Many authors have, at times, suffered Writer's Block, but not in the way Libby Weeks, the creator of an outrageously successful series of children's books about the Falling children, has. Libby, only in her early forties, has been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. Now her rapidly failing memory is rendering her incapable of finishing the sixth and final book which will save the Falling children from the diabolical magic of The Unstopping, a villain in Libby's books --the outcome which thousands of fans await. Written under the name of F. T. Goldhero to protect shy Libby's identity, the books create more publicity with the promise of a large reward to the person who can identify F. T. Goldhero and more stress for Libby as her publishers push for the final manuscript.

Libby's need for help to finish this last book of the series leads her to seek out Pandora "Peanut" Bixton, an ardent eleven-year-old fan with problems of her own, who lives across the country in Colorado. This most unlikely duo, along with Peanut's "family" combine to take the reader on a journey of imagination, emotion, humor, and intrigue. In lesser hands, this would not have been a book of choice for me; however, Stephanie Booth delivers a funny, touching, and ultimately rewarding novel of layered stories within stories, stunning imagination, refreshing humor, and restored hope.

If you can relate to readers for whom a book can become their world, my advice is to get a copy of Libby Lost and Found and prepare to Ante Up!

It was with anticipation that I, an ardent fan of Michael Cunningham's The Hours, received a copy of his new book, Day -- a Novel. Perhaps The Hours, based on Mrs. Dalloway, a novel I knew well and an intriguing character, set too high a bar for this reader. Cunningham's beautifully written -- almost magical prose -- is still here, especially in his descriptions of landscapes and the natural world. His characters, especially the eight members of the family around whom the three-day plot evolves, however, are slow to evoke understanding, empathy, or caring. Issues about gender, sexual identification, and sexuality, in general, seem overly abundant -- three of the eight are children. On a most positive note, I keep thinking about this book and wishing I could have discussed it more before I post this review.

Usually, "psychological thriller" is not my genre of choice. Often plots are too contrived for this reader to suspend disbelief, or the author seems more manipulator than novelist. Virginia Feito is guilty of neither in Mrs. March. From the opening chapter with vivid descriptions of the fur-coated, mint green kidskin-gloved Mrs. March and the question that will haunt her through the book -- Did her husband George base the main character in his latest best-selling book on her? -- I was drawn in.

As the reader is pulled into the eddy of Mrs. March's mind and swirls downward with her insecurities, suspicions, and delusions, the questions multiply and the facts blur. The book begins and ends with preparations for March dinner parties, but nothing quite prepared me for the latter. There should be no spoilers in a review of this book, and I comply. However, a quote from the book itself will describe the final spirals: "Something so ugly described so beautifully. To trap you, surely, to trap you into reading and slowly seduce you into agreeing with this deplorable portrait."

This book will, I believe, be a hit with fans of thrillers and with book clubs. I can't wait to discuss Mrs. March with some friends -- perhaps with a glass of red wine and a slice of black olive bread.

What a curious and complex cast of characters Leah Frangui created for her debut novel. A wealthy but naive widow from Kolkata, with a Bangladeshi immigrant posing as an Indian guide and a feisty down-and-out American actress as companion lead the troupe in their (and the reader's vicarious) journey across the USA. Add to these the voices of the vividly drawn supporting characters, and there emerges a smooth narrative, compelling in its humor and its pathos. I laughed out loud at some scenes; at others, I wept. The characters, flawed as they are, ring true in their grief, guilt, and prejudices, and in their quests for acceptance, forgiveness, and a small slice of American freedom. Are the loose ends at the novel's finish too quickly and neatly tied up? Probably. But the lasting impressions for this reader were of joy and hope.

At first I thought the drawings and multiple type faces, fonts, and spacing might be mere gimmicks. Not so. This powerful novel by Nathan Filer uses all of these devices to enhance the telling of nineteen-year-old Matthew Homes' harrowing story.

As Matt battles schizophrenia -- and all the ensuing humiliations, set backs, and attitudes surrounding mental illness -- he is on a quest to discover what actually happened on a holiday night at the beach in Ocean Cove Park nine years earlier. On this night Matt's older brother Simon, a Down Syndrome child with "a beautiful smiling face that looked like the moon" dies.

For the next ten years, guilt-ridden Matt, whose parents are devastated, fights his way through the past to an understanding and the redemption of a memorial.

Readers who enjoyed the carefully crafted voice of the boy with Asperger's disease in Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night will find that Filer has captured beautifully the voice of a boy in search of truth and sanity in this tragically moving story of memory, madness, family resilience, and enduring love.

Anticipation of a compelling story that would provide insight into the terrible period of suppression, anti-intellectualism, and desecration of the arts under the rule of China's Mao Tse-Tung and the People's Party led me to choose Gail Tsukiyama's "A Hundred Flowers" to review. I was sorely disappointed. The plot was predictable. Although each short chapter was titled with the name of a character, the point-of-view was third person, which in this case resulted in characters with little depth or distinction. Tao, the seven-year-old, displays some emotional growth in his understanding of his grandfather Wei by the end of the book. Perhaps the Kapok tree shows the most growth; at least its machete-made scar has healed.