Intriguing premise and deeply involved relationships between characters open a new perspective on self and gender identity.

In her first published novel, award-winning short story writer Laura Krughoff takes a risk by tackling some unusual material. My Brother’s Name is the mind-bending story of siblings so enmeshed in each other’s lives that their individual identities dissolve. They become two people living one life. From this intriguing premise, Krughoff creates a fascinating portrait of a family coping with mental illness and explores the outer limits of sisterly love.

Krughoff introduces Jane and John Fields as kids, establishing early the unswerving adoration of her older brother that leads Jane to follow his every move. She even becomes an accomplished drummer like John. If their sibling relationship is a little more intense than most, Krughoff doesn’t make it seem pathological. Overall, it’s a normal childhood, with school, music lessons, caring parents, and friends. When John goes away to college, however, he suffers a psychotic break, and none of the treatments for his newly diagnosed schizophrenia really works.

Enter sister-as-savior, who hauls her confused brother off to the city to free him of the pressures and expectations of the past. This is where things start to get seriously weird. John can’t leave the apartment, so Jane decides to go out and have a life for him—as him. Readers will likely balk at the improbable solution at first. How is this girl going to pass as a man? How will it really help John if his sister comes home to report on what “he” has been doing all day? And what becomes of Jane herself?

Krughoff demonstrates her writing talent in these middle chapters, as she draws readers into the strange scenario by making it seem not-so-strange at all. Jane gets a job in a music store, and Krughoff supplies realistic, everyday details of her workday and the cityscape around her. As her boss, customers, and other musicians unquestioningly accept her identity as John, the reader is drawn in as well. The facade gets a little easier to believe with each passing page, each realistic exchange of dialogue, and each relationship developed.

These moments introduce the larger themes explored in Krughoff’s work: the myriad ways identity is formed and the negotiation of boundaries between one person and the next. Do you get to decide who you are? Do others?

Krughoff doesn’t provide neat answers to these questions, but by deeply involving the reader in Jane and John’s lives, she provides much food for thought. Jane’s transformation into John—evocatively illustrated in stunning cover art by Anders Hanson—is so complete that readers will be torn between wanting her to reveal her true identity and hoping she gets away with the ruse somehow.

My Brother’s Name plays with our usual expectations and opens up a new perspective on self and gender identity.

This slapstick with heart invites affection for its loyal, charming, off-the-cuff characters.

The merry band of misfits in D. L. Williams’s debut novel won’t let a little bad luck get them down. The characters in Pennies from Hell, a light, entertaining comedy of errors, are undaunted by the odds stacked against them and are eternally optimistic about their prospects for the future. All they have to do is get rich, and what easier way to do that than to win the lottery? How hard can it be? It’s only six numbers! Surely this week’s drawing is the one to bring fortune to the muumuu-clad Maya Marston and her quirky clan.

Late on her mortgage payments, landlady Maya plays the lottery every week, buying tickets from Gladys, who runs the register at the local convenience store. Maya hasn’t won yet, but things have recently changed. She has taken in a single mother—with the unlikely name of Summer Dey—and she’s pretty sure Summer’s daughter, Casey, has captured the winning lotto numbers in the notebook she carries everywhere. Never mind that the five-year-old gets her numbers from a television game show. What could possibly go wrong?

Quite a lot, as it turns out, but that’s half the fun. Picture elderly Maya and Gladys sliding around the backseat of a pink Cadillac driven by a heavy-footed transvestite named JoJo, scouring the city streets in search of just the right place and time to play their numbers. Riding shotgun is Maya’s moocher son, Robert, and soon enough they’ll pick up a wannabe robber named, of all things, Jesse James. Gladys gets sick, JoJo gets pulled over, and Maya ends up sitting on Jesse’s toy gun. Dresses are torn, bodies are wrestled to the ground, and the group even pays a visit to the local emergency room.

It’s slapstick with a heart, though, and one of the most delightful things about Williams’s novel is that the characters have no idea how screwy their schemes are. You want to laugh, and you do, but you also feel a certain affection for these clueless folks. The weirder their story gets, the more you want them to succeed.

