When I review a book, I usually have a copy right next to the computer, so I can refer to key passages and even quote a few lines. But this time I don't because I gave away my review copy right after I read it. I have a friend who's very close to her two sisters and I knew she'd enjoy reading this book. And I just ordered a gift copy to give a professional associate who's very close to her own sister.

That's the kind of book My Sister, My Self is: destined to keep circulating and (unless you're very careful) dog-eared and pencil-marked.

The theme of this book is, Your position as a sister will influence just about every area of your life - family, career, personality. What drew me into reading and re-reading is Stark's assertion that she can guess the birth order of a woman with only a few brief clues. Accountants (if I remember correctly) tend to be middle sisters.

And what amazed me is, she got my number! I am an older sister -- the bossy kind, not the caretaker type. And I fit her description quite accurately: totally independent and enjoy being in charge. I can't help noting how many older sisters tend to seek entrepreneurial careers and never really fit in as "team players."

I suspect most readers will do what I did: fast-forward to the chapters describing themselves. But I hope therapists and coaches will also enjoy reading this book because a lot of behavior that seems dysfunctional can be attributed directly to birth order. And from what Stark tells us, these influences go deep and can be hard to change.

Stark focuses solely on families with sisters, which means someone else has to write the book about sisters with brothers and only children. But Stark has been quite comprehensive, even including a large chapter about being a twin sister -- an experience far from my own.

What puts this book in the five-star category is Stark's willingness to discuss the dark side of sisterly relationships. Presumably, as a therapist, she's heard everything.

In particular, she recognizes that some women will experience the sisterly relationship as a drain on their energy with no rewards in sight. She's carefully non-judgmental. Perhaps because her study would attract women who care about their sisters, she offers few examples of sisters who "divorced" their relationship. Rather we hear a few quotes from women who don't want to give up, although the effort seems pointless. Frankly, I think many women will recognize themselves and feel reassured to fit into a category.

Sometimes a book leaves you wanting more because there's a gap in what's presented. Here I found myself wanting more because the book raised provocative questions. For example, what's too much: when does a sister get dragged down by ties that no longer deserve to be honored? When women don't have sisters in their lives, do they tend to seek out special friends or do they always have a sense of something missing? When sisters are spaced far apart (i.e., one is eight years older than the other), do they experience birth order relationships differently?

And while I respect a study of 400 women, I would find it instructive to talk about famous and literary examples of sisters. Author Lisa Scottoline, herself a twin, has explored the twin theme in her superb murder mysteries. In one best-seller, a well-known lawyer is stunned by the appearance of a strange woman -- a low-life claiming to be her missing twin sister. And in the WNBA, twins Cheryl and Coco Miller are now playing on separate teams, after playing together in high school and in an elite college program. They're both doing well.

In summary, I recommend reading this book before making your next gift list. It's the kind of book that (I suspect) many women will want to share. It's perfect for book clubs with a psychological edge -- the kind of book that makes you want to start a conversation.

As a doctoral student and researcher, I enjoyed reading widely in social psychology and applying theories to my own studies. So I hoped this book would shed light on some topics I used to deal with every day.

Unfortunately, OSB seems to belong to the genre of new journalism, a light sweep of the landscape rather than in-depth analysis. Slater reviewed a series of ten experiments, then followed up by interviewing anyone she could find who was connected to those experiments. She seems to seek an ordinary person's perspective, a way to make these experiments accessible to laypersons.

But anyone who's taught doctoral students can verify that making science accessible isn't easy or, in some cases, desirable. When Slater questions whether these lab studies really tell us about human nature, or report isolated atypical situations, she's questioning external validity -- a subject that merits a session or two of a graduate seminar and one that deserves more attention here.

Rather than translate scientific method for the benefit of the layperson, Slater tries to adapt the layperson's perspective. And I'm not sure what we gain.

