Oh look, another book!: Dance of the Earth by Anna M. Holmes

Dance of the Earth

By Anna M. Holmes

Publication Date: October 28th, 2025

Publisher: The Book Guild

Pages: 456

Genre: Historical Fiction / Ballet History

From world stages to theatres of war, Dance of the Earth is a sweeping family saga.

Set against the backdrops of London’s gilded Alhambra music hall, Diaghilev’s dazzling Ballets Russes, and the upheavals of the First World War, Rose and her children, Nina and Walter, pursue their ambitions, loves, and dreams. Dance and music shape their identities, helping each to find their place in the world.

Spanning the years 1875 to 1921—an era of profound artistic and social change—fact and fiction interweave in this tapestry of birth, sacrifice, and renewal. Art—both serious and comic—is at the story’s beating heart.

Praise

"Draws on her knowledge of British dance history to capture the changes from late 19th century to early 20th century."

Jane Pritchard, M.B.E, Curator of Dance, V&A

"A wonderful blend of fun and grit. I love the delivery and descriptions and I will be looking for more of Anna M Holmes's work."

Abbe, 5* Amazon Review

Excerpt

DANCE OF THE EARTH. ACT 2.

A little about Nina, Rose’s daughter, as a young teenager.

‘Ma, take a look!’ Nina flourished the latest edition of Votes for Women, with news from the National Women’s Social and Political Union, under Ma’s nose. She flipped through the pages. ‘See! I want to join!’

‘What? You expect me to collect you from a police station for chucking a brick through a window?’

‘Not them. This.’ She pointed to an advert. ‘Mrs Holt’s classes aren’t difficult to get to. And she trained with Raymond Duncan, Isadora’s brother. She says, “Grace and supplement of movement are necessary for a woman’s well-being and charm.”’

‘Are they indeed,’ Ma said. ‘No harm trying.’

Wearing flowing draperies, her passion became bare-foot dancing learning to ebb and flow. Her plump teacher would stand hand to heart and begin her stories. ‘When Mr Duncan said…’ so that Nina felt a mere breath away from his famous sister. In the church hall that Mrs Holt hired, Nina would lift her chest and arms, leaping in unbounded skips – ‘Feel the breath in your lungs, filling your heart, girls” – gaining height with each inhalation. Then she’d exhale, sinking into poses only to breathe and gather herself again. Locating her solar plexus under a knobbly rib cage was tricky, and any level of grace an on-going endeavour. But Nina was nothing if not an enthusiastic pupil. For a time.

She longed to canter ahead, unseen roots holding her back.

On her fourteenth birthday, Ma and Mo sang ‘happy birthday dear Nina ’n Walter…’ and there were two cakes as always. This brother who’d been given away was a shadowy figure featuring every 29th May only to disappear for another year. Walter’s cake would be sent to him, Ma used to insist. Some years earlier it had been a surprise when a child from a big family down the street called out, ‘Mama says to tell your Ma, thanks for the cake!’ that Nina realised where Walter’s cake really went. Then she’d learnt the full story from Ma, how she’d been in love, how there’d been a handsome man, how she’d not managed to keep Walter… Once the story was told, Nina didn’t think of it again.

One day the front door banged shut and Ma yelled, ‘Molly? You here?’

‘Just me,’ she called out.

When Ma appeared, she didn’t look quite herself. ‘Oh. Oh!’ was all she could say. Whatever had happened had sent Ma into a spin. ‘Walter’s asked to meet.’ Her eyes were bright. ‘Mr Quince sent word—’

‘Who’s Mr Quince when he’s at home?’

‘A lawyer. Your father’s. I can’t believe it. I’m so excited! After all this time!’

‘Oh.’ While Ma jigged about, Nina felt heavy, as if there was a stone in her stomach. It was one thing to have a brother with a cake baked for him each year. It was another thing to have him claim a part of Ma.

Ma talked on about where to meet and what she might wear, whether she should have her hair done and what he might look like. ‘I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘I’m coming too, Ma!’

‘Not the first time, love. This will just be me and Walter.’

‘I want to come. Why can’t I come?’

‘Mr Quince says so. And I say so. That’ll be best.’

‘Well, don’t bring him here! I don’t want him here!’

‘Oh, no, love. It’ll be somewhere else.’

The corners of Nina’s mouth drew down. She wished this Walter Roberts had not piped up but had left them alone. Me, Ma ’n Mo. That was enough. Had always been.

She was resolute. From now on, she hated Walter.