Tag Archives: 1950s

The Briar Club, by Kate Quinn*****

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I had never read a novel by Kate Quinn, but my friends on Goodreads raved about it and I was overcome by the fear of missing out. Happily, I was not too late to get a review copy; my thanks go to NetGalley and William Morrow, along with my apologies for lateness. From the get go, I could tell this book was too good to speed read, and so I set it aside for a time when I could sink into it and appreciate it. This fall I was able to get the audio version from the library to help me along; narrator Saskia Maarleveld is outstanding, and those that enjoy hearing their books should strongly consider ordering that format.

Our story takes place just after World War II, and it takes place almost entirely within the confines of Briarwood House, a women’s boarding house owned by the selfish, odious Mrs. Nilsson. The book’s prologue comes to us from the point of view of the house, and for a brief spell I wonder whether the house itself will become the main character. It doesn’t, and that’s probably just as well, because the women that rent its rooms, along with Pete and Lina, Nilsson’s two children, fill the story quite nicely, and all are beautifully developed, some more than others, with Nilsson herself being the only truly static character. In fact, I could argue that even the house’s character is developed somewhat.

I seldom do this, but the prologue is so juicy that I’m going to reprint a considerable chunk of it here, because Quinn’s voice—and okay, the house’s—provide a more convincing incentive to read on, than anything I can offer:

If these walls could talk. Well, they may not be talking, but they are certainly listening. And watching…Now its walls smell of turkey, pumpkin pie, and blood, and the house is shocked down to its foundations. Also, just a little bit thrilled. This is the most excitement Briarwood House has had in decades. Murder. Murder here in the heart of sleepy white picket fence Washington, D.C.! And on Thanksgiving, too. Not that the house is terribly surprised by that; it’s held enough holidays to know that when you throw all that family together and mix with too much rum punch and buried resentment, blood is bound to be shed sometimes…This was a very enthusiastic murder, the house muses. Not one moment’s hesitation from the hand swinging that blade…Briarwood House doesn’t like Mrs. Nilsson. Hasn’t liked her since she first crossed the threshold as a bride, complaining before she’d even shaken the rice out of her hair that the halls were too narrow (My halls! Too narrow!), and still doesn’t like her twenty years down the road. No one else in this kitchen does, either, the house knows perfectly well. It knows something the detective doesn’t. The killer is still very much in this room.

Now that the murder has been mentioned, I must caution you not to identify this story foremost as a murder mystery; it isn’t. The murder doesn’t come till nearly the very end, and the reason that it affects us so deeply is because of the author’s success in making every character here feel tangible and known to us. By the time anyone is enraged enough to swing anything, we know all of these women, or most of them at least, well enough to feel as if they are family. Boarder Grace March is revealed to us more slowly than the other women, but there are reasons for that, and by the end, I may love her best of all. No, this is first and foremost a stellar work of historical fiction.

At the outset, no one knows anyone else. Some are married, waiting for spouses to return from the conflict; some are single; some are professionals. Almost everybody has at least one serious secret. But as they grow to know one another, bonds are established that in some cases are stronger than those of blood relatives.

I won’t go through the plot or describe individual characters; as far as I’m concerned, that would be gilding the lily. Instead, I urge you to get a copy of this outstanding novel in whatever form is your favorite, with a slight nudge toward audio if you’re undecided. Highly recommended!

When Women Were Dragons, by Kelly Barnhill*****

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I read Kelly Barnhill’s The Ogress and the Orphans, and I loved everything about it, so I was pumped when I saw she’d published another book last fall. I was disappointed not to get the galley, but I pulled my socks up and got in line at Seattle Bibliocommons. I was able to get the audio version, and narrators Kimberly Farr and Mark Bramhall do an outstanding job, so perhaps it was for the best. This book is for sale now, and it is a true delight.

The story is set in the American Midwest during the 1950s, a time known for its stifling repression of women. Some women can take it; others turn into dragons. It’s not always by conscious choice; when you’ve had enough, you’ve had enough.

