The minute I opened this book, I was drawn into one of my most favorite myths ... and from a woman's point of view. Author Jennifer Saint took a brave chance for a first-time novelist -- retelling an ancient myth has been done so many times by authors far more famous and with long track records -- Hawthorne, Renault, and more recently, Madeline Miller (not to mention the originals, Homer, Ovid, and Virgil). That said, she did a credible job, in that I and others, I gather, are still engaged. Haven't finished the book yet, but intend to. I can't help notice, however, that Renault and Miller are far better at retelling myths. They have developed special styles that are really fabulous at enveloping you into the world of magic-realism. Saint tends to rely on overwriting (what else can you do when describing gods?) and often falls into cliche. Nevertheless a great tale is just that, and Saint should be commended.

Despite its solemn title, Mighty Justice: My Life in Civil Rights is lively, engaging, and stirring on so many levels. First, it's a memoir by Dovie J Rountree, who earned her degree from Howard Law School in 1950, when black female attorneys were virtually unheard of, and thus won her entrance into the inner circle of the 20th century Civil Rights movement. Thus is it also a primary source history of the heartbreakingly difficult struggle of that movement as it moved up from Jim Crow through "separate but equal" and, finally, if still imperfectly, approaches "equal justice under the law." Dovie, who died in 2018 at 104, is a vibrant figure whose legal cases take on the excitement of a miniseries. Highly recommended.

I loved this book from beginning to end, partly because I had just graduated from college when Yale opened its doors to women. I visited Yale in the bad old days when we Smithies piled onto the bus each weekend to see our beaux in New Haven. I was naive enough to be envious of that first and second class: "Think of the attention! Think of the choice of boyfriends!" Little did I know that the college wouldn't let these very young women have locks on their bathroom doors and that the chivalry I had experienced as a date wore away quickly when the Yale male bastion was threatened. But how strong these first Yale women were! Each in her own way, they fought for their place -- on the hockey fields and even at Mory's. Some who felt they had to leave because of sexual assault actually returned to earn their degree after all! And they raised the whole academic level of the college, because unlike many of the men, they took learning seriously. It was very enlightening to look back at these pioneer women from the perspective of "Me Too."

It was an absolute honor to read this book and a double honor to review it. The author's style is so flawless and transparent that it disappears; you feel you're suddenly in the very scene that is unfolding. The characters are members of the African diaspora, from Nigeria, Zambia and other countries, moving through European and American cities in search of an education, a better life, friends or family they have lost, all the time mourning the countries they left and trying maintain their dignity, even their lives. They connect with each other in relationships that are provisional, sometimes evanescent, but nonetheless searing, intense, and heartbreaking.. The nameless (!) main character, whose voice tells much of the story, is breathtakingly gentle and tender, despite multiple dehumanizing experiences. The other characters connect with him delicately, weaving in and out of each other's lives, leaving then meeting again. I am an older white woman, an educated easterner -- and who is this Helon Habila, a Nigerian, so learned in the English language that he quotes Milton and Donne? How does someone so "different" from me create such profound and lovely people with whom I can relate so deeply, heart to heart?

As the Titanic sinks in in less than 2 hours on April 14,1912, the crew on a nearby ship, the Californian, tragically miss the short window of time to come to the rescue. The narrator, a journalist who specializes in stories about deadly accidents, explores the mistakes, missed communications, and failures of character that made this possible. The mystery unfolds a little at a time and is never really solved, but the book insightfully explores the closed-minded denial, the shifting of blame, and self-protective rationalizations which surround any tragedy resulting from human error. There are many fascinating conversations and brief-but-shining appearances of woman characters, but to me the book lacked a certain focus, which diminished its impact. I had trouble from the beginning differentiating the various characters comprising the crew of the Californian; I reread the beginning several times, but still struggled. These organizational difficulties took a bit away from the otherwise great idea and beautiful writing.

What Lies Between Us completely swept me up in the beauty of the language and the passion of the main character, a young girl from Sri Lanka who had a tortured past from which she could never quite escape. The author's description of the abuse and what followed from it as she lived her life was totally true and moving (as a psychotherapist who works with early trauma, I found the rendering of the experience spot on). Also the author's description of the beauty of being obsessed with love was completely absorbing.

After I finished, I found myself sighing deeply, with tears in my eyes. I couldn't give it a fully excellent review, though, because, on reflection the book fell just a shade short: I couldn't quite believe the twist at the end, and I am too much of an optimist to feel that the amount of love and support in this woman's life couldn't save her from her central tragedy.