The action proceeds at a fairly relentless pace as the gang circumvents one obstacle after another. Secondary characters—Maya’s upstairs tenant, the dashing but disturbing Brock Donovan, for instance—add interest by providing mysteries to solve while the comedic quest continues. The constant flutter of activity means that Maya never has time to really think things through. Readers may be charmed by her optimism and naïveté, but as the story progresses, the characters’ lack of sophistication becomes a bit wearing. You may occasionally have an urge to sit Maya and the others down and shake some sense into them.

In the end, this oddball group doesn’t really need to make sense. They’re intensely loyal, incredibly tenacious, and so likable that readers will be rooting for them to find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It doesn’t come quite the way they planned, but Williams pens a satisfying surprise ending that gets them what they truly need.

A crop of intellectual odds and ends amounts to an engaging, challenging field of ideas.

At first blush, a “field of gourds,” writes Robert M. Fisher in this thought-provoking philosophical survey, appears “pretty useless.” It’s a crop that defies expectations (since you can’t eat it), which Fisher likens to a fresh thought that doesn’t seem to mesh with conventional wisdom. So what can you do with the intriguing intellectual odds and ends you have grown? Field of Gourds: A Guide to Intellectual Rebellion is Fisher’s answer: you can do many, many things.

Fisher has been collecting bits and pieces of his thoughts on everything from religion to science for years. Here, the Duke University doctor of philosophy and Harvard Law School graduate brings his ideas together in a series of explorations that will make readers feel like they’re participating in a college seminar with an engaging and challenging professor.

To truly understand a thing, whether a single plant or an entire field of study, Fisher suggests one approach it from new angles and define it from the ground up. Indeed, that’s the way to approach Fisher’s writing, which resists easy categorization. He’s writing about not only science and philosophy but also dance and theater, with a substantial dash of humor in the form of asides from his faithful companion, Bella. The black Labrador retriever is pictured on the cover as a hulking hind end making a significant dent in a leather couch.

Fisher is more than a little contrary, and Bella is too. Her imagined contributions bring some lofty ponderings quickly down to earth. Bella says snarky things that the narrator won’t, such as when she notes that economists are a lot like parrots—ask them any question and get the same answer: “Squawk! Squawk! Supply-and-Demand. Supply-and-Demand.”

Fisher calls his ideas “radical,” meaning they drill down to the essential truths behind our collectively accepted beliefs. He takes apart something as basic as scientific inquiry and questions our assumptions. Science provides proof, right? Not so fast, says Fisher. Through a series of logical explanations and compelling examples, Fisher illuminates the true strength of science: it’s a system for developing greater understanding rather than a method of providing ultimate proof.

In lesser hands, this material could be a bit dense, but Fisher’s genuine enthusiasm for his subject is infectious. When he gets excited about applying scientific inquiry to a dance performance, for instance, readers will be curious too. Fisher capably shows the parallels between dancers who adjust their presentations in response to feedback and scientists who refine their experiments in response to the resulting data. In both cases, the feedback loop is not about perfection, but about getting progressively closer to one’s goals, whether on the stage or in the lab.

The book is thick with academic knowledge and language, but Fisher is an engaging and patient tutor. He doesn’t hand out the answers, but he’s also not showing off. He’s truly a teacher, and Field of Gourds would provide an excellent framework for college philosophy courses. Students can work through the information and thought exercises Fisher presents in each chapter, and they could gradually develop a new way of learning that is based on inquiry and logic rather than received wisdom.

Three intrepid, resilient kids learn to harness the elements and save themselves in this appealing fantasy for children who have suffered trauma.

Open the richly illustrated cover of Raven’s Promise and enter the magical world created by sisters and co-authors Laura and Ruth Martin. Teachers as well as writers, the Martins offer inspiring allegorical lessons for tweens and teens who have survived childhood traumas. Shape-shifting panthers, eagles, and deer populate the mystical realm of Raven, where a trio of troubled children travels to heal their real-life emotional wounds.

The line between reality and fantasy is thin from the beginning, where readers find ten-year-old Sheila imprisoned by Marcella, a wicked stepmother if ever there was one. Marcella has turned Sheila’s own father against her, convincing him that his imaginative daughter is mentally ill and should be placed in a hospital. Luckily for Sheila, the hospital in question is not the sterile asylum she pictures but an unusual place filled with ancient books, symbol-covered rugs that seem to glow, and a doctor who sings more than he talks.

