Moonglade & Other Stories

Frank Castelluccio’s Moonglade and Other Stories is like a quietly devastating poem wrapped in the clothing of everyday life. Each story pulses with emotional truth, from grief and longing to unexpected joy and defiant resilience. “Do-Over” was the one that undid me. In it, Deb, a grieving widow and friendless woman, navigates the weight of multiple losses while holding together the fragments of her life with biting wit and reluctant grace. It’s a portrait of womanhood, aging, and the terrible beauty of memory.

Castelluccio writes women with a rare honesty that is compassionate but unflinching. Deb’s inner monologue made me laugh, wince, and pause in recognition. Her recollections of menopause, her love for her late husband Johnny Boy, her “losing-my-shit moments” in the deli aisle—all of it felt heartbreakingly authentic. The way she talks to framed photos of loved ones on her dresser or hoards toothpaste, as if it’s a lifeline, reminds me of those quiet, private rituals we all keep to ward off despair.

The story’s structure reflects Deb’s scattered grief. Her thoughts ping-pong between memories, current irritations, and aching loneliness. The voice in her head repeats, “I want a do-over,” like a mantra, like a prayer. What she really wants is a return to meaning. Castelluccio never exploits her grief for drama; instead, he lets it breathe, twist, and sometimes mock itself. It’s a remarkable balancing act that brings dignity to a woman society would too easily ignore.

Themes of resilience, aging, and the dissonance between outer appearances and inner realities run deep here. Castelluccio’s characters don’t seek redemption or clarity—they seek connection, even if fleeting. Deb is not a tragic figure; she’s a warrior of endurance. She experiences moments of joy, even in the midst of life’s absurdity. One moment she’s screaming at shopping carts, the next she’s laughing with a memory of her husband’s cologne. These tonal shifts are where Castelluccio shines most.

What stayed with me is how Deb keeps choosing to live, even when it’s easier not to. Her courage isn’t loud—it’s in her ability to keep moving. That quiet strength felt so real to me. As someone who’s walked her own path through grief, I saw pieces of myself in Deb’s contradictions. She’s jaded yet hopeful, broken yet functional, raw yet funny.

For readers who find solace in poetry and short stories, in the creases of lived experience, this collection offers a rare kind of validation. A gorgeously crafted, emotionally rich experience that reminded me we all deserve second chances, even if they only come in dreams.