Reviewing a health book written for patients and the public
A review of a health book written for patients, carers and parents judges it by what a worried reader can do with it, finds its approachability in particular features of the book, and names the readers it will and will not serve.
What a worried reader can do with the book
A 2012 review of a guide for people living with incurable illness and for their families and caregivers assesses it by what such a reader can use: seventeen chapters mixing medical, practical and psychological guidance; an organisation that lets the book be consulted on a specific issue or read straight through as a narrative; common scenarios with potential talking points or scripts for the reader; and checklists, images, and brief poems and narrative reflections throughout. The reviewer judges the poems and visuals an excellent counterpoint to the main text and the checklists consistently useful. The review concludes that the book outlines the range of issues that can emerge for patients with advanced illness and gives guidance that is consistently empathetic and informed.
Two 2009 reviews of guides for patients and carers judge each book by what a worried reader can do with it. A handbook on Alzheimer disease by a physician and a social worker is credited with balancing compassion and honesty, accessibility to lay readers and scientific accuracy, and with advice that is always practical, such as what to bring to a diagnostic visit that may take a few hours. The review also notes sidebars on matters such as the advantages and disadvantages of clinical trials and the questions to ask the doctor, a final chapter answering the authors' top 40 questions, and appendices on the stages of symptom progression and on reading between the lines of an informed consent form for a clinical trial. A self-help guide to pain management for older adults is credited with case studies readers can relate to; charts and checklists, including a daily pain diary; a chapter on communicating effectively with health care practitioners, given the limited time a doctor has for each patient; a chapter for the carers of older adults with dementia; and a list of pain management resources in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, the United Kingdom and the United States.
A 2007 review of a book on menopause and hormone therapy credits a penultimate chapter that shows the reader how to calculate her own risk of the five ageing-related health outcomes linked to hormone therapy, with specific aids for measuring risk, and a final chapter that answers whether to start and whether to stop hormone therapy and discusses seven case studies.
A 2013 review of a parenting guide on autism spectrum disorders, the first-place winner in the public category of AMWA's Medical Book Awards, finds it remarkable for striking exactly the right balance between compassion and candour. The guide is the latest book in the American Academy of Pediatrics' authoritative series on parenting. The review attributes its balance in part to one of the editors, the father of a child diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder nearly ten years before, who went through a grieving process on first hearing the diagnosis and learned that parenting such a child is not better or worse than parenting any other child, simply different. The book aims to give parents a scientifically sound basis for understanding the symptoms of a spectrum of conditions, so that after the diagnosis they can make informed decisions about behavioural and developmental therapies, the possible use of medications and the role of complementary or alternative interventions. Its discussion of alternative interventions such as dietary approaches and mind–body therapies is respectful, but the editors clearly favour evidence-based medicine and list the therapies to avoid as ineffective and even potentially harmful. They nevertheless conclude that many treatments once considered complementary are now mainstream, and they offer tips on finding a practitioner. The guidance throughout is very practical and specific: for example, a whole chapter covers the effect of autism spectrum disorders on marriages and siblings, with tips on promoting harmony between siblings.
A 2016 review applies the same test to a book that argues against more treatment: Watch Your Back!, a physician's case that more medical care is not necessarily better for low back pain. The review states the argument first: some well-known treatments are ineffective and overused, patients should take a more active role, providers should evaluate treatment options critically and explain them, and journalists should critically evaluate and clearly communicate treatment information. It reports that the book reviews the literature on treatments such as painkillers, injections and spinal fusion surgery, and judges it generally well organised, moving from the author's first evaluation of back pain treatments, through his review of well-known treatments, to how patients, providers and policy makers can make changes. It then lists the book's practical suggestions: patients reframing pain with cognitive behavioural therapy and partnering with a provider on goals such as exercise; providers acting as coaches rather than holders of the answer; the media ceasing to hype breakthroughs; and decision aids, written, interactive or video, that help a patient weigh the pros and cons of treatment decisions. Its criticisms are specific: the illustrative stories are of famous patients, where stories of ordinary ones would also have been interesting, and the sources sit in a notes section the reader has to match to the text, where numbered references and a reference list for each chapter would have been more helpful. It closes that, despite the author's criticism of the back pain industry, the book offers interesting suggestions for achieving better patient outcomes to patients, to health care providers and to those who communicate information about back pain treatments.
A 2015 review of the 2014 revised edition of The Recovery Book, which a medical writer brought in by the original authors restructured and updated, reads a lay health book both as a resource for readers in recovery and as a model of its form. It states the book's philosophy, that someone in recovery can build fulfilling relationships, satisfying work and a sense of community without relying on alcohol or drugs to mask uncomfortable feelings. It states the book's structure of red, yellow and green zones through early, middle and lifelong recovery. It reports what each type of treatment programme is really like, and the day-to-day emotional challenges the book handles best, such as managing strong emotions no longer numbed by the drug, recognising cues that might lead to relapse, and repairing relationships. It reports what the revision added, including the neuroscience of addictive behaviour, practical advice from cleaning up online life to raising substance-free children, and online resources and support groups that did not exist for the 1982 first edition. The reviewer, a prospective book author, also found it a good template for laying out an engaging and informative how-to book: encyclopaedic, well indexed, with question-and-answer sections and plenty of sidebars.
