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The Last Pirouette: A Novel in Three Acts
Janette DeFelice’s The Last Pirouette is a psychologically charged work of contemporary women’s fiction and family drama set inside the demanding world of professional ballet. The story centers on Victoria, a former dancer who has poured her abandoned ambitions into her gifted teenage daughter, Delia. When Delia earns a prestigious opportunity in New York, what looks like a career breakthrough exposes a deeper struggle over identity, control, and the difficult boundary between devotion and possession. The novel’s theatrical structure, presented as a story in three acts, fits its preoccupation with performance, fate, and the roles people play for one another.
The mother-daughter relationship gives this ballet novel its emotional force. Victoria can be intrusive and frustrating, but DeFelice lets us see the grief, trauma, thwarted ambition, and genuine love beneath her behavior. Delia is just as carefully drawn. She loves the physical and artistic experience of dance, yet she’s unsure whether the life built around it belongs to her. That tension makes the book more than a familiar coming-of-age story. It becomes a sharp examination of how a parent’s sacrifices can turn into debts a child never agreed to repay, and how hard it can be to separate your own desires from the expectations that shaped you.
DeFelice’s background in dance is evident in the detailed descriptions of technique, rehearsal, injury, and the strange combination of pain and transcendence that ballet demands. Readers who enjoy dance fiction, psychological fiction, and mother-daughter novels will find plenty to absorb here. The recurring birds, rain, mirrors, wings, and prophetic visions give the narrative a dreamlike, sometimes surreal quality, while the alternating timelines show how unresolved experiences repeat themselves across generations. Some passages linger over physical sensation and interior thought, but that intensity suits characters who understand their lives through movement and through bodies that are constantly being trained, judged, desired, and pushed past their limits.
As the novel grows darker, its early sense of possibility becomes increasingly uneasy, and the closing act carries the momentum of a tragedy whose warning signs have been visible all along. Even so, The Last Pirouette remains deeply interested in choice, autonomy, love, and the question of whether people can stop handing their pain to the next generation. It’s an emotionally demanding literary family drama with a vivid ballet setting, complicated women, and a theatrical sensibility that makes every revelation feel as though it’s happening under stage lights. The result is unsettling, intimate, and likely to stay with readers who appreciate character-driven fiction that doesn’t look away from the damage people can do while believing they’re acting out of love.
Pages: 328 | ASIN : B0FWZX8Z64
Within and Without
Within and Without, by James Richard Hansen, is a compact poetry collection built around attention to: morning light, ocean sounds, music, dreams, grief, love, and the strange private weather of the mind. The book begins in quiet observation, with poems that often use nature as a doorway into reflection. In “Dawn,” Hansen writes, “Every nuance of tree and flower, / breeze and glittering light, / shows the way to freedom,” and that line captures much of the collection’s spirit. These poems are less about dramatic turns than about noticing what’s already there and letting it open into feeling.
The first half of the book moves between landscape and inner life with a steady, meditative rhythm. The Pacific, rain, moonlight, fire, trees, and stars appear again and again, not as decoration, but as companions to thought. In poems like “Oceanic Events,” “Finding My Stride,” “Catharsis,” and “Peace,” Hansen uses the natural world to describe the self coming into focus. His images are clear and accessible, and the poems often feel like moments from a walk, a window, or a quiet evening that slowly become something more personal.
There’s also a recurring sense of struggle in the collection, but it’s handled with restraint. “Serpent,” “Reconciliation,” “Night,” and “Internal Itinerary” bring in fear, loneliness, frustration, and spiritual searching, yet the book keeps returning to renewal. Hansen’s speakers look inward without getting stuck there. Even when a poem begins in heaviness, it often finds a small source of steadiness: dawn, music, rain, or the act of looking closely. That makes the collection feel honest without becoming bleak.
The second section, Love Poems to Kristen, gives the book a more intimate center. These poems are direct, affectionate, and openly devoted, moving from desire to gratitude to long-term commitment. The language is sometimes grand, but it’s grounded by the sense that these are poems written for a real person over real years, including birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day. One of the loveliest moments comes in “Reverie,” where the speaker misses the green flash at sunset and concludes, “But the idea was enough.” That small realization says a lot about the section’s emotional world: memory, love, and anticipation can be as vivid as the event itself.
