Category Archives: Five Stars
The Arts Council
When I finished The Arts Council, a satirical novel by Dolly Gray Landon, I felt like I’d been dropped into a carnival mirror version of the arts world. The book follows Honorée Oinkbladder, a gifted young artist raised inside a family business that quietly manufactures the physical tokens of achievement for institutions everywhere. Through her eyes, we watch a small city’s arts ecosystem twist itself into a tangle of ego, corruption, favoritism, and theatrical self-importance. Her tense rivalry with Modesty Greedance unfolds against a backdrop of inflated awards, misused donor funds, and a once-noble arts council that has drifted far from its original ideals. The result is a story that sits squarely in the literary satire genre, though it often reads like a character-driven dramedy with teeth.
The writing is lush, verbose in a way that feels deliberate, like Landon wants the excess itself to be part of the joke. There are long, winding sentences loaded with wordplay and invented terms, and then sudden needle pricks of clarity. It’s funny, but also strange, because the humor is threaded through moments that cut close to the bone: the way Honorée hides her beauty so she won’t attract the wrong kind of attention, or the way Modesty relies on spectacle instead of craft because spectacle is what the system rewards. The satire bites hardest when the book peels back the arts council’s history, revealing how a once-merit-driven institution slowly rotted after a leadership collapse. The contrast between past ideals and current dysfunction is one of the book’s most memorable tensions.
What I liked most was how much the novel asks us to think about value. Who gets to decide what counts as art. Who benefits from the illusion of fairness. Who learns to play the game and who refuses. Even the absurd elements feel purposeful: Honorée’s family literally manufactures the symbols that feed inflated egos, yet they see through them more clearly than anyone else. That irony gives the book a reflective core I didn’t expect. The novel also manages to be playful without losing its edge. It mocks the arts world, yes, but it also mourns what the arts can become when honesty gives way to self-interest. I found myself chuckling at one page and nodding in recognition on the next.
The Arts Council is a bold, brainy satire with a lot on its mind. I’d recommend it to readers who enjoy literary fiction that doesn’t mind being a little unruly, especially anyone curious about the messy intersection of art, ego, and institutions. If you like stories that mix humor with critique and aren’t afraid of dense, stylized prose, this one will keep you thinking. For readers who enjoy sharp, offbeat takes on creative culture, it’s a fascinating ride.
Pages: 558 | ASIN : B0G2TFBLHZ
Mulberries In The Rain: Permaculture Plants For Food And Friendship
Mulberries in the Rain, is part memoir, part teaching guide, part love letter to plants. It follows two friends, Ryan Blosser and Trevor Piersol, as they build farms, communities, and a shared life of learning through Permaculture. The book blends personal stories with practical frameworks, from the Human Sector to food forests to plant guilds. It paints a picture of people shaped by land and relationships, and it shows how plants become characters in their lives. The authors invite readers to see plants this way, too, and the book moves between narrative, reflection, and guidance on growing dozens of species. It feels like an invitation to slow down and see plants as teachers.
I found myself caught up in the warmth of the storytelling. The tone is friendly. It is confident without trying to sound authoritative. I liked how the writers move between humor and sincerity. One moment, they poke fun at themselves. The next moment, they share something tender about belonging, failure, or learning to listen to land. Their voices feel lived-in and honest, and that drew me in. I also appreciated how deeply human the book is. For a book about plants, it spends a lot of time sitting with the mess and beauty of people, which surprised me in a good way. The Human Sector section especially resonated with me. It made me stop and think about how much our internal stories shape the landscapes we touch.
The loose, talky rhythm of the book has its own charm, and I enjoyed it most when the authors told personal stories. Every time they step into teaching mode, the tone shifts and the pacing slows. That said, the teaching sections still have heart. The reworked Scale of Permanence is thoughtful. The LUV triangle feels like something I could use tomorrow. The 8 Forms of Capital section is full of moments that made me smile, especially the groundhog au vin story. I caught myself nodding at the idea that recipes and jokes and small daily acts can hold entire forms of wealth. The book shines whenever it grounds big ideas in real people doing real work.