The tale centers on one family, with a mother, father, daughter Alex, and the devoted Aunt Marla, who visits frequently with her adorable baby, Beatrice. Marla is a physically strong and imposing woman, and she raises eyebrows by sometimes showing up in overalls instead of a dress or skirt. The most important person in her life is her sister, a gifted mathematician whose talents are withering away while she focuses on making the perfect pot roast, getting tough stains out of the laundry, and creating endless patterns in her knitting.

Alex is the narrator for most of the story, with the occasional change to the points of view of various bewildered men that live locally. It is the characters here that make this an outstanding story rather than a manifesto. Alex has so many questions as a child, and as she grows up, she struggles to absorb the predominant values of the time, which seem unfair to her. She wants to be a good daughter and play by the rules, but so many of them baffle her, and we feel that struggle with her. For reasons that I won’t share, little Bea comes to live with Alex’s family, and we see Alex try to help raise Bea to be responsible and obey all of the requirements of the time, whether written or unwritten, but Bea struggles with them even more than Alex has, and because of this, Alex is forced to think critically about the things she’s been sweeping under the rug in order to get along. And ultimately, Alex learns the lesson that all parents and older siblings face to some degree, that to help a child grow, we must let go.

Teachers and librarians must especially love this book.

I have read a few unfriendly reviews that insist that this message has already been conveyed by The Stepford Wives. I loved the Stepford Wives, too, but seriously, are we saying that once a novelist drives home a point, that’s it, and nobody else can have a go at it? If it comes down to it, I’d take this novel over the other anyway, for nuance and character development. My favorite grumpy review asks why a dragon needs a purse! I ask you, would you be the one to take that dragon’s purse from her?

I love this book with all my fiery heart, and I highly recommend it to feminists, and to those that love us.

The Incredible Winston Browne, by Sean Dietrich****-*****

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4.5 rounded upward.

The time is the 1950s; the place is Moab, Florida, a tiny town where everyone knows everyone else. Winston Browne is the sheriff; Eleanor Hughes is a frustrated single woman that fears she is headed for spinsterhood; and a small girl, Jessie, is on the lam from a creepy cult that considers her to be “a little abomination.”

I read this book free, courtesy of Net Galley and Thomas Nelson Publishers. It’s for sale now.

The story begins with Winston in his doctor’s office. There’s bad news about his chronic cough. Tests show it’s not only malignant; it’s metastatic. In other words, Winston should put his affairs in order.

Winston is a friendly guy, but he’s also an introvert. He tells no one of his condition. He’s single, and there’s no family to warn, so he goes about his life about the same as before he learned his diagnosis.

Jessie is awakened in the middle of the night by one of the Sisters, who hustles her into a waiting vehicle. She’s being busted out of the Temple compound by softhearted women that know the girl is doomed if she remains. Jessie has an independent spirit, and so when she is dropped off at the train station with instructions of where to go and who to trust, she follows her instincts instead. Her instincts take her to Moab, Florida.

Eleanor—you can call her Ellie—is fed up with Jimmy. They’ve dated for year upon year, and she is so frustrated by his inaction that she can scarcely stand the sight of him. If he is so crazy about her, then why doesn’t he propose? She’ll never have a husband or a family, and it’s all his fault. But then Winston comes along, and the birds sing in the trees.

For the first half of this book, I thought it would be a four star read. It was a good enough tale, but I had my reservations. For starters, where are the Black people in Moab? If we’re meeting the townsfolk—and we surely are—how is it that all of them are Caucasian? A visit from Jackie Robinson is all well and good, but this is Florida, for heaven’s sake. Is Moab a sundowner town?

I run a quick search, knowing that the African-American population during this mid-1900s was much lower than it is now, and I am grudgingly convinced that there might well be a little town in the boondocks with only white residents. Back then, it could have happened, so…okay.

It is during the second half that everything falls together and I am swept away by the characters. