In Lauren Kessler’s brave new book, My Teenage Werewolf: A Mother, A Daughter, A Journey Through the Thicket of Adolescence, the Eugene journalist ventures into middle school classrooms, locker rooms and even to summer camp. That’s intrepid enough, but Kessler did this with her teenaged daughter. She wanted to understand her changing relationship with her 12-year-old (Lizzie turns 13 in the book) and investigate Lizzie’s stormy, unpredictable moods. And so she went in, embedded herself in Lizzie’s world for a year, interviewing teachers, psychologists and other “experts” along the way. The mother and daughter are still speaking. In fact, they learned a few things about each other during the project (they talk candidly about boys, food, make-up and all the other things on which they disagree on Kessler’s blog for the book). Book Studio named Werewolf as one of August’s Top Ten reads and said “It’s like a reality show but much, much, much better.” We asked Kessler a few questions.

If I were back in a bookstore, I would probably sell this as an immersion journalism-memoir hybrid. You’re reporting, but it’s your personal story (and Lizzie’s) and your filter. Why isn’t this memoir, or at least a sub-type of memoir? 99.9 percent of memoir is not reported (or reported out from), it’s remembered. That’s why I don’t think of this, or Dancing with Rose, as memoir. Also, I purposely chose these experiences, set up the conditions for the experiences to happen (in most cases) and then reported on what happened. That doesn’t feel memoirish to me either. But really, if people come to it — or if booksellers sell it — as memoir, I am fine with that. I consider myself an immersion reporter, an amateur cultural anthropologist who uses the small narrative (the personal story) to open to and illuminate larger themes and issues.

What was the most difficult place you embedded? Probably 7th and 8th grade classrooms. Imbedding myself wasn’t difficult in the way you would think, though. The teachers were welcoming, and the kids— including my daughter —very quickly lost interest in me, which was great.  What was difficult, very challenging, was seeing all there was to see.  There was so much going on: whatever the lesson of the moment was, of course . .  .but all the little dramas that were played out, the looks, the conversations, the body language. I was immersed in a “foreign” culture, and I had to be alert to everything. It was exhausting. After 4 periods, I often left to go get a double espresso before plunging into the afternoon. My daughter thought this was very funny — that I couldn’t make it through a whole day without leaving.

As a mother, I found the book incredibly helpful. It’s not just observation but an investigation into the teen-age brain—with lots of research (presented very palatably). What were some of the things you learned along the way that were most helpful to you as a parent? First and foremost, that the reason teens are so often impulsive, moody and judgment-impaired is that they are at the mercy of their “under construction” brains. I learned a lot about the teen brain (it’s a mess up there), and this helped me understand my daughter’s (and her peers’) behavior and not take at least some of it personally.

I also learned that empowering Lizzie —she was, after all, the expert in her own life and my resident 21st century teen girl culture expert — had a powerful and extraordinarily positive effect on our relationship. That was a huge lesson, and one I think every parent might want to consider.

It must have been challenging because what the writer-you would consider the richest material was the same stuff that would make the mother-you cry or scream or cringe. Was it tough to wear both hats at once? The short answer:  Yes. It was very tough. When I was in Margaret Mead mode, I had to observe with intensity but dispassion. Dispassion does not come easily to me . . .or to any mother, I am guessing.

In fact, the original title for the book was “Something Unpredictable.”

Second song — which Lizzie and I sing all the time in the car — is Carole King’s “Follow Where You Lead.”  She recorded it as a duet with her daughter and changed the lyrics a little, so it’s about mother-daughter love not romantic love.  We sing it as a duet, very loud, very often…(and sometimes off-key, especially me):

Visit Kessler’s blog for her reading and event schedule.