I believe we give up considerable understanding when we drop the scientific perspective. For instance, Slater reports that 25% of Loftus's subjects were quite willing to create false memories. Only 25%? The scary part isn't the statistic. It's that we don't know if a recovered-memory lawsuit is being brought by one of the 25% or by the 75% who presumably remember accurately. And it's scary to believe that police can convince some suggestible people that they did certain things.

I know little about these experiments, but I have read enough about Milgram's studies to know that Slater gives us an incomplete account and explanation. Slater chased down the personality trait path to explain differences between compliant and resistant subjects.

In fact, researchers who studied Milgram's papers found that those who resisted were able to relate to elements of their own identity beyond "experimental subject." For instance, an electrician refused because he recognized the voltage ratings would be lethal. Other subjects resisted when the "confederate" (an actor playing the experimenter) deviated from Milgram's carefully prepared script, saying something other than "continue."

So bottom line I think research stories are far more interesting when we read journal articles, the playing field of science, rather than seek sensationalism. I am concerned that psychology professors and clinicians would praise this book. Perhaps they've gotten away from research after grad school or never became involved in the first place.

Slater also seems unaware of studies of sociology of science, which would have explained why studies conducted away from the elite schools (such as the "rat park") tend to be discredited. Study after study shows that journals respond more favorably to papers submitted by researchers from prestige schools. Some sociologists who study deviance believe that deviance is in fact created by those who have already earned elite status. Harvard researchers have more clout than do those at schools like Simon Fraser.

And I am surprised that Slater omitted perhaps the most famous experiment of all, the Stanford prison experiment. Philip Zimbardo conducted extensive follow-up studies of participants. This single study has generated research on topics ranging from shyness to burnout. Sociologist, Erving Goffman, a master of the social experiment, also was omitted.

Perhaps Slater's most serious omission is her failure to address the underlying theoretical issue, the power of the situation vs. the role of the individual. Milgram's collection of personality data seems to represent a careful attempt to rule out confounding variables (a term she should explain) rather than any beliefs about personality.

We can see these differences embedded in culture. Western societies, especially the US, tend to explain behavior in terms of individuals. Our criminal justice system tends to deny the role of situation as a mitigating factor. And as a career consultant, I talk to clients -- intelligent people, often with graduate degrees and senior management experience -- who insist that a personality test will lead them to their true vocation.

This type of framing would have been far more helpful than Slater's week attempt to conclude by identifying themes. Then again, I never understood Slater's background: she attended graduate school (where?) and was a mental patient. A background in research scholarship would have been more appropriate.

Art of Mending goes down smooth and easy, like a good drink.

Berg introduces us first to Laura through childhood memories. Soon we meet the grown-up Laura, who's got a near-perfect little family and a satisfying, profitable quilt-making business. Like Laura, the tone of the book is cozy and domestic.

Just before returning to her parents' home for a family reunion, Laura gets a call from her sister Caroline, requesting a private meeting with Laura and their brother Steve. Caroline's always had a flair for the dramatic, so nobody takes her seriously. But Caroline's sense of family duty kicks in. She's determined to help her sister fight whatever demons showed up this time.

We know we're about to learn a story of some kind of family abuse, and sure enough, we do. But it's not the typical story of a male abusing a female while a mother looks the other way. Instead, there's some complexity, based on family history. And to her credit, Berg gives us a realistic, plausible ending, risking the frustration of her readers.

I have to agree with other reviewers. The characters aren't deeply drawn. We learn a lot about Laura's husband, yet the family seems as stereotyped as characters in a television show. Siblings Steve and Caroline seem shadowy and Maggie, Laura's best friend, does seem to be the one-size-fits-all female buddy. Laura's marriage to Pete seems realistic: she tolerates some idiosyncrasies yet they're firmly a team. And the discovery of childhood secrets has been used far too many times as a plot device.

Still, Berg is a thoroughly professional writer. She moves the action swiftly and her prose style is flawless and spare. So bottom line, it's a good fast read, if you don't want to spend time analyzing the characters. And I could see a book club discussing, "Could this have happened? How realistic was the ending? Is Laura's family too good to be true?"

