Dear Edward toggles between two stories. One follows a 183 passenger morning flight from Newark to LA packed with a dynamic cast of characters — an ailing billionaire, a tounge pierced misfit who discovers she is pregnant while testing in the plane’s compact bathroom, a hippy in a jingle skirt who is leaving her husband to embrace a new roller blading lifestyle, a gay soldier struggling with his identify, a conceited econ bro and an impossibly glamourous flight attendant. And then there’s the Adler family – Bruce (a math professor who recently did not make tenure) Jane, a frustrated but successful writer, Jordan a vegan teen missing his first love and twelve-year-old Edward. The flight is intimate, humorous and relatable to anyone who has ever crammed themselves through a tight squeeze on a plane in order to attempt to not awakening a sleeping seatmate in order to reach the aisle and head to the toilet. Readers experience a robust tribute to the simultaneous excitement and compromised dignity of air travel, and there is no indication that the plane will implode other than the alternating chapters about Edward’s life in the crash’s aftermath.

The second tale begins in the hospital after the crash and navigates young Edward’s traumatic grief. Edward’s shellshocked aunt and uncle struggle to raise and care for him. Uncle John and Aunt Lacey experience years of infertility and limited exposure to child rearing before inheriting responsibility for their nephew who has become an internet and world-wide obsession. His devastating pain and grief are met by an engaging community of characters who rally around him to varying degrees. Neighbors, a principle, a coach, and a reasonable great therapist offer lessons in healing wounds that will never entirely disappear.

Sibling bonds are central to both plot threads. Edward wears his dead older brother’s clothing for years, despite the inappropriate sizing. And in a particularly heartbreaking moment – one of many scattered throughout the novel — Edward longs for his mother as his Aunt Lacey attempts to nurture him:

Edward nods and is surprised that as she leaves the kitchen, she bends down and kisses his cheek. It’s a gentle kiss, and she ruffles his hair on the way up. He’s surprised party because Lacey rarely kisses him but also because the moment separates, the way the individual clous did in the sky and the threads of grass did on the ground. He sees – and feels – two separate realities. Lacey kisses his cheek the exact same way his mother had kissed Edward’s cheek when she was alive. The kiss feels deliberate and intentional; Lacey can’t write her sister’s movie, but this is something she can do. But she also kisses his cheek the way Lacey would have kissed the cheek of the baby she had so badly wanted. Edward knows this, even though he can’t explain how. The word cherish enters his brain as if on a foreign breeze and then departs…

In her acknowledgments, Napolitano explains that her book was inspired by the 2010 crash of Afriqiyah Airways Flight 771 in which all passengers died except for one surviving nine-year-old boy. She also drew from the details of Air France Flight 447 and a 2011 article in Popular Mechanics detailing the crash. She shares that her additional inspiration was her personal observations about the love that transpires between her own two sons. The author’s palpable awe of sibling love and passion for travel despite it’s remote but real risks come alive in all corners of this beautiful novel. Take it in the air if you dare, it’s a magical read.

Fatima Farheen Mirza’s mesmerizing novel A Place For Us begins its story when a young first generation American named Amar, who has cut off from his family, returns to his hometown to attend his oldest sister Hadia’s traditional Indian wedding. The tale unfolds in a series of flashbacks describing the trajectory of Amar’s parents’ immigration and arranged marriage. Their family life sets a simple stage to demonstrate how organically siblings fall into family roles which then become cemented over time. Hadia is the determined and studious perfect oldest child. Huda fades into her sister’s shadow and generally does what she is told, possibly thriving through an organic tendency to receive limited parental attention. Amar, meanwhile, cannot be popped into any mold. He is rebellious and questioning by nature, creative, and constantly clashes with his father Rafiq’s high expectations and limited emotional bandwidth. Amar is not academic. He will not put away his things. He wants to speak English at home and resists the use of Urdu.

The tension for the survival of tradition in the face of assimilation is an important focus of the book, and the plot explores the dynamic relationship between family roles and cultural expectations:

“Speak in Urdu, Ami” [his mother] reminds him. Ever since Hadia first learned English at school it has been difficult to make any of them speak in Urdu. They speak in English so quickly that they sound like little trains zooming by. They act as though it were the superior language, the more stylish one. She has to make it a game at dinner to encourage them. It confuses her. Urdu is the language she and Rafiq speak with one another and all they every spoke with the children, but one goes to school and the others pick it up like wildfire, as if they’ve forgotten their own tongue entirely. It worries her: if they so easily lose their own language, what else will be lost?