Approachability
Two 2007 reviews of health books for general readers turn on approachability, and both find it in particular features of the book. A review of a heart-disease guide praises its breadth and its focus on small changes a reader can make, then names its largest concern: the book may be written in a way many readers will not find approachable. The examples are a list of every abbreviation at the front of the book, which could be a useful place for a sticky note or could just as easily turn the faint-hearted away at the door; a part whose advanced terminology may be of use only to patients or family members facing a choice about a new type of treatment; and too few graphics, with too few labels on those included. It closes on two strengths: nearly everyone can find themselves in its pages, and it is organised to make information easy to find. The same reviewer praises a pandemic guide, nearly pocket-sized and written mainly in question-and-answer format to address the many fears general audiences have about flu pandemics. The review names among its strengths a single-page bulleted "This Chapter in One Page" preview before each chapter, frequent section headers that orient readers, and grey boxes that set off special information such as current World Health Organization guidance. As a technical writer, the reviewer is very impressed with the clarity of the book in both its design and its content.
Two 2009 reviews find approachability in the design of the page. The Alzheimer handbook has no illustrations, charts or other visual aids, but its layout is judged reader-friendly, with numerous bullet points and checklists, its index thorough and its text engaging. The pain guide's designer is praised for large type with extra leading and clear photographic illustrations that make the book easy to read, even for readers with age-related vision problems.
The 2013 review of the autism guide finds approachability in its craft: excellent use of anecdotes, especially those contributed by parents, enlivens the text, the contents are well organised, and clear headings and well-designed tables make the book very readable, so that a parent can pick it up and quickly find the information they seek.
A September 2020 review finds approachability by setting a children's book beside a campaign in the opposite register. Coronavirus: A Book for Children, a free 15-page illustrated download aimed at primary-age children, explains what a coronavirus is, the symptoms it can cause, how it is caught, whether a cure is coming and what everyone can do to help stop its spread. The UK government campaign AIDS: Don't Die of Ignorance of around 1987 was designed to strike a sombre, dark and apocalyptic note: its leaflet, sent to every British household, answered ten questions in plain black type, one answer stating "There is no cure, and it kills", and a video advertisement showed a headstone being chiselled. The children's book is brightly coloured, with impish drawings and an upbeat tone, gives information in bite-sized pieces that explain without frightening or talking down, and does not shy away from complex scientific concepts, describing antibodies and how they help fight infection. The review judges it a well-written, beautifully illustrated example of writing about health in a way children can easily relate to and understand, designed to allay their fears.
The readers a book serves and those it does not
The Alzheimer handbook is called a must-read for carers and for anyone showing signs of mild memory loss or at risk through family history. The review of the heart-disease guide names the audience as everyone interested in taking part in their own care or a loved one's. The review of Watch Your Back! reports that the book is written for people with back pain, but that its author also hopes the clinicians who treat back pain, policy makers and the media will read it. The review of the autism guide adds that, although written for parents, it would be of more than passing interest to anyone who knows a child with such a diagnosis.
The review of the pandemic guide names the readers it serves less well. Because the guide was written specifically for a Canadian audience, readers in the United States and elsewhere may be unfamiliar with metric measurements and with some Canada-only drug names, which makes a few of its tables hard to interpret.
A 2016 review of After You Hear It's Cancer (2015) sets the book against the reviewer's own family's experience and finds that for many readers it may miss the mark. The review sets out the structure: a short prologue, then three parts on diagnosis and treatment planning, active treatment, and life after initial therapy, each of five to seven clearly titled chapters on matters such as pain control, treatment costs and nutrition, and closing end notes and topical resources. It credits the first two parts with useful advice on early cancer care, much of it pointing to free resources from the National Cancer Institute and the American Society of Clinical Oncology, and finds the third, on recurrence, late treatment, hospice and financial drain, shorter and vaguer. Its objection is to whose story the book tells. The co-author, an oncologist, had early-stage breast cancer that needed no chemotherapy, radiation or mastectomy. The shift between her as patient and as clinician is jarring, and she diagnoses herself and gets a same-day biopsy result by calling her doctor at home, with no mention of insurance. The reviewer, a former pharmacist whose two parents were diagnosed with cancer in the previous two years, sets this against her mother's experience of the same type and stage of cancer: weeks to confirm the diagnosis, confusing specialist visits, surgery months later and a burden of insurance issues. To the reviewer, the authors are unrelatable from the first chapter, likely for many others as well, and the lack of emotional connection in the book is palpable. The authors aim for a conversational approach that generally uses lay language. The review suggests sharing the authors' own fears about the future for a more balanced memoir, or condensing their story into an extended prologue and featuring other patients more. It suggests adding end-of-chapter bulleted summaries or patient to-do checklists to make the book truly useful. Its verdict is that the book's meaningful intent makes an insufficient contribution beside the free patient materials, supportive literature and social networks the reviewer would recommend to any patient, her own mother included.