Not having a family myself (unless you count the dog and two cats), I'd have to look elsewhere for answers.

Spencer-Fleming has created a masterful, multi-layered mystery, not scary but suspenseful.

Episcopal priest Clare Fergusson leads her congregation through the beginning of Lent. Her parish faces financial calamity as the roof needs to be replaced and (by one vote) the vestry agrees to maintain the historical architecture of the building, rather than opt for a cheaper, modern solution.

Board member Lacey Marshall suggests donating her trust fund to the church, although this move will take funds from the Ketchem clinic her mother founded. And right after Al Rouse, resident physician, learns the money will be taken away, he disappears. Clare finds herself drawn into the search when Police Chief Russ Van Alstyne investigates a woman she's been counseling.

Not that Clare's an unwilling participant. A former Army chopper pilot, she enjoys a taste of adventure. She draws on her military skills of tracking and map reading. And she's very good friends with the married Chief, a source of scandal to many in the community.

Author Spencer-Fleming interrupts the contemporary story to give us glimpses into the Ketchem family in the 20's, 30's and 40's. We learn about the tragic deaths of Lacey Marshall's siblings, but it's not till the end of the book that we learn the full story. We discover a spooky parallel between the contemporary doctor's disappearance and the historical disappearance of Lacey's father, who simply vanished one night. Eventually we learn where the Ketchem fortune came from and why it's referred to as blood money.

Spencer-Fleming's history, like Sharyn McCrumb's, shows us how life really was lived in a specific US region. We go beyond the glamorized "good old days," realizing the cruelty of the Prohibition laws (not unlike our modern drug laws in some ways) and the suffering of families during epidemics that we no longer comprehend.

I couldn't put this book down. The characters are three-dimensional and very realistic. In particular, Clare's friendship with Russ Van Alstyne resembles friendships I've had with single and married men, where the mind-to-mind component was stronger than any other bond. We're meant to realize that men and women can be friends while remaining faithful to their romantic partners.

The Episcopal priests I've met have been like Clare: smart and down-to-earth, not especially holy, let alone holier-than-thou.

Out of the Deep reminds me not of cozies, but of the lyrical mysteries of Sharyn McCrumb and Nevada Barr, filled with history, geography and complex relationships. Clare belongs to the genre of strong, tough women in nontraditional jobs. And Russ fits the genre of complex small town law enforcement officers, not unlike the sheriff that Anna Pigeon will be marrying, hopefully, in the next Nevada Barr.

Mysteries like these don't get written in a hurry, and I'm already eagerly awaiting Spencer-Fleming's next. --

As other readers have noted, Second Assistant belongs to a new sub-sub-genre: the harried underling on the edge of the glamour world. So if you've read Nanny Diaries and Devil Wears Prada, you'll have a strong sense of deja vue.

Although both these other books were better written and more tightly plotted (i.e., no loose ends like the disappearing therapist and no look-alike glamour men who hit on the heroine), Second Assistant deserves to be read. Here the Devil isn't a person but an entire industry. Naylor and Hare give us an inside view of life in Hollywood, from the bottom up.

The heroine (improbably nicknamed "Lizzie") takes a second assistant job when her Washington political world falls apart. To her own surprise, she finds herself caught up in Hollywood, enjoying the life and hoping for more. She befriends a neighbor and a few equally oppressed underlings as well as the nice guy from the coffee shop, who turns out to be more Hollywood than she ever expected.

I gave Second Assistant three stars because I kept turning the pages. I liked the heroine's openness and admired her ability to cope with all sorts of bizarre situations without losing her dignity. And I'm amazed that she'd say yes to all sorts of requests, even from the boss's wife, but I guess that's why I never would have succeeded as a Second Assistant.

