Lillian B. Rubin is a psychotherapist who believes that psychotherapy is not quite so scientific as its practitioners sometimes claim. She writes:

In reality,… psychotherapy is a cross between science and art in which science holds sway over thought, art over practice.It can lay claim to science only if science is defined most broadly — an endeavor that proceeds from a theoretical model to the generation of hypotheses that can be tested in practice. But given that the “testing” is done by therapists who work unobserved behind closed doors, women and men who bring with them their own problems and their own unique ways of seeing and hearing, the tests are not and never can be the controlled, systematic, and rigorous inquiries that science requires.

Thus Rubin wrote this book. The Man with the Beautiful Voice: And More Stories from the Other Side of the Couch (Boston: Beacon, 2003) presents case studies of six of Rubin’s patients. Except these are too well-written and thoughtful to be mere case studies. Instead, Rubin’s work rises to the level of documentary non-fiction: she honestly records her real-life experiences, combining the art and science of psychotherapy with the deep humanity of a good writer.

In my favorite chapter, “Watching and Waiting,” a “quintessentially yuppie” couple comes to Rubin for counseling. Valerie opens right up and tells Rubin about herself, and about her perception of the problems she and Richard are having. But Richard is cool and almost unflappable. This continues for weeks, until Rubin finally tells the couple that because they’re not getting anywhere — because Richard is unwilling to participate in therapy fully — it’s time for them all to take a break from the therapy.

I was sure this was going to be another story about how upper middle class white men can block off their emotions and hide themselves away. But then the plot takes an extraordinarily surprising turn. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for you, but before she’s done Rubin has to push the boundaries of professional standards for couples counseling, while Richard and Valerie have to push far beyond what they thought were the boundaries of their relationship.

But this book has more than just good stories. Some of Rubin’s stories raise profound issues, like whether or not forgiveness is always possible. In one chapter, “To Live or To Die,” a young man talks about how his father hit him, and then says he cannot forgive his father:

“If you really want to know, I don’t give a damn whether he lived or died. And don’t tell me I should feel sorry for him because he was nuts. Forget it! I don’t want to hear any of that forgiveness crap…. See this scar,” he said, pointing to the gash on his face, his voice tight with rage, “he gave me this….”

…I [continues Rubin], who have written about the tyranny of the belief, preached so insistently by our twin gods, religion and psychology, that only in forgiveness will we find healing. In fact, some things are unforgivable, high among them parents who seriously abuse the children they’re supposed to love and protect….

The plot of this chapter is suspenseful and tragic. But good stories need more than a good plot: good stories need some meaty thinking about big issues, like whether or not forgiveness is possible or even a good thing.

Rubin writes good nonfiction stories about real people facing real problems. One of two of the chapters are a little trite, but generally she manages to transcend the jargon and limited moral and philosophical compass of most writing on psychotherapy. Believe it or not, this would make good beach reading (better yet, I got my remaindered copy at the Harvard Bookstore in Harvard Square for $4.99, which is cheaper than a Stephen King or Danielle Steele novel).