Books like The Slowworm's Song — picked by fans

This is a master class in investigative journalism and in nonfiction storytelling. Radden Keefe is one of my journalistic role models, and this book about the troubles in Northern Ireland is gripping from page one as it investigates the 1972 murder and abduction of Jean McConville in a way that probably only a foreigner could do, given the sensitivity of the topic. It is a vital historical document, a gripping thriller, and an empathetic social observation all in one.  

Few today know of moral injury, and I found this book to be a great introduction to the condition. The heart of it concerns betrayal—by those above and even ourselves.

Often seen as the father of “moral injury,” Jonathan Shay reveals that the condition itself actually stretches deep into the bowels of history, at least as far as Shakespeare, if not the Homeric epics written 2,400 years earlier: a reminder that everything old is new again. 

Rather than acting as ventriloquist, Shay quotes his patients, allowing the veterans to speak for themselves; to express their traumas and the consequences thereof. And he emphasizes, as few do, the responsibility of society to aid in healing those traumas.

An accessible, practical read for understanding moral injury, trauma, and our communal responsibilities.

Oftentimes, we focus on the injured individual, forgetting that the injuries extend to—and harm—others in our immediate orbit: spouses, children, family, and friends. I appreciated, therefore, that Wood, in detailing moral injuries to our servicemembers, simultaneously exposes the reader to the soul wound-adjacent injuries to our loved ones, reminding us of the aphorism, “hurt people hurt people.” 

My list contains a theme, of course: that the responsibility for helping those living with moral injury and post-traumatic stress heal lies beyond the individual, requires the community. So I welcomed Wood’s willingness to cite the “prefab patriotism,” to borrow Barbara Ehrenreich’s words, of American civilians and their “thank you for your service” platitudes as also worthy of blame. Healing, as Wood rightfully suggests, requires listening without judgment.

A provocative title combines with an introspective account of one soldier’s slow descent into madness to provide an edgy read. I enjoyed Edmonds’ choice of a unique narrative device, jumping backward and forward in his story, to introduce the impossible questions with equally hard answers he faced advising an Iraqi official involved in interrogation—and Edmonds’ ensuing breakdown.

The lion’s share of war literature concerning moral injury and post-traumatic stress comes from “trigger pullers.” But in God is Not Here, we see how war spares no one. And, in exposing war’s reach and how trauma can affect anyone, I believe Edmonds validates—rightfully so—those who might otherwise feel their trauma doesn’t “measure up” to those who experienced “real” trauma.

I loved eight-year-old Viva’s struggle to connect with her entrancing but erratic mother, Charlotte. Viva is desperate to get away, partly because she’s afraid of becoming her mother. I was entranced with their endless, joyful, though stress-filled, hours together. I was delighted to see Viva find herself in her talent for dance.

And I was heartsick that Viva’s success paralleled Charlotte’s descent into drink as she faced the reality of her own failures as an artist. I rooted desperately for Viva to avoid her mother’s mistakes and take control of her life.

A really great short story collection can sweep you off your feet and take you to a lot of different places, in a way that novels can't quite manage. And Swamy's debut collection is haunting in the best possible way. These dreamlike stories feature characters who are lost and dislocated, carried along by other people's desires, and the best of them have something to say about art as well as relationships. In one story, an artist who is descending into alcoholism gets into a relationship with the god Krishna, and in another, a "laughter artist" has perfected her laughter to the point where all laughter seems artificial. Swamy conveys the feeling of being lost but seen, in a really beautiful, arresting way.

This book revolutionized the way I perceived alcohol addiction. It presented a groundbreaking view that alcohol is just as addictive as tobacco, affecting everyone.

The Easyway method breathed new life into curing my old belief that alcohol was addictive to only a select few. I felt inspired to break free from the clutches of alcohol because I realized I was not defective and that there is a full easy cure, just like a past cigarette smoker.

I love this book for its revolutionary approach and the genuine hope it offers in ‘easily’ setting us free from the alcohol trap.

Rorabaugh argues convincingly that alcohol of several types—but mostly rum and whisky—were part and parcel of, and at times even drove, early national American culture. Solo and group binges increased from 1790 to 1820 as the population tried to adapt to anxious and uncertain changes in their lives. Drinking became aligned with liberty—taverns were the “seedbeds of the revolution” and the “nurseries of freedom.” And although boozing came to be an early element in what was defined as the American character, the temperance movement was not far off.

I love this book because it showcases the essential goodness of people. In these times of hate-filled words and dishonesty, that’s an affirmation we all need. August is a teacher on an RV trip to national parks to scatter his son’s ashes—a trip he wants to take on his own, in grief and bitterness. Instead, because he’s just a good guy, he ends up with three tag-alongs—a pair of boys, wounded by their father’s neglect and self-absorption, and a dog. The trip—and the kindness they inspire in each other—helps them all heal. It’s a trip that changes them all forever for the better.

I sat on a twin bed in rehab, turned to the back of the book, one of the personal stories published in the book, and felt like the narrator came out of the book, sat across from me, and told me her story.

Bill W. and Dr. Bob started a miracle fellowship that led millions like me to recover. However, every chapter in the book can be anyone’s story. Unfortunately, many people feel that if they don't have a drug or alcohol problem, then they have “no problems.” 

I read every story; I wanted to believe I had a chance if these people had straightened out their lives and were happy about it. In the beginning, the chapters were tough-hitting in defining how we honestly forget humility, gratitude, and simple service that leads to fulfilling lives.

I can read this book over and over again, and I do.