The saddest and truest lesson of this book. For some people, especially young attractive women, college degrees and raw intelligence will be less important than willingness to tolerate high frustration levels and creativity in carrying out a list of tasks that, at times, resembles a scavenger hunt rather than a business project.

Retained to investigate property appropriation of long-ago internment camp veteran Amadeo Bandolini, Mary DiNunzio finds herself caught up in the story of a young man who apparently committed suicide over sixty years ago. Ordered out of town, Mary visits the site of the camp in Missoula, Montana, and becomes convinced Amadeo didn't commit suicide. He was murdered. And, in the present, the lawyer for Amadeo's son's estate is also murdered.

Mary soon learns the identity of the murderer, although she hasn't a shred of proof. And there's no motive.

But in the style we've come to expect from Scottoline, Mary can't just leave matters to the police. She undertakes a spot of breaking-and-entering, faces down a very wealthy and powerful adversary, falls into a trap that gets her locked into a car trunk, and a whole lot more. Meanwhile, she's dodging a series of blind dates from nice-enough guys who don't stand a chance with the ghost of her dead husband, Mike. Her aging parents confront health challenges. And she matches wits with Judy Carrier, her all-time best friend.

The joy of this book comes from Scottoline's powerful plotting and sense of drama. Seemingly small throwaways -- like the curvey letters on the doors of Italian households on Mercer Street -- turn out to be relevant. Mary's blind dates turn the plot wheel a little faster.

Mary is the deepest and most sympathetic of Scottoline's characters -- possibly her alter ego, as she's hinted in interviews. We see Judy Carrier through Mary's eyes, even when Carrier takes stage center. Benny Rosato remains a distant matriarchal power figure. This time, Scottoline wisely turns the story over to Mary, complete with Mary's sardonic humor that she doesn't dare say aloud. Some of these scenes -- e.g., when Mary compares a going-nowhere conversation to a high school French lesson -- are simply brilliant. Only a pro could pull it off.

And only a special author could keep the suspense going as Mary pages back through dusty archives. The ending is plausible and fun, though just a tad coincidental. But if you make it that far, you won't care.

Lisa Scottoline could be a model for wannabe mystery writers. Then again, maybe she shouldn't. She makes it look easy but it's incredibly hard. I can't wait for the next volume in the series...

Just one question for Lisa: When will Judy and Mary make partner in the Rosato firm? They're not really "young associates." They made partner in a big white-shoe law firm already, and they're getting a lot of seasoning.

Okay, I admit it: I'll pick up almost any book with the word "cat" or "dog" on the cover. I'd never read Geneen Roth before, and I didn't expect to like this book very much. But this book won me over the way Blanche won over the author: slowly and subtly.

Roth was in a position to be a great cat-owner. She lived in a city with access to alternative veterinary medicine as well as cat therapists, groomers and more. So when Blanche entered her life, Roth's love spilled over. And it couldn't happen to a nicer cat.

I must admit I turned the pages a little faster when Roth panicked about losing her cat. Blanche is tougher than he looks, I wanted to say.

Many people will find parallels with Roth's family in their own lives -- or their friends' lives. Roth tells the story movingly, but matter-of-factly, without self-pity.

But Blanche remains the hero of this book and Roth's life. Perhaps the most telling passage comes when she writes that, "Blanche is like food once was -- he doesn't talk back, he doesn't hit, he doesn't go away...also, and I think this is important, he doesn't have any calories."

Blanche really does fill a hole in the author's heart but, unlike food, Blanche helps Roth grow and accept new relationships. Roth acquires not only a husband but also a dog. And she takes on a spiritual teacher, distinguished from a therapist in one of the best sections of the book. A therapist, says Roth, helps you heal the damage from what was done to you. A teacher helps you heal from the way you reacted to what was done to you.

The perfect gift for a sensitive cat lover. Then again, what true cat person isn't sensitive?