Within and Without is a sincere and reflective collection about perception, healing, wonder, and devotion. Hansen’s poems are plainspoken in a way that makes them easy to enter, and their best moments come when a natural image and an inward feeling meet cleanly on the page. It’s a book for readers who enjoy poetry that’s contemplative, emotionally open, and rooted in everyday encounters with beauty. The title fits well, since the collection keeps moving between the outer world of sky, sea, rain, and light, and the inner world of memory, longing, faith, and love.
Pages: 64 | ASIN : B0794GLD97
We the Mourners
We the Mourners, by Vanessa Shields, is a poetry collection about grief, love, embodiment, and the strange communal work of surviving loss. Built around the repeated phrase “We the mourners,” the book moves like a chant through sorrow’s many rooms: the body as tombstone, grief as food, loneliness as yarn, trauma as a kitchen, memory as something stitched into the living. It’s less a narrative than a ritual, a long lyric procession that insists mourning isn’t passive. It roams, cooks, protects, questions, rages, receives, and eventually releases.
Shields doesn’t write grief as an abstract ache floating somewhere above the head. She drags it into the ribs, throat, hips, tongue, blood, skin. I felt that especially in the poems where mourners “eat grief for every meal” or “crawl in the knotty-nooks” of loneliness. Those images are strange, almost unruly, but they work because grief is strange and unruly too. The collection understands that sorrow can be grotesque and tender in the same breath. I loved the way the poems keep returning to Love with a capital L, not as a soft greeting-card sentiment, but as a force with teeth, appetite, memory, and weather inside it.
The writing is lush and I admired its nerve. Shields has a taste for abundance, for alliteration, compression, body-language, and sudden verbal inventions like “Love-net” and “humanuscripts.” At its best, that language feels alive on the tongue, full of heat and pulse. Even when the language gets crowded, it’s crowded with conviction. The ideas stay compelling: grief as shared labor, the body as sacred witness, creativity as resistance, the earth’s suffering as inseparable from our own, and mourning as a form of radical attention.
It’s a book that doesn’t tidy sorrow into lessons, which I appreciated; instead, it makes a place for suffering to be seen without shame. The final movement, with its request that when we break our “feet turn to lungs,” left me with the sense that Shields is asking readers to let pain become breath, not because pain is beautiful, but because being witnessed inside it can be. This is a fierce, generous, bodily collection, and I’d recommend it to readers who like spiritual, emotionally saturated poetry about grief, healing, and love’s difficult, luminous endurance.
Pages: 57 | ISBN: 978-1-0674877-0-6
Jeanne la femme en rouge
Jeanne la femme en rouge, by Isabelle B.L., is a historical novel about Jeanne Tunica y Casas, a fierce political agitator, teacher, artist, wife, and aging woman whose life stretches across Nîmes, Paris, Nouméa, Sydney, and Santo. The novel frames Jeanne in her later years, confined to a retirement home in 1967, while memory keeps pulling her back to Paco, her beloved husband, and to the decades she spent writing, organizing, arguing, teaching, and defending exploited workers in New Caledonia. It is a story of love and ideology, but also of erasure: a woman who fought to be heard now has to fight against institutional silence, old age, and the soft violence of being managed.
What struck me first was the book’s refusal to make Jeanne easy. She is not softened into a saint of justice or tidied into a tragic widow. She is abrasive, brilliant, difficult, lonely, funny, and sometimes exhausting. I admired that. The prose keeps returning to objects, vinyl chairs, folded handkerchiefs, flowers, newspapers, Paco’s clothes, an ugly institutional room, and these details become emotional detonators. Jeanne’s mind is never still; it attacks, remembers, mourns, judges, and revises. The novel makes consciousness feel like a crowded room where history, grief, and political conviction are all speaking at once.
I also appreciated the way the book treats politics as something lived in the body, not merely debated in pamphlets. Jeanne’s communism, pacifism, and anti-colonial anger are not decorative backstory; they shape how she sees chairs, labor, flowers, language, and even the manners of nurses. The novel can be rhetorically intense, and some readers may find Jeanne’s interiority sharp-edged or relentless, but that relentlessness feels honest to the character. The book is most moving when it lets tenderness and fury occupy the same sentence: Paco’s death, Jeanne’s memories of teaching children, her refusal to be patronized, and her terror of dying alone all gather into a portrait that is both intimate and insurgent.