I would recommend Mulberries in the Rain to anyone who wants a different way to think about growing things. It is great for new growers who feel overwhelmed and want a gentler entry point or for longtime gardeners who crave a more personal, relational approach. It is also a strong fit for people who work in community spaces or who feel curious about Permaculture but are tired of dry instruction. Blosser and Piersol speak to folks who want stories, feelings, and a sense of connection as much as they want plant lists and guild diagrams.
Pages: 216 | ISBN : 978-1774060032
Between Eros
When I first picked up Chris Neo’s Between Eros, I thought I was stepping into a straightforward love story, but it opened up into something bigger. The book follows Aris, an older, seasoned man juggling a collapsing marriage, unpredictable friendships, and a dangerous ocean voyage that turns into a survival fight. What begins as a romantic adventure quickly spirals into storms, sabotage, and tangled emotional loyalties. The story blends romance, action, and psychological tension, giving it the feel of romantic adventure fiction tinged with thriller energy.
As I read, I found myself reacting as if I were listening to a friend tell me wild stories over coffee, pausing every so often to say, “Wait… what?” The writing leans into momentum rather than subtlety. Neo moves quickly through conflict, argument, seduction, and danger, rarely lingering on inner reflection. The fast pace kept me turning pages. I didn’t expect the mix of interpersonal drama and near disasters at sea to feel as chaotic as it did, but it fits the book’s emotional landscape. Aris is constantly pulled between desire, responsibility, ego, and fear, and the writing mirrors that turbulence.
Aris is written as both admirable and deeply flawed, and the women around him range from seductive to volatile to tender. The tone sometimes slides into melodrama, but in a way that feels intentional for the genre. What stood out most to me were the moments when characters dropped their masks. A single line of vulnerability from Kay, or a burst of insecurity from Uri, did more for me than some of the larger plot swings. The book seems to ask whether love is a force of destiny, a psychological illusion, or something we build through trial, error, and sheer stubbornness. It doesn’t hand you a tidy answer.
By the time I closed the book, I had the sense that Between Eros would appeal most to readers who enjoy high drama, fast movement, and a blend of romance and danger. If you like romantic adventure fiction that leans into passion, betrayal, big emotions, and bigger twists, this one delivers exactly that. It is bold, emotive, and unafraid to swing for the fences.
Pages: 390 | ASIN : B0D6BTYFNZ
The Book of Oded, Chapter 2
The Book of Oded, Chapter 2 tells the story of a young Israeli man whose life spins through love, identity, migration, and loss. It begins with Oded racing through Tel Aviv to share his green card news with his boyfriend, Gil, and then expands into a rich, heartfelt memoir about how their relationship began, how it grew, and how it changed when HIV entered their lives. The book follows Oded from his army days to his first years in Los Angeles, through joy, heartbreak, separation, friendship, and finally grief and spiritual acceptance. It becomes a story about love that keeps changing shape yet never quite disappears.
The writing feels relaxed and honest, like a friend sitting across from me telling me their story. I loved the humor tucked inside the pain. I laughed at the stories about Na’alei Kvasim slippers and the matching striped shirts at Shabbat dinner, little moments that make the book feel alive. Then the tone shifts and sinks when needed, especially in the phone call that delivers Gil’s diagnosis. I felt myself slow down as the story did, almost holding my breath at times. The simplicity of the writing makes the emotions stand out even more. There is no attempt to impress. It just speaks plainly, and that makes it powerful.
I also found myself moved by how the book tracks what love can become over the years. Oded does not hide the messy parts. He admits the silence, the drifting, the resentment, the guilt. That honesty made me trust him as a narrator. I could feel how love for Gil kept expanding even as their lives pulled apart, and how caring for someone can be both an anchor and a weight. The dream near the end, where Gil appears in white and disappears in a hug, was very emotional. It felt like closure that grew from feeling rather than logic, and I found myself sitting quietly after reading it.