It’s also home to her new friends, Snapper and Pen, whose quirky personalities add life and dimension to the story. Snapper, aka Molly, is a “walking encyclopedia,” a fountain of academic knowledge who is desperately afraid of being alone. Pen, officially named Stephan, can’t utter a word but offers his thoughts in writing. All three have suffered grievous losses in their young lives but are amazingly resilient, as their otherworldly adventures will soon prove to them.

Across a mysterious gate they go, to enter Raven’s world, where they embark on a quest to save three children from the clutches of an evil witch. It’s clear that they are also facing their own demons, and thus saving themselves in the process. For the most part, the Martins vividly show each child’s individual journey. Sheila learns to fly and eventually soar as a raven, for instance, sensing true freedom for the first time.

Sometimes, though, the authors reinforce their underlying messages a little too emphatically, offering asides that address the reader directly or comparing magical events to “real life,” thus breaking the illusion of the otherwise engaging fantasy world.

Young readers will enjoy going along with these three intrepid kids as they learn to harness the elements and save themselves, although teenagers raised on Harry Potter may find this short novel lacking in the deep character and plot development they have come to expect.

Raven’s Promise could also be read to groups of younger children and seems likely to be an excellent tool to use in children’s therapy, where the adult reader could pause and encourage a young patient to talk about the issues raised.

Laura and Ruth Martin have written a modern fable with multiple levels of meaning, making Raven’s Promise an appealing fantasy for a wide range of ages.

Whether it’s a demanding work load, an exasperating relationship, or simply getting dinner on the table, there are tools available to ease the pressure. Shawn Kilgarlin and her husband and business partner, Ron Kilgarlin, have composed a year’s worth of stress-reducing recommendations in their encouraging new book, Past Tense: 365 Daily Tools for Putting Stress Behind You—For Good!

With the goal of helping people manage their response to the unavoidable stresses of modern life, this book offers answers drawn from the Kilgarlins’ personal life as well as from science and history, and with some from a position of faith.

Past Tense is a daybook, with a new page for each topic. Readers are likely to dip into the book at different spots, depending on the issues they face at a given time. Teenagers may check out the sections on peer pressure, school, and addiction. Midlife mothers may be more drawn to pages devoted to marriage and family. Examples are rich and original, like when the complex process of wine-making is compared to the measured, step-by-step approach needed to reach personal goals.

The Kilgarlins maintain a friendly, accessible tone without resorting to platitudes. Each idea is supported with a variety of quotations, examples from history, and cultural references. A case in point is the essay on “The Virtue of Truth,” which includes an astute comparison of two well-known stories about lying: Aesop’s “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” and the tale of George Washington and the ill-fated cherry tree. The young truth-teller, the authors note, goes on to great success, while Aesop’s mischievous boy is shunned by his village. “When we’re honest, life is a lot less stressful,” they conclude.

Past Tense is not as faith-based as Shawn’s earlier work, God’s Love Letters: Overcoming Adversity, but her Christian background is evident in the use of biblical quotes and references. Suggestions about prayer and repentance may not appeal to all readers, but it’s easy enough to turn the page and move on if one is looking for a different perspective.

The book’s title and the restful sunset featured on its cover are suggestive of the blissfully stress-free life we all strive for. Past Tense is more about coping with the stress that does exists, rather than on eliminating it. In addition to the daily readings, several refrigerator-worthy checklists are provided—“10 Steps to Patience” and “One Dozen Reasons to Exercise,” for example—to remind readers of her stress-busting advice as they go about their daily lives.

There’s a wealth of material here, including practical tools like instructions for progressive relaxation and even nutritional recommendations. Readers facing nagging questions about how to deal with various forms of stress could gain new perspective from Past Tense.

Think it’s easy to publish a book? Think again. Intelligent and outspoken, Ronald C. Gordon uses snarky humor to explain why easy is the wrong word in this “how-not-to” book for aspiring authors. Gordon spills the beans on the real process behind getting a novel into the world with this frank, and plainly partisan, memoir. Don’t Tell Me Your Wife Likes It offers an exasperated fiction writer’s entertaining perspective on publishing his first novel, warts and all.