After reading three pages of this book, Herman Koch became this summer's "it" author for me. I was completely engrossed for days, then I ran to download his earlier novel, "The Dinner," and ripped through that one, too. But -- here are my serious reservations -- I would recommend this book ONLY to a certain kind of weird reader, such as myself, who enjoys the intricate and twisted psychology of careless and dangerous people, who doesn't need to like or identify with the characters, and who finds it interesting, not to say compelling, to follow the distorted rationalizations of a completely unreliable narrator. It's a really unsettling book, one that can leave you physically and morally seasick as you attempt to return to normal life after leaving its troubled and ultimately doomed world. Briefly, Dr. Marc Schlosser, who tells the story, and whose personal outlook and medical ethics are completely upsetting to any decent person, gets involved socially and professionally, with a bunch of people whom he knows are creepy right away. Nevertheless, the good doctor takes his wife and their two beautiful and innocent preadolescent daughters on vacation with them, and the forebodings of doom darken with every chapter. I've always wanted to gain insight into the kind of parent that exposes young daughters, just at the time of their utmost vulnerability and allure, to the most exploitative kind of environments. Are they in denial? Don't they care? Anyway, reading about these young creatures romping around among beasts of prey is both hair-raising and addictive, or at least it was for me. I didn't care for the ending -- I felt it was a stretch, and it gave the guilty players a free pass -- but when I lent the book on to a good friend, she read the first chapter, shuddered, and returned it. Oh, and did I say, I couldn't have borne the point of view if Koch weren't a totally excellent writer, which he is!

Irritable Hearts: A PTSD Love Story is an irritable but utterly fascinating memoir by Mac McClelland, a journalist in her young thirties, who specializes in stories about breaking crises in chaotic and dangerous environments. She went to Haiti in 2010 to cover the rape epidemic encouraged by the island's deeper dip into lawlessness and poverty caused by the monster earthquake earlier in the year. During that visit, she saw something so horrific (even in the book, she does not give details), that it significantly rearranged the neurons in her brain in the way all trauma does. The book narrates the two-plus years of disregulation in emotion, thought and behavior that resulted in the awful loneliness, roiling emotions, disconnection, and overwhelm that every trauma victim suffers.

"Irritable Hearts" is a name given in 1871 by a doctor named Da Costa to the battle fatigue found in soldiers after the American Civil War. I call the book itself "irritable" because I found the author, her story, and her writing completely annoying for the first 90 pages. I become absorbed by any memoir far more quickly if I immediately find the narrator reliable and likeable. At first I found Mac neither. This woman went by herself to a country that was without a functioning police, government, or infrastructure. She hired male guides and taxi drivers she hardly knew to go visit rape shelters. She began an immediate affair with a French soldier she met in the hotel swimming pool in that previously-described country. She presented herself right away as hard-drinking and heavy-smoking. And she was surprised to be exposed to trauma? Seriously? As a woman who has traveled widely by herself, I judged her all over the place. As far as I was concerned, Mac violated the major commandment of women who travel alone: First, invite no harm. Her breathtaking disregard for her own safety made my hair stand on end. Also, it took work to get used to her writing style, a jumble of convoluted sentences, moving back and forth in time, imparting far too many ideas all at once.

But I didn't quit reading. And after the first 100 pages, after she convinced me that staging rough sex with a male friend, and writing about it for Mother Jones, actually helped her with her PTSD, a change in my attitude occurred. Completely counter-intuitively, I developed a grudging respect for her. Which grew. I got used to her writing style. I admired the way she chose wise and knowledgeable therapists to help her. Her fight with her disordered mind seemed to last and last, but she never gave up.

My faith in her journalistic skills increased with each page. In the midst of this crazy story, she had read, and managed to include, important material from the major historical and psychological literature on trauma. She'd really done her homework. I know this because I am a psychotherapist, and one reason I chose to review this book was that I wish to deepen my specialty in trauma by learning about it from the inside out. Mac's story contributed layers of insight. As her story unfolded, I saw the links between her disordered thoughts and emotions and those of my own traumatized clients. I saw the societal denial and the stigmatizing attitude she describes in my own reactions. This book is not for everyone. But if you've ever been interested as to why soldiers with PTSD seek redeployment, why "rescued" prostitutes return to "the life," why drug addicts that have been clean for 10 years can snap and end up in an alley with a needle in their arms, you will appreciate the insights in this book.

Oh, and by the way, that ill-considered affair that began in a Haitian swimming pool? It lasted, despite the fact that Mac lived in San Francisco and Nick in rural France. He was exactly the healing influence she needed, able to hang in while her moods swung wildly, because he himself was trauma survivor. It was another example of the "across a crowded room" phenomenon, the mysterious way people sense their mutual compatibility instantly. Read this book if you dare.