Originally I was fascinated by the mention of Synanon on the back cover. Having grown up in the closest town to one of the cult's communes, I remember the hush of shock when we'd see the members shopping in our conservative neighborhoods. Their shaved heads (all) and oversized earrings set them apart as "other", and the uniform of denim overalls was further proof that they were a pack. Nowadays, such a get-up wouldn't even warrant a glance, but back then (the sixties), conformity was the absolute norm. Really, it's pretty funny when you realize that they were being judged on conforming, but not the way we were. That could be fleshed out into a lengthy conversation for another day, couldn't it? But cult that they were, the original good intentions of the organization unsurprisingly morphed into control of families, marriages, and children. That alone is chilling. But this book follows a family who escaped, although one cannot escape oneself. Mikel tells his raw story with fervor and compassion, and the story stays with you long after you've turned that last page. A keeper.

This suspenseful story about childhood friends convening for a beachy getaway with their families has all the elements, somewhat expected, for a disaster. The dreamy teenage boy, gawky preteen girl, and parents with lies and suspicions aplenty. You can imagine the possibilities. Quickly consumed, this would be a great plane or vacation read.

As if we needed another way. Despite the distasteful topic, Rick comes through, as he always does, entertaining and making you laugh when you're stunned yet again by the audacity of this pathological fabulist. A worthwhile read, although those who really need to read it never will.

Ever feel the pull to just take that plunge and learn how to scuba dive? Be one of the intrepid explorers people might read about, say, in National Geographic? Do you envy those who gamely strap on hundreds of pounds (literally) of gear, stagger to the water's edge, and once in the water, be transformed into a balletic aqua-creature, all grace and flow? Don't you wish you could immerse yourself, body and mind, into the vast, endless blue of the ocean? Caves? Antarctic icebergs? Interconnecting aquifers deep below the forest floor? Wanna experience the personal challenge of mastering the daunting chemistry of rebreathers and be one of the truly elite adventurers of our day? Face the challenge of living a sport that snarfs up lives like a couch potato eats chips? Take the dare despite the danger, experience the unparalleled beauty and revel in the comradeship of shared conquest of unspeakable peril? Since my idea of adventure is driving around with under a quarter tank of gas, that's certainly not for me. But it sure was a riveting read!

This book starts out with the story of Sandra Bland, and her tragic interaction with the police which preceded her death by only a few days. Then the book seemingly promises to make sense of all of this. There are interesting dips into current events, researched and explained in greater detail than maybe you'd experienced in the news, so you start to think, "Okay, I think I'm getting his point." But then in another story, you may find that the opposite is true. While I think the author missed the boat on his direction, the stories and insights gave some food for thought. I don't think he ultimately told us anything about "Talking to Strangers", other than, sometimes things aren't what they seem. That is the overarching message to me. Frustrating though this meandering experience was, at times, ultimately it's our own responsibility to be in charge of our own interactions, and so maybe he didn't fail me after all.

Growing up in the 1960s below the Sierra Nevada mountains, from time to time we'd see people shopping in town who were very different from, well, everyone at that time that we ever saw. These people wore overalls but all had shaved heads, and the women wore long earrings. You just never saw that back then. We learned that they were from a group called "Synanon" and that this facility was a drug rehab program. We were fascinated, repulsed, and kept our distance. In this book, author Mikel Jollett tells his story of starting life in this very group, which maybe started out with good intentions but morphed into a cult. Surprise, surprise! The story is not primarily, however, about Synanon, but about his own family and the evolution of his life outside the confines what you might think would be the worst chapter of his life. Well-written, informative, heartbreaking and hopeful, it is a read you don't want to miss. The book, and the song inspired by this remembrance, will stay with you.

There are not words to accurately describe this book, but I'll try. What you may have thought you knew about crime rates, drug use, and "justice for all" will wither away shamefully, and rightfully so, a few pages after cracking this book open. Deeply researched and defended, this was a massive eye-opener for me, and I think it will shape the rest of my life, as it should. Never would I have even dreamt of this information as plausible, at least in this country. Having been so profoundly affected by the vast information in this book, I initially thought it was one I should keep. However, in rethinking things, I believe it should be passed on, and on, and on. In fact, I think it should be required reading in schools, for citizenship tests, and even to vote. (I know, a pipe dream.) If you really want to know what's going on, read it. You will forever think differently about our Constitutional promise that "all men are created equal".

