fear that we may not be what we appear to be, or worse, that we may be only what we appear to be and nothing more. It's about the worry of being exposed as frauds in our profession, cads in our loves, as less than virtuously motivated actors when we are being agreeable, charitable, or decent. Why do we so often mistrust the motives of our own good deeds, thinking them fake good deeds, though the beneficiary of them gives us full credit? We know that many roles are supposed to be nothing more than fakery of a sort, playable with one hand tied behind one's back; we know that virtue itself cuts all kinds of deals with a benign form of hypocrisy that keeps us polite, kind, and acting properly. This book is about the roles we play and our anxieties of authenticity.