This book is best suited for readers of historical fiction, biographical fiction, feminist fiction, political fiction, and novels about aging, memory, and social justice. Readers who appreciate the moral seriousness of Isabel Allende or the politically charged intimacy of The Book of Night Women by Marlon James may find a similar urgency here, though this novel is quieter, more interior, and more elegiac. Jeanne la femme en rouge is a tribute to a woman history nearly misplaced, and it burns brightest when it lets her remain inconvenient. A vivid, unsentimental novel about a woman who would not become quiet simply because the world preferred her that way.
Pages: 214 | ASIN : B0GHG89KSB
Dog Tags and Ghost Roads
Dog Tags and Ghost Roads is a poetry collection about military service as both a calling and a haunting, moving from enlistment and duty into combat, homecoming, healing, and legacy. D.C. “Buddy” Lee writes from a place of deep reverence for veterans, families, faith, brotherhood, and the invisible weight that follows people long after the uniform comes off. The book begins with the solemnity of “The Oath” and “For God and Country,” then widens into the dust, salt, fear, and fellowship of service before settling into some of its most affecting terrain: the kitchen-table quiet of coming home, the startled body that still hears war in a slammed door, and the slow mercy of therapy, love, and ordinary mornings.
What moved me most was the book’s emotional honesty about what service costs. Lee doesn’t treat sacrifice as a clean, polished word. He lets it drag sand into the house. In “The Echoes of Service,” honor becomes heavy enough to make breathing hurt, and in “Where Shadows Wait,” home is warm but not simple, because safety feels like a language the veteran has forgotten. Those moments stayed with me because they feel intimate rather than ceremonial. I believed the wife’s hand on the shoulder, the daughter’s laughter in the kitchen, the veteran sitting on the edge of the bed watching the dark. The best pieces in the collection understand that war doesn’t always announce itself with gunfire. Sometimes it lives in a hallway, a cup of coffee, a flinch.
The writing has a strong, thunderous pulse, full of flags, storms, steel, salt, sacred vows, and ghosts. At times, that grand register gives the poems real force, especially in the sea poems like “Underway,” “Run Silent, Run Deep,” and “A Life in Salt and Wind,” where Lee’s Navy background brings texture and authority. I loved those sensory touches: brine, deck, whistle, harbor, anchor, tide. The collection uses repeated images of fire, bone, flame, honor, and eternal watchfulness. When Lee lets the poem breathe in a specific room with a specific person, the book becomes richer and more piercing.
I felt that Dog Tags and Ghost Roads is interested in bearing witness, and there’s something earnest and worthy in that. Its ideas are rooted in respect, resilience, faith, service, and the conviction that healing is not weakness but another form of courage. This is a heartfelt, reverent book with its strongest power in the places where public honor meets private pain, and I’d recommend it especially to veterans, military families, caregivers, and readers who want poetry that speaks openly about duty, trauma, love, and the long road home.
Pages: 92 | ASIN : B0DST3795Y
Violations of Natural Order
Eros and Order: Love That Creates and Destroys explores the fragile boundary between love and control through literary stories of marriage, obsession, rescue, crime, immigration, and moral consequence. What drew you to the idea of examining love as a creative and destructive force?
Actually, the only story written specifically for this collection is “No Good Deed.” All the others had their independent inspirations, with three of them—“Perfect Girl,” “I Am Zico,” and “The Story of Aunt Jenny”—being derived from actual events. The unity of the collection occurred to me later as I began to assemble the collection from stories I had previously written. Then, finally seeing that the unity of the stories consisted of love’s changeable nature, I wrote “No Good Deed” as a commentary on that theme. The story’s character, Nora, has experienced a lack of normal parental love and, to compensate, has retreated from life into a Gothic cult. She has become so distrustful of what most of us regard as normal life—and love—that she hesitates to recognize it, let alone accept it, when it materializes in the character Ronnie, who is attempting to save her from herself.