This book feels perfect for anyone who likes real stories told without pretense. If you enjoy memoirs about love, identity, or resilience, you will probably connect with this one. It is also a meaningful read for anyone who has lost someone and is still figuring out what to do with the love that remains. I would happily recommend it.
Pages: 61 | ASIN : B0FVD1N895
Where The Pecan Trees Grow
Where The Pecan Trees Grow, by Thomas Gates, follows Miguel, a Mexican father who leaves his drought-stricken home in Michoacán to cross the border and search for work in the United States. His journey is dangerous and exhausting, filled with tense nights in the desert, smugglers who mix threat with necessity, and close calls with patrols. Eventually, he finds work on a pecan farm in California, where the quiet rhythm of trees and soil gives him a fragile sense of hope. The story moves between struggle and calm, fear and stubborn faith. It is about survival, family, and the long, slow work of building a life from almost nothing. It is also about promise, the kind that sits heavily on the heart.
I found myself swept up in the raw honesty of the story. The writing feels simple in the best way. It opens a clear window into Miguel’s thoughts and fears. I kept pausing when the story talked about soil or trees. Something in those passages felt grounding. I could feel the heat from the fields, smell the dust, and hear the quiet talk between workers. The tense scenes, like the border chase and the near discovery in the truck, hit hard. They left me holding my breath and maybe gripping the page a little too tight. The gentle moments hit just as hard. The letters Miguel writes but cannot send, his quiet walks through the rows at night, and the way he treats the orchard like something alive and listening. These parts warmed me more than I expected.
There were moments when the book made me ache a little. The prejudice he meets in town feels eerily familiar. Still, the story never falls into hopelessness. It keeps lifting itself up, often because of the farm, the trees, and the quiet steadiness of Big Jim. I liked how the book painted Jim as tough but fair. No speeches. No miracles. Just a man who sees effort and decides it is worth backing. The pacing surprised me at times. Some chapters rush with danger while others slow into a gentle hum. I liked that. Life isn’t even. It jumps and stumbles, and the story captures that feeling well.
By the end, I felt proud of Miguel in this strange way, like I had watched him build himself again layer by layer. I would recommend Where The Pecan Trees Grow to readers who enjoy character-driven stories, especially ones rooted in real emotional stakes. Anyone who likes tales about migration, perseverance, and the quiet strength of ordinary people will find something meaningful here. It is a great choice for book clubs, too. There is a lot to talk about, and even more to feel.
Pages: 163 | ASIN : B0G5M3CDRX
Slickrock
Slickrock blends a fast kidnapping thriller with a rugged, sun-bleached wilderness adventure. The story kicks off when Relic, a loner and moonshiner who haunts Utah canyon country, discovers a body in a fake granary. At the same time, college student Malia is yanked from a nightclub and dragged into a scheme run by a revenge-hungry crew. Sheriff Leavitt and Deputy Dawson try to track down a missing ranch hand, but their investigation collides with the kidnappers’ plans. The book jumps between these threads until everything crashes together in Slickrock Canyon, where desert storms, gunfights, and raw survival force each character to show who they really are.
The pacing moves fast, like the book can’t wait to shove you around the next corner. I really liked the way the author paints the canyon. It feels hot and harsh and alive in a way that made me thirsty just sitting on my couch. Relic ended up being my favorite part of the book. His quiet grit sneaks up on you, and the way he tries to help Malia even though the whole mess has nothing to do with him makes him feel grounded and real. I also liked how the author lets scenes breathe just long enough before snapping into chaos. It kept me on my toes, and I didn’t mind that one bit.
The villains are nasty, but a few of their scenes felt over-the-top. Malia’s storyline pulled me in, especially the terror and confusion she feels early on, but I sometimes wanted more space inside her head instead of being rushed along. Still, when the story drops her into the wilderness with Relic, everything tightens up again. Their scramble through canyon forks and flash floods has a wild, sweaty energy. The writing hits hardest when it sticks to people running for their lives under a huge sky.
The book is punchy and dramatic. If you like thrillers that sprint rather than stroll, or if you enjoy survival stories set in wide open desert country, this one will probably scratch the itch. It’s especially good for readers who love a mix of crime, action, and a little rough humor. And if you’re the type who likes rooting for the stubborn, dusty outsider who’d rather avoid everyone but still ends up saving the day, Relic alone makes the journey worth it.
Pages: 300 | ASIN : B0G1CD2S61
In the Face of the Foe
In the Face of the Foe brings together three wartime tales that follow British prisoners of war and the strange mix of fear, grit, and shaky hope that shapes their survival. The story opens inside Stalag XXA, where boredom and danger sit side by side. Men spar, argue, dream, and stumble into choices that could kill them or free them, sometimes on the same night. The early chapters move from camp politics to tense missions beyond the wire, and the book keeps piling on moral knots that force each character to decide what they are willing to risk and who they want to be.
As I moved through the book, I felt myself leaning in, drawn by the rough humor and the raw strain between the men. The writing feels direct and sharp. It never hides the ugliness of fear. It also never forgets that soldiers can be petty and foolish and brave all at once. I liked how the author gives room for small moments that say more than the big ones. A quiet exchange over stolen cherries, the sting of a bad joke, the uneasy pause when a guard appears in the dark. These details felt honest, and they gave me a sense of standing right there in the mud with them. The dialogue sometimes slips into playful banter, and I found that mix of light and dark strangely comforting. It felt real in a way that polished war stories often miss.
The book kept raising questions without preaching. What does loyalty look like when every man is starving? What does courage mean when the cost falls on someone else? Some choices hit hard. One scene with a child had me holding my breath because the moment felt too close to the edge. The tension built slowly, then snapped tight. The writing does not tidy up the mess afterward, and I appreciated that honesty.
It is a story for readers who enjoy wartime fiction that focuses more on people than battlefields. Anyone who likes character-driven plots, moral puzzles, and a close look at the fragile ties that hold people together will find a lot here. I would recommend it to readers who want grit without glamor and heart without sentiment.
Pages: 508 | ASIN : B0G1K6GG7F
Letters from the Sand
Letters from the Sand is a reflective military memoir that follows a soldier’s deployment to Iraq, told in vivid, sensory detail. The book moves from arrival in the desert, through the daily rituals of patrols, barracks life, cultural encounters, and the emotional weight of service. It reads like a series of lived moments stitched together: the heat, the dust, the camaraderie, the fear, the boredom, and the quiet resilience that keeps people going in a place where everything is stripped down to necessity. As a nonfiction war memoir, it captures both the grind and the humanity inside a deployment.
The writing is descriptive in a way that pulls you straight into the environment. Sometimes the detail is intense, but that felt honest. Deployment is overwhelming. I appreciated how the author didn’t rush through anything. He let the boredom breathe. He let the fear sit. Even the small rituals, like cleaning a rifle or sorting gear, were given space to matter. Those choices made the narrative feel grounded rather than dramatized.
What struck me most was how genuinely the book handled relationships. The people aren’t flattened into stereotypes. They’re messy, thoughtful, funny, irritating, and necessary. Watching those early, awkward introductions shift into something like family reminded me how much of military life is built on small gestures. I also liked how the author showed the mental shifts that happen over time, the way vigilance becomes second nature, and how the desert environment presses into everything, even your dreams. Some passages feel almost meditative, others blunt and raw. The mix worked for me. It felt like someone telling the truth without trying to polish it.
By the end, I found myself thinking less about the missions and more about the emotional residue of the experience. The book doesn’t preach. It doesn’t try to define service in grand terms. It just lets you live inside it for a while, long enough to understand why leaving is almost as disorienting as arriving. For readers who appreciate military memoirs that focus on lived experience more than strategy, this will resonate deeply. I’d recommend it to anyone curious about the human side of deployment, especially those who value slow, reflective storytelling that feels personal and unfiltered.
Pages: 201 | ASIN: B0G2335VNQ
LITERARY TITAN 