Lizzie Kessler, like many adolescents, is moody, fickle and volatile. Her mother wanted to find out why.

With her daughter on the brink of becoming a teenager, Lauren Kessler, author of five other books, spent 18 months completely immersed in her relationship with Lizzie and chronicled her experiences in "My Teenage Werewolf."

The reader is quickly acquainted with their relationship -- one that is "completely immersed in mutual hostility." Because of the early introduction to the imperfections of Ms. Kessler's unstable, though loving, relationship with Lizzie, it is clear that this book is not meant to be a manual but rather an exploration.

It's easy to trust the author and want to accompany her on her journey because she writes with true fascination and appreciation for what her daughter is experiencing.

It helps that Ms. Kessler, whose work has appeared in publications such as The New York Times Magazine and The Nation, writes with grace and skill. Her careers as a journalist and a mother give her an air of authority not just on her daughter but on describing what she learns.

After reading dozens of books on teenagers and developing brains, she presents just the pieces that are relevant to her relationship with Lizzie -- and therefore relevant to the mothers and daughters reading the book. With every description of epinephrine or serotonin, it is clear that she, too, is learning, keeping the passages accessible rather than didactic.

For those of us who have not yet become mothers but have tortured our own with dramatic meltdowns and earth-rattling fits of rage, the book is a series of candid snapshots of ourselves.

The illusion that we were the exception to what Ms. Kessler calls the "terrible teens" is wiped away by her vivid descriptions of Lizzie's split-second descents into emotional bedlam.

In one chapter, Ms. Kessler is reading about the mercurial nature of the teen brain when Lizzie expresses sudden hate for a pair of shoes she loved just hours before -- an about-face most of us have stunned our unsuspecting parents with during our teen years.

Reading about Ms. Kessler's pained reaction to her daughter's sharp tongue, it reminds us that mothers are people, too.

When Ms. Kessler isn't analyzing Lizzie and her behavior, she is reflecting on herself as a parent. She tries in earnest to learn, but sometimes the pain, anger, confusion or frustration gets the better of her, and she reacts -- crying in her closet or snapping at Lizzie.

Ultimately what comes through is that she has given herself permission to be human -- something mothers who strive for sainthood could take to heart.

Reading about Ms. Kessler's struggle and gradual catharsis will bring a sense of peace to the mothers of teen girls in realizing they are not alone.

And for those of us who have been werewolves ourselves, reading about her journey will inspire new appreciation for those who put up with the snarling.

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