The title story has a strong classical sensibility, with ideas of vows, order, betrayal, and consequence. How did classical themes influence the collection?
The ancient Greeks had a keen sense of order, which we shared in a Christianized version from the Middle Ages until it was shattered by the horrors of World War I. The Greeks also recognized that erotic love could, if allowed, challenge and even destroy that order in individuals, even if done unintentionally. Consider the myth of Oedipus, who kills his father and marries his mother, without recognizing their true identities. Nevertheless, a plague descends on Thebes, the city Oedipus rules. And to lift that plague, the double sins that Oedipus has committed must be expiated, which he accomplishes by blinding himself.
Collectively, the stories in Eros and Order deal with violations of natural order: a woman who deserts her husband and young children in the title story, a father who imposes unnatural restrictions on his daughter in “Perfect Girl,” a girl who grows up without parental love in “No Good Deed.” Once the natural order is broken, it must be restored. The fact that the rebalancing does not occur immediately may deceive us into believing that we can escape it, but just as Sandra Patterson eventually learns in “Eros and Order,” we cannot.
A wonderful source for studying the evolutionary history of love in Western culture is C. S. Lewis’s The Allegory of Love (1936).
Several stories explore the danger of confusing love with ownership, rescue, or control. Was there a particular moral question you wanted readers to wrestle with?
Yes, just what constitutes a beneficial, healthy relationship that we can recognize as love? The answer waits at the end of the collection in “The Story of Aunt Jenny,” a folktale about the Underground Railroad in the Mid-Ohio Valley of what became the state of West Virginia. Aunt Jenny risks her own freedom to help other escaped slaves, for West Virginia was still part of Virginia and therefore the Confederacy during most of her lifetime. Her actions are in sharp contrast to those of Sandra Patterson in the story that opens the collection. Sandra seeks complete personal freedom and so abandons her responsibilities to her husband and children. Aunt Jenny risks her personal freedom to help others achieve it.
Ruggiero Bellafatezza, the crime boss father of Serena in “Perfect Girl,” very well illustrates the dangers of attempting to control others as he imposes unnatural restrictions on his daughter’s romantic life for the benefit of his criminal activity by pledging her in marriage to his underboss, Ricky Lanza. Serena rebels by having a different beau for each day of the week in order to flaunt her independence until tragedy results.
“No Good Deed” offers hope while still questioning whether love can truly save someone. What do you think love can realistically offer people in moments of despair?
Well, if nothing else, the collection shows that love has a variable and elusive character, but it can be decisive in saving someone. In “No Good Deed,” Ronnie attempts to do just that for Nora, whom he has just met, despite warnings from his coworkers and quite strongly from Nora herself that he shouldn’t. But he emphasizes to her that to lift herself out of a life that at times has involved homelessness, she must create a change in herself; he can only help her do that. Thus, at the story’s resolution, Nora must decide whether she will try to change, with Ronnie’s help, or remain in her adopted family—a Goth tribal cult. Thus, for love to succeed, it must involve a commitment by both participants.
Author Links: GoodReads | Facebook | Website | Amazon
A teen fashion model who plots revenge against her father for the murder of her lover.
A Detroit factory worker who falls for a Goth girl who warns him not to.
A Moroccan immigrant who dies in the tough streets of Napoli.
A married couple mired in a Babel of their own making.
A folktale about a heroic woman and the Underground Railroad in West Virginia.
The 12 Bad Dates Before Christmas
The 12 (Bad) Dates Before Christmas, by N.L. DiDeo, follows Evie Holliday, a hardworking architect whose quiet single life is upended when her mother issues a holiday ultimatum: go on twelve dates before Christmas or surrender her romantic future to the “Church Cupids.” What begins as a parade of dating-app calamities becomes something warmer and more surprising when Evie repeatedly crosses paths with Ryan, a charming police officer and single father whose presence feels less like a rescue and more like a well-timed miracle. Set against the festive sparkle of St. Augustine, this clean holiday romance turns bad dates, meddling family, and emotional-support donuts into the scaffolding for a sweet love story.
