The Confessions of Nat Turner had a profound effect on me as a white female teenager growing up in Washington, D.C., in 1968.1 read it around the time I read Soul on Ice, by Eldridge Cleaver. Both books helped me to understand that, while violence is destructive, one couldn't have been surprised when it was finally utilized by people who had been brutalized and subjected to slavery and exploitation. That's what made Martin Luther King Jr.'s moment so powerful—he rose above; he transcended those basic human desires to strike back even when justified. He was the best among us. But I could see that Nat Turner was a hero to many. The book left me with respect for him because I understood the context in which the story was both lived and written.

With regard to "The Nat Turner Wars" [by Sam Tanenhaus], in your September issue, I imagine I'm not the only reader to feel uneasy while reading it in light of the recent news of auteur Nate Parker's criminal case from 1999, in which he and his pal, both then and now, Jean McGianni Celestin, were accused of raping a young woman at Penn State. (Parker was acquitted. Celestin was convicted of sexual assault, but his conviction was later overturned.) The woman subsequently committed suicide.

In "Parker's Take on Styron's Turner," Parker, in my opinion, comes across as an arrogant young man who is unable to grasp context, who is unable to share history— made up, true, or partly true—about and by our ancestors. Only he has access to the truth; only his outrage is justified, and he's so very willing to condemn Styron's "selfproclaimed liberalism." Should no black author ever be allowed to walk around in a white character's shoes and interpret his or her motivations and desires? I was so excited when I heard of the new film version, but now, not so much.

While I consider myself politically correct, it hurts to think of Styron's depression as having been deepened by this first serious paroxysm of political correctness, described in the article, which is facing its own serious backlash now in the form of Donald Trump's misguided hordes. It saddens me for Styron, for the family it affected, and for the many readers who never found their way to his novel.

SHELBY BRAMMER

Bartlesville, Oklahoma

In the 1960s, my husband, A1 Seitz, and I ran an 1888 "gingerbread-style" hotel, the Hotel Oloffson, in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. One year, when repeat guest James Jones, the author of From Here to Eternity, came with his family on the way from Paris to the U.S., his friend Bill Styron brought his family to join the Joneses. Styron was extremely quiet, even on a sailing trip we took both families on. I learned later, in his many articles, that his silence was indicative of depression. When I think of the Styrons, I think especially of their matriarch, Rose, who was so genuinely nice and thoughtful. She even visited me, in New York, after my husband died.

SUZANNE LAURY SEITZ

Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

ROCKET WOMAN

Ms. Johnson and I have a few things in common [" V.F. Portrait: Katherine Johnson," by Charles Bolden; photograph by Annie Leibovitz; September]. I also tracked missiles for the U.S. She does not look her age, and neither do I. I love pearls, and apparently she does as well.

I was hired by Bell Laboratories in Whippany, New Jersey, in 1965, when I was 17 years old. I started in the mailroom but was soon promoted to "clerk" status. One of the first tasks I was given was to track the Sprint (Nike-X) and Nike Zeus missiles—by hand!— though later in my career I also worked on the first computer.

I was given different-colored pushpins and markers. Every day a phone call would come in, and I would plot x and y coordinates. This plotting was performed on paper so large it took up almost the entire room. I had to make sure the information mapped to arithmetic calculations, which I also performed by hand, and report any anomalies. It was so exciting! Although it does not match the great accomplishments of Ms. Johnson, it was an important aspect of the overall project. As they say, "Somebody had to do it."

DIANA GODUTO

Randolph, New Jersey

The September issue fulfilled my insatiable desire for inclusive and thoughtful articles framed by popular culture and current events. Former astronaut and current chief of NASA Charles Bolden—in perhaps your best issue to date— gave us a peek into the fascinating journey of the 97-year-old Katherine Johnson's life as a mathematician for NASA. Having attended Charles's 2009 Senate confirmation, I not only hungrily read about Ms. Johnson but also reconnected with Charles's historic ascension to one of the country's most important posts. As a relative and retired airman, I would like to—in the vernacular of Boyz N the Hood, the 1991 movie which was also profiled in your September issue—give a shout-out to Charles and say, "Thanks, cuz."

CLEO A. BATTLE

Shalimar, Florida

Coincidentally, I just finished reading Rise of the Rocket Girls, by Nathalia Holt. (I have also read Rocket Girl: The Story of Mary Sherman Morgan, by her son George D. Morgan.) Learning about such intelligent women is inspiring. Recognition for their work is long overdue, isn't it?

LEANNE TURNER

Warren, Ohio

EDITING THE STARS

I was so happily surprised by the inclusion of Irene Mayer Selznick's book, A Private View, in your article about and by editor Robert Gottlieb ["The Editor and the Stars," September]. The rise of Louis B. Mayer and Hollywood's film industry through his daughter's eyes is fascinating. Irene's amazing life—first with her father, then with husband David O. Selznick, and then coming into her own as a theatrical producer—provides much more entertainment than many "front of the camera" biographies. Her retelling of how Louis B. tried to negotiate her loyalty to him rather than to her husband as they danced, father and daughter, at her wedding reception is just one example of familial drama. Great fun to read about her editor, their friendship, and yet more drama as Irene tangled with Katharine Hepburn.

MICHELLE POWELL

Fremont, California

Although I liked reading the adaptation from Robert Gottlieb's autobiography, I was amazed at the venom he expressed toward Katharine Hepburn—especially when it came to criticizing her for failing to speak at Irene Selznick's memorial. I had the great privilege to attend, and to see Ms. Hepburn enter the memorial. There was a gentleman standing at the entrance, and she said to him in a shaky but pleasant voice, "Excuse me, sir; may I get by you?" When I saw how frail she looked, it seemed pretty obvious to me that she never would have been physically capable of getting onstage to speak at the memorial. However, I'll always remember how gracious it was of her to attend when she was in such poor health herself, and how politely she spoke to the man when she was walking into the theater.

JOHN FRANCIS FOX

Queens, New York

BAGGY BLOOMERS?

I was very pleased to read the late Ingrid Sischy's history of Charivari ["A Place Called Charivari," September]. The store was once both my favorite boutique and the friendly yet fascinating shop on my corner, in the West 80s, where I would acquire extraordinary textile artwork by Yohji Yamamoto, whimsical creations by Vivienne Westwood, and finely crafted "Made Expressly for Charivari" pieces. As I had a rather insubstantial wallet, the best of all were the—if I remember correctly—twice-ayear midnight sales: 75 percent off.

ELIZABETH SOBIESKI

New York, New York

Nobody knew what charivari meant? "Uproar" in medieval French? It was very common—pronounced "shivaree"—in the Midwest for an old custom of banging pans, shooting off rifles, and otherwise making an uproariously mock serenade outside the window of a newlywed couple's bedroom on their wedding night. Tying tin cans to newlyweds' cars is a remnant of the old shivaree. Probably borrowed from French fur traders and settlers in St. Louis.

JULIA WELCH

Belleville, Illinois

A name derived from medieval French? For a Russian-Jewish family charivari sounds a lot like sharivari, which meant "baggy bloomers" in the Pale.

SANDRA SEMKIW

Chicago, Illinois

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