The absorbing final chapters of the novel are the most compelling, as the plot line shifts to Rafiq’s perspective and explores Amir’s cutoff from a father’s perspective. Readers can finally experience the patriarch’s character from a different angle that texturizes the story and digs deeper into the tragic consequences that trail a cut off family relationship. Some relationships are so dangerous and dysfunctional that they must be severed. But in most instances, discovering a way to relate and communicate and engage is a far healthier strategy that allows for a sense of closure and a freeing of powerful emotional energy.

Sam Shepard’s intense and honest play, True West, offers a raw exploration of brotherly competition. The play opens as Austin (Paul Dano) clicks away on his typewriter, diligently determined to meet his professional obligations as a writer, spouse and father who is housesitting for his mother while she takes a trip to Alaska. In struts his tipsy brutish brother Lee (Ethan Hawke) who taunts and teases Lee and tries to distract him from his work. Both actors melt into their roles as quintessential good cop and bad cop as Austin dutifully waters his mother’s plants and tries to whip Lee into shape. Lee just wants more liquor and the keys to Austin’s car, and Austin relents if only to get Lee out of the house as he prepares for an important meeting with a Saul who wants to sell Austin’s screenplay and further launch his career. Not surprisingly, Lee takes the car but returns in time to invade Austin’s business meeting as brotherly tension builds.

Shepard’s masterly presence is felt throughout these actor’s lively and active performances. Dano and Hawke’s chemistry is believable and admirable. The brothers’ journey reveals how ardently people tend to cling to their family roles. It is common to state a desire for change, but when possibilities for transformation present themselves, conscious and unconscious resistance to change can feel as ingrained as conscious and unconscious sibling rivalry. But rivalry and resistance to change do not mean that change is impossible, and neither represents a barrier to love.

I was thrilled to find last minute tickets to this past Sunday’s matinee. At the show’s conclusion, it was announced that members of the company would be staying to discuss the show. About a quarter of the audience stayed and shared the exciting surprise that it was Ethan Hawke and Gary Wilmes (Saul) who joined the audience to answer questions. A talented moderator shared that Shepard’s work conveys the belief that male violence in America connects with painful experiences of inadequacy and that the play was as much about how toxic masculinity sabotages our land, our culture and family relationships. Wilmes was humble and humorous and Hawke was brilliant and engaged. Hawke described how his lines and his character enter his subconscious and it was noticeable that his hands were covered in scabs from the sheer physicality of his performance. This unexpected window into the actors’ experience amplified an already extraordinary theatrical experience.

As a result, sibling bonds inevitably shape personality and mindset, and the complex dynamics of sibling roles and relationships are frequently a meaningful dimension of the process of psychotherapy.

Arthur Miller’s play, The Price, offers a rich and emotionally raw account of two estranged brothers who reunite to try to sell their long-deceased parents’ furniture. The furniture has been in storage for quite some time, but the storage space is being sold. The scores of antiques that have been savored in storage frame the stage and function as a metaphor for the human need to hold onto the past, whatever the price. The dense dialogue infuses the story with psychologically provocative conversations and life reflections that illuminate how each brother’s perception of family dynamics and sibling roles have shaped their respective destinies.

Three-time Academy Award nominee Mark Ruffalo plays protagonist Victor Franz, a disillusioned cop who struggles with the sense that he cannot measure up to his brother’s (Tony Shalhoub) professional success. His phone calls go routinely un-returned by his busy brother, and even Victor’s wife (Jessica Hecht), seems wowed by his brother’s fine clothing and his air of privilege and financial security. As they haggle with the furniture appraiser (Danny DeVito), an inherent, long-standing sibling rivalry is revealed.

The dialogue unfolds, and the characters are willing to voice feelings and thoughts that clarify to the audience how two children can grow up in the same home, but process and remember the past in vastly different ways. Consciously or unconsciously, all siblings compete for their parents’ love, attention and approval. And siblings are bound to hold diverse interpretations of their histories. One important takeaway from this intense play is how important it is to try to avoid estrangement if possible, and to prioritize open and honest conversations with siblings and intimate family members.

The Price was first staged in 1968 and is currently running until May 7th at the American Airlines Theater. It is considered one of Arthur Miller’s most significant plays and is also available in paperback.