While sexism is still alive and kicking, this novel takes us back to the "Me Decade" (perhaps we should have called it the "He Decade"?) of the 1970s, specifically, 1976. Odessa, Texas is the setting; the oilfields and the stench and the omnipresent compression of white male privilege. The story opens with a brutal rape and is told from the perspective of five female characters, some adult, some not. The grit and grime of West Texas is palpable, and you wonder just how bleak anyone's circumstances were that they would choose this place to stop en route to somewhere better. Abject racism and misogyny reign, bone-deep and no apologies necessary. If you lived through that time, you will remember how it was. The characters will remind you of someone you knew, or someone you were.

Dang, times were hard back then. Employees at the mercy of cruel masters, no recourse, no real medical care, and on and on. No wonder so many men opted out in favor of the swashbuckling route. Relative egalitarianism (though not completely, and you'll have to read it to find out more) and a heck of a bigger paycheck meant at least a moderately better situation. This book manages to chronicle all that Bartholomew Roberts did during his tenure as the most feared pirate of the Caribbean without sounding like an inventory list. You'll learn what made "Black Bart" tick (or possibly what did) and about the caginess that made him so successful. Fix yourself some grog and drink this book up!

This is not my typical jam; I normally steer clear of anything mystical, occultish, or other-worldly. But, hey, the price was SO right ($1.00), and the book was a chunky little tome just calling to me. Plus, it had a weird tree-looking guy tippy-toeing on the cover. How could I resist? Onward and upward the book marched, through my stacks, getting closer and closer to the time when I would, with my strict method of book selection, be required to actually read it. Its time finally came, and to be honest, I wasn't looking forward to it. (See first sentence.) The first two chapters sputtered along, with me characteristically bemoaning my book selection (a witch? people screaming in the night?), but then the sputtering roared to life. Off that story went, and it took me with it. Our heroine, Miranda, is sharp, bereft, world-weary, and holds those cards close to her chest. And well she should, because she has some secrets to keep. That's all I'll say about that, because I don't like spoilers. Add a bayou, some creepy people, stir it all up, and you have yourself a spine-tingler. As you wind your way through this book, Andy makes every scene come to life, and does so economically. Here's an example: "Far across the bean fields, a swarm of race cars on some dirt track made a sound like a hive of bees." Can you hear it? Or how about this one: "Pulse racing, she had no spit." I read so many sentences twice, just to soak them up. What a writer. While this still isn't my usual taste, I'm truly glad I didn't miss out.

From the world of political intrigue, back-biting, wanna-be monarchs, and a heck of a lot of inbreeding, comes this narrative of the duchesse de Berry, whose son was heir to the French throne before the ouster of the Bourbons. An early day Princess Diana type, she endeared herself to the populace when she came on the scene, mixing with the public and shopping on the town. Hot on the heels of the French Revolution, this was an era fraught with the potential for dire consequences if one was caught on the wrong side of the ruling powers. Although, after the Bourbon exile, the Duchess utilized her talents as disguising herself as a boy to escape detection, eventually her bad choice of cohorts caught up with her. Enter Simon Deutz, an opportunist of monumental proportions, who even "converted" to Catholicism when he thought the winds of fortune were blowing that direction. The reason this was so staggering was that he was the son of France's Chief Rabbi. This betrayal of the beloved Duchess was unfathomable to many, and quite unfortunate for the Jews of the land. While France had been a relatively friendly place for Jews to live, after this the rumbling anti-semitism that had been previously subdued was renewed, with a fervor that was frightening and vicious. And we all know what came of that. While a very well-researched book, sometimes I felt that I was in for a wade along the shore but instead found myself in a submarine in the Mariana Trench. Lots of unnecessary detail and commentary (for example, the small size of her feet, rendering her unable to wear anything but the softest of leathers--really?) made it a bit tiresome. Unlikely opinions aside, it was a thorough documentation of an unfortunate sequence of events that had huge global and societal impact.

Long before it was trendy to thank healthcare workers, our author was slogging through his nights, navigating between the patients who needed him, the doctors who were disdainful of him, unmentionable bodily fluids assailing him, and potential physical threats awaiting him at his destinations. Such is the life of the EMT and (para)medics who we just assume will be there if we call. I'm guilty, too. This book does a good job of taking you through the emotional highs and lows, the macabre humor, and the inescapable sorrow that comes with a job like this one. These people are not paid enough for this. Nevertheless, Kevin delivers this narration of his decade-long tenure in the emergency medical field with heart and humor, helping us want to keep going. Probably a lot like his ambulance work. I'll bet he was a dang good medic. Hats off.