Gordon comes by his pointed opinions honestly; in 2009, he set out to publish his first work of fiction, a literary coming-of-age novel that clocked in at more than 800 pages and found no takers in the traditional publishing world. The road to eventual success was time-consuming and expensive, and though we know that his novel, Not Fade Away, eventually made it into readers’ hands, we definitely feel Gordon’s pain as he walks us through the journey.

Never afraid to call it like he sees it, Gordon takes to task the so-called experts who claimed they would help him on his way. For instance, he introduces us to the editor-who-wouldn’t-quit, whom he renames “Lenore Raven.” (The Poe reference is one among a multitude of literary allusions.) She’s the one who whittled his lengthy novel down to what Gordon calls, begrudgingly, “something else entirely.”

Gordon admits the novel needed trimming, but bemoans changes based on rules he feels shouldn’t be rules at all, but guidelines. “Show, don’t tell,” Lenore predictably admonishes. Gordon agrees in some cases, but what about when he has deliberately opted for more distant narration? He shudders to think what Ms. Raven might have done to famously effusive writers like Faulkner or Maugham.

Gordon loves literary references, and classic fiction fans will find mentions of everyone from Charles Dickens to Harper Lee here. He also loves films, and can get carried away with connections between books and movies, taking the reader on many tangential trips to Hollywood on the way to his main points about publishing’s pitfalls. Gordon refers to his own writing frequently, using Not Fade Away as a case study. Readers unfamiliar with his novel, however, may get a bit lost in the particulars. It would be useful to have the novel itself at hand while reading about its evolution.

Gordon focuses his comical rants on traditional publishing, but also takes well-earned shots at underwhelming writing workshops and even the self-publishing services he ultimately uses. This is not to say he wouldn’t do it again. Not Fade Away is, after all, the first in a trilogy.

Don’t Tell Me Your Wife Likes It shows that novelists need more than talent to survive the publishing process. According to Gordon, perseverance and a strong sense of humor may be their most valuable tools.

Tom Cruise has nothing on Matt Steele, the sexy action-movie star at the center of The Girl on the Balcony. Matt has it all: a self-assured swagger, piercing blue eyes, and a dazzling smile that weakens the knees of female fans all over the globe. One thing he doesn’t have, though, is the girl who mesmerized him from the balcony at his London film premiere. In her easy, entertaining debut novel, British writer Frances Hart sets Matt on the trail of this elusive beauty.

The girl in question is Laura Marshall, a high-school English teacher with more love for Pride and Prejudice than for The Avengers. Laura is not a regular on the red carpet, so Matt temporarily removes himself from the limelight and assumes the identity of one of his upcoming movie characters. Posing as out-of-work actor Jonathan Mann, superstar Matt can approach Laura on her own turf.

The attraction between the two is immediately palpable in their playful banter and longing gazes. Romance fans will swoon when the characters finally touch, but they will always be anticipating the looming moment when Matt will have to reveal his true identity. This tension adds steam to the sexy scenes, although Hart keeps things R-rated and under, with more walks on the beach than explicit bedroom romps.

Matt’s eventual revelation brings the simmering situation to a boil but also lets some of the steam out of the romance. Although Hart tries to resurrect the passion she created in the early pages—through a series of misunderstandings that would make Shakespeare proud—the romance ultimately loses momentum. Family emergencies, lost cell phones, and sudden illnesses all conspire to keep the lovers apart, and as the misfires and miscommunications pile up, readers may find it hard to recall the spark that brought these two together in the first place.

The story remains enjoyable, however, thanks to Hart’s ease with witty dialogue and the introduction of some fascinating secondary characters. Laura and Matt’s love story could easily become generic, much like the standard beauty posing on the book’s cover, but Hart mixes things up by showing the other people in Laura’s life. Scenes with her brother’s fiancée, Annabel (as the bride from hell), and Laura’s flamboyant and loyal friend, Philip, show her life to be full, not focused only on romance.

Hart’s occasional nods to Shakespeare and Austen keep things interesting as well, as Laura leads her students in discussions about things like mistaken identities and social status standing in the way of true love. The literary references are never heavy-handed, and they add thought-provoking layers to a basically simple love story. The Girl on the Balcony is most of all an entertaining diversion, a summertime beach book for romance fans.