Being well into what Trafford calls "my time" -- the time when family obligations slow down and we get time for ourselves -- I was eager to gain insights from this book. As a career coach, I work with men and women who have moved to "my time" or realize they're close.

Unfortunately, I couldn't recognize myself (or my clients) in this book, and I couldn't figure out what My Time was trying to do. Trafford is a journalist, not a counselor or career coach, and she has conducted what appear to be dozens of interviews with people at midlife. Unlike Po Bronson, who explored career change through interviews, she shows only happy, optimistic people who make few mistakes and experience even fewer financial woes.

My Time can't be viewed as journalism. Trafford adds words of wisdom -- not especially profound and not new to anyone who's been reading the self-help genre or surfing the web. For example, on page 38, she writes, "You look for potential in the daisy by your doorstep," rather than reaching for the more distant North Star. Compare this advice to what's contained in a better book, Finding Your Own North Star. Martha Beck describes a 55-year-old who starts a business after losing his job and retirement. In just a few sentences, Beck sketches a much more realistic, hopeful story.

So my biggest complaint: About Time straddles between self-help and light journalism, yet fails to fit either category. We get snippets of generalization -- e.g., dreaming helps us focus and we need to have plans -- but no tips for implementation.

My second grinchy comment: About Time trades on generalizations. In the fifties, we have increased medical bills. Older adults handle stress better. We have greater wisdom. We want to find meaning. These beliefs are comforting but not accurate.

I know lots of people who still enjoy the edge that comes with making real money. Meaning? They'll donate to charity -- and frankly, they're not good at doing warm-and-fuzzy.

Wisdom? When you're thrust into a new life, you start over. Often skills and knowledge that served you in the corporate world become irrelevant -- even harmful -- during a life transition. Any real estate agent meets midlife retirees who decide to move to the country, only to find themselves isolated and miserable. They lose money as they sell their retirement homes and move back to where they belong.

Generalizations are especially dangerous when writing about midlife, because people in the 50-to-80 age range are so diverse. We are what we've lived. In a big city gym, I once observed a group of fifty-plus exercisers, walking slowly around in a circle. In the next room, members in the same age group were training to run a marathon.

At fifty, you may be fully employed at the peak of your career. Or you may be newly laid-off, forced to discover a new path, possibly with no retirement savings. You may be ready for a career change. I've met 45-year-olds entering college and others who trained for careers as truck drivers and flight attendants. In their fifties, they'll be newbies.

That's why the comparison with adolescence fails. In the US, nearly every fourteen-year-old is in 9th grade. A few are in 8th or 10th. But legally they're all in school, with a few home-schooled, and they're getting ready for high school.
A ten-year or twenty-year stint will pay huge dividends. At fifty, a ten-year-stint will have limited payback time.

Finally, this book is relentlessly cheerful. In a poignant interview, "Nancy" reports dealing with ageism when she applies for a challenging, full-time "real" job. She freelances and consults. She's learning to reinvent herself, chirps the commentary.

But we're missing a key point. If we have thirty years ahead of us, we have time for another career. Society's infrastructure and business culture have not caught up with this reality. There's still a stigma to starting over in many professions and often the doors are closed. Free lance work and volunteering do not compensate for the loss. For some of us, the daisy on the doorstep will be a reminder that we're missing our full-blown rose garden -- or our daily treks to the steamy jungle!

I wanted to be positive until I came to the end of the book, where the author rejoices in how "good," "strong" and "generous" people are. Anyone who agrees to invest in a journalistic interview will come across as good and generous.

Strong? Trafford says, "[F]or the most part, they repaired or renewed after loss..." What does "most part" mean? For that matter, what does "repaired or renewed" mean? What's the difference between the "most part" and the "least part?"

I didn't see examples of people who were tossed out of the corporate world in their mid-fifties, with limited options in their own industry. I didn't see examples of people who lacked insurance to get the kind of health care these interviewees took for granted. Nor did I see examples of lonely people who had to make new friends after losing a profession or spouse.