I had fun with this book because it understands the comic misery of dating without becoming sour about love. Evie’s voice is chatty, self-protective, and genuinely funny, especially when she is cataloging each romantic disaster like evidence at a crime scene. The book’s humor works best when it lets ordinary humiliations swell into operatic little catastrophes: garlic rolls withheld like sacred relics, a karaoke ambush, a mother treating a dating profile like a surveillance operation. There is a buoyant absurdity to the premise, but the story stays grounded through Evie’s affection for her family, her friendship with Lanie, and her growing recognition that being busy is not the same as being fulfilled.
Ryan gives the romance its steadier pulse. I appreciated that he is not written as a flawless fantasy dropped into Evie’s life to solve everything; he comes with responsibilities, a daughter he adores, and enough patience to meet Evie’s chaos with warmth rather than swagger. The relationship develops with a light touch, and the closed-door approach keeps the focus on banter, trust, family integration, and the small rituals that make two lives begin to rhyme. Some of the setups are broad, and the bad dates lean deliberately cartoonish, but that theatrical quality feels baked into the charm. The book is not trying to be austere. It is a frosted sugar cookie with a surprisingly sturdy center.
The target audience is readers who enjoy clean romance, holiday romance, small-town romance, romantic comedy, and Christmas fiction. Fans of Debbie Macomber’s cozy seasonal stories or Jenny Hale’s Christmas romances will likely feel at home here, though N.L. DiDeo brings a more antic, sitcom-bright dating-app energy to the familiar holiday-love framework. This is a cheerful, low-angst read for anyone who wants family meddling, festive settings, sweet chemistry, and a love story that believes embarrassment can be a doorway. The 12 (Bad) Dates Before Christmas is a merry reminder that the road to forever may begin with one truly terrible first date.
Pages: 295 | ASIN : B0GX2YLJJQ
Hard Things
Hard Things is Marc Hopkins’s memoir of training for and running the Bigfoot 200, a brutal 206.5-mile endurance race through the Cascade Mountains, but the race itself is really only the outer trail. The deeper journey is inward, through old grief, heart trouble, divorce, fatherhood, family silence, anxiety, love, and the aching need to prove oneself worthy. Hopkins moves from a sweltering training run where he’s reduced to counting steps, through snow-blocked roads, river crossings, a folded shoe insert he refuses to fix, and finally into the long, delirious miles of the race, where aid stations, pacers, his son, his mother, and Jenni become part of a hard-won lesson: strength isn’t the same as pretending not to need anyone.
What I admired most is how honestly the book lets discomfort stay uncomfortable. Hopkins doesn’t polish himself into some heroic endurance-machine version of a person. He gives us the man who drives himself to the hospital with heart symptoms, jokes through a 99 percent blockage, signs up for a 200-mile race partly as a defiant gesture against death, and then slowly realizes that his compulsive toughness has a shadow side. The “rock in the shoe” moment stayed with me because it’s so simple and so revealing. He’s literally hurting because his insole is folded under his foot, yet he keeps going because that’s what he’s trained himself to do emotionally, too. That’s the book at its best: physical pain becoming a quiet little door into something larger.
The writing has a loose, conversational immediacy that fits the subject well. Hopkins is funny in a self-deprecating way, especially when he lets the absurdity of ultrarunning breathe, like searching for a hidden trail that seems to have vanished into a river, or mistaking a stump for Bigfoot when sleep deprivation starts playing tricks on him. At times, the book circles familiar emotional territory, especially around worthiness and the need to appear strong, but I found that repetition mostly honest rather than tedious. Long races don’t reveal things neatly. They return the same fears again and again, under different weather, with worse feet. The best passages have a rugged sensory clarity: the blast zones, the old-growth forest, the stale exhaustion of aid stations, the strange anticlimax after the finish.
By the end, what moved me wasn’t simply that Hopkins finishes Bigfoot 200, though that achievement is staggering. It’s that he finishes with a softer understanding of himself, and that softness feels more courageous than the miles. Hard Things is a thoughtful, bruised, humane book about endurance, not as conquest, but as a way of listening to the life you’ve been trying to outrun. I’d recommend it to runners and endurance athletes, certainly, but also to anyone who has confused self-reliance with healing, or who needs a reminder that doing hard things doesn’t require becoming unbreakable.
Pages: 210 | ASIN : B0GYQL3KG8
