Reading 'The Women' by Kristin Hannah was an emotional rollercoaster I didn't see coming. From the first page, I was pulled into Frankie's world—a naive young woman who transforms into a battle-hardened combat nurse in Vietnam. The rawness of her experiences, from holding a flashlight in her mouth during surgeries to the bombs exploding around her, made my heart race as if I were right there with her.

What struck me most was how Hannah captures the aftermath of war. Frankie's struggle with PTSD and the shocking dismissal she faces ('there were no women in Vietnam') left me furious and heartbroken. As someone who’s worked in healthcare, the scenes of her doubting her skills as a new nurse hit close to home—I’ve felt that same imposter syndrome.

The friendships in this book are everything. The bond between Frankie, Barb, and Ethel felt so real—their shared trauma, laughter, and unspoken understanding reminded me of my own lifelong friendships forged in tough times. That sisterhood kept me turning pages even when the story gutted me.

Hannah’s writing is cinematic. One minute I’m smiling at Frankie’s romantic moments (that doctor! that pilot!), the next I’m sobbing into my coffee at a café. The ending? Perfect. Redemptive without being saccharine. This isn’t just historical fiction—it’s a visceral experience that reshaped how I view Vietnam veterans, especially women.

If you think you ‘don’t read war stories,’ try this one. It’s less about battlefields and more about resilience, forgotten heroes, and how we heal—or fail to heal—as a society. Keep tissues handy; you’ll need them by Chapter 3.