Midlife can be fun and rewarding but it's not easy. Happy books sell -- and light interviews keep us entertained. We still need a book that combines realism with optimism, even at the expense of light reading and good cheer.

The title of Liz Garbus's brilliant film contains an irony. "Girlhood" conveys images of fluffy dresses, teddybears, and innocent first dates.

But Girlhood's two protagonists, Shanae and Megan, lose their girlhood, spending teen years locked up or (in Megan's case) in foster homes. Their "girlhood" is about drug-addiction, crimes, getting locked up and trying to get out. They speak about degrees of assault as calmly as their suburban contemporaries might speak of varsity and junior varsity cheering squads.

The success of Girlhood comes from Garbus's ability to transform our image of these girls from "juvenile delinquents' to complex young women, products of their environment as well as their own choices. We see how the system fails these young women, but to her credit, Garbus does not dwell on larger "society" topics. Instead, she focuses on the individuals and the impact of institutions comes through loud and clear.

Shanae's family was smart and supportive, although her mother had to work long hours to support the family. Inevitably Shanae got into trouble on the streets. I'm reminded of a segment in Bowling for Columbine: The mother of a child who brought a gun to school, killing a young girl, worked seventy hours a week and still couldn't make ends meet.

Shanae is easier to like, with a natural charisma. She's articulate and poised. You can feel her strength as she sits silently during "meetings," patiently listening while she's discussed in the third person. T

he scene of Shanae getting ready for a prom is triumphant and also moving, as we realize what it cost her to achieve her goal. She graduated fourth in her high school class, in a year that saw her released from juvenile hall and losing a mother to heart disease -- a failure of our health care system. I hope she achieves her dream of law school.

Megan, as smart as Shanae, continues to be haunted by the heritage of a mother who keeps returning to prison for drug-related crimes. She's almost a stereotype: raised in foster homes, bipolar, lacking role models outside the juvenile home. Yet as the film shows, she's also a unique individual who's surviving and staying out of jail.

In a way, these girls were lucky. Their juvenile home must be a model of its kind. Staff were tough but concerned and the girls had teddy bears. Shanae had room to grow and Megan ... well, Megan could go her own way.

After reading the dust jacket of this video, I was afraid the film, especially the ending, would be depressing. It wasn't. If anything, Girlhood shows how Megan and Shanae transcend their environments. And an investment in humane institutions can pay huge dividends. Not quite uplifting but definitely hopeful.

If I had to pick one word to describe this book, I'd say "wise." Lerner avoids two traps of therapist-authors: She doesn't rely on theory and jargon and she doesn't jettison her education to serve up easy-to-swallow formulas. She's not afraid to talk tough and to season her wisdom with humor.

I love her opening. Cats live in the moment, she says, and goes on to compare the relative advantages of being a cat versus being a human. But then, she concludes, it doesn't matter: if you're reading this book, it's safe to say you're not a cat.

And unlike many authors, Lerner offers a balance between relationship and work stresses. She describes a powerful but controversial intervention she designed for a young man who feared social rejection. While she reminds us she took into account the young man's non-threatening persona, I'm still amazed he didn't get arrested. The point, however, is well-taken. Action, not insight, creates change.

I especially appreciate Lerner's advice: "Be able to live without your job." She's right: being free to walk allows you to speak up for your values. And although she doesn't make this point, I've found that when we're free to leave, we usually end up neither having to leave nor wanting to go.

And, adds Lerner, remember that the workplace is not your family. Organizations exist to ensure their own economic vitality -- i.e, their own survival. "Your work family may treat you in such an insensitive and uncaring manner that it will take your breath away." SO true.

Dealing with emotion, Lerner is more realistic than most authors. Recognizing unhappiness requires courage, yet unhappiness itself can help us become brave enough to make changes. Anger and suffering can become part of who we are, so letting go leads to a feeling of homesickness.

All in all, a superb addition to the self-help shelf. Recommended to all.