Escaping Grief Through Pole Dancing 

Growing up, my best friend’s mom was obsessed with escapist reads. I have countless sun-drenched memories of my bracelet-claimed BFF and I in our tankinis playing at the community pool while her mom – eternally put together and clad in classy shades – lounged with her new book. Reading this Thelma & Louise-hearted murder mystery, I couldn’t help but think Last Night Was Killer was something Miss B. would have loved on those summer days.  

Mary Pauline Lowry is not one to shy away from openly blending her personal experience with her writing. Her 2014 debut novel, Wildfire, was inspired by her own time as a wildland firefighter. In 2020, The Roxy Letters delivered a fun twist on Bridget Jones set in Austin, Lowry’s hometown. And with this July 7 release, Lowry spins grief into gold. 

Before writing Last Night Was Killer, Lowry has shared, she went through a period of writer’s block following the deaths of her parents. She found release and new inspiration through pole dancing classes. 

And thus, Tilly was created: a single, fortysomething mom of twins and comedian who can’t find it in herself to make any more jokes after her mother’s death. The story begins with Tilly starting pole dancing classes as a way to escape her sorrow-shell at her Boise childhood home, which she moved back into nine months ago (just in time for a rebirth). After going out with her new Pole Virgin friends, Tilly wakes up with little memory of the night before and a dead creep in the trunk of her car. 

Over 320 pages, Tilly and her story become more and more lovable as she embraces her pole persona, Nikita (named after the equal parts gorgeous and badass secret assassin in La Femme Nikita). Desperate to prove she didn’t kill anyone, Tilly leads an amateur murder investigation and gets mixed up in a terrorist plot all while taking care of her kids, building new friendships, flirting with an ATF agent, rocking “Vagina Monster” pole moves, and slowly getting her groove back. 

Lowry’s humor in the book acknowledges the ridiculousness of a middle-aged mom from potato town in her puffer jacket and pole heels, taking on terrorists as expertly as she handles getting her 7-year-olds to the school bus stop. However, Lowry also leaves space to appreciate the gooey center of it all, which is women banding together to survive and laugh through the impossible. 

At the heart of the female relationships in Last Night Was Killer is Tilly’s relationship with her twin daughters. Taking after her own mother, Tilly would do anything for her kids, and she looks at them with heartwarming admiration. Because they are the only family she has left, Tilly understandably has her wall up around her tiny family. 

This makes it all the more rewarding to see Tilly open up to more and more people over the course of the book. The motherly support she finds in her neighbors, rekindling high school friendships and sisterhood with her pole dancing friends, is all really moving. Readers focused on the murder mystery of the book may initially be suspicious of some of these new characters, but they can also anticipate sharing relief with Tilly as she learns just how many people in her hometown she can really trust. 

Lowry’s vivid imagery shines in the most stressful fight scenes of the book, making it more gripping at times than you may have expected from its bright purple and aquamarine cover. That being said, sometimes these descriptions veer too close to cringy mom lingo, which may scare away some but actually really supports Tilly’s “slay” identity if readers allow her the time to grow into it. (Yes, girl! You are a Boss Bitch!)   

What will stick with me from this book is Tilly’s capacity for transformation and how surprisingly inspiring I found her. When you’re looking for a poolside escape, the idea is that you flip through that experience and then walk away just the same after. But I think Last Night Was Killer is the special kind of summer read that allows you to venture off into this crazy story and apply its lessons of rising above grief to whatever you’re facing outside of the pages. Which is, in fact, quite a killer idea.  

This article appears in July 17 • 2026.