Excerpt from Dr. Mütter's Marvels by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

At the very first lecture, Mutter began to understand the difference between regular surgery and les opérations plastiques.

The patient, often greeted with gasps of horror and pity, stood stock-still and unafraid as the surgeon made his examination. These regrettables didn't show the unease normal patients did; their eyes didn't wander back to the door from which they entered and through which they could also escape. Gradually, Mutter grew to understand why.

In regular surgical lectures, patients rarely understood the trouble they were in. When the knife first pierced the skin, they could come to the sudden realization that a life without this surgery might still be a happy one. Thus, escape was the best possible solution and a choice they wanted to exercise right away.

Patients of les opérations plastiques, however, were often too aware of their lot in life: that of a monster. It was inescapable. They hid their faces when walking down the street. They took cover in back rooms, excused themselves when there were knocks at the door. They saw how children howled at the sight of them. They understood the half a life they were condemned to live and the envy they couldn't help but feel toward others—whole people who didn't realize how lucky they were to wear the label HUMAN.

It was not uncommon for these patients to enter the surgical room fully prepared to die. Death was a risk they happily took for the chance to bring some level of peace and normality to their mangled faces or agonized bodies. The surgeries weren't physically necessary to save their lives; rather, they were done so the patient might have the gift of living a better, normal life. That is what les opérations plastiques promised.

Plastique was a French adjective that translated to "easily shaped or molded." That was the hope with this surgery: to reconstruct or repair parts of the body by primarily using materials from the patient's own body, such as tissue, skin, or bone.

The surgeries, of course, were not always successful—if a patient's problem had been so easy to fix, it would have been corrected by lesser doctors years ago. But other times—and these were the times the audience waited for, the ones that made Mutter's hair stand on edge—the end result was nothing short of miraculous.

With a careful hand, a steady knife, and a piece of bone, a surgeon could reconstruct a man's nose with a twisted portion of his own forehead. A burned woman's eye could close for the first time in ten years, thanks to a surgeon's knife cutting the binding scar tissue and replacing it with skin from her own cheek. Cleft palates were fused back together—trickier than it might seem, for the sensitivities when working on the roof of the mouth meant the patient was in constant threat of vomiting, which would tear open delicate sutures and ensure infection.

Mutter seized every opportunity to witness these plastic operations firsthand. He used his charms to become an interne at the hospital to which Dupuytren was attached so he could watch the great master at work. But he didn't limit his focus to Dupuytren, and soon became so familiar with each surgeon—their style and flourishes, their weaknesses and strengths—that he began to view them as his friends, even though they never shared a single word. He took copious notes, drew detailed diagrams, and bought every relevant book he could find and afford. It became his happy obsession.

Mutter hadn't been in Paris even a year when he realized his time was running out. His limited funds were being swiftly exhausted, and he still needed to fund his trip back home. His newly made friends in the Parisian medical society tried to dissuade him. They adored the dashing young doctor with the "quick, active, appropriative mind . . . readily imbued with the spirit of his distinguished [Parisian] teachers." They implored him to stay, pointing out how much work a charming American doctor could get in a bustling city full of English-speaking tourists.

Excerpted from Dr. Mütter's Marvels by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz. Copyright © 2014 by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz. Excerpted by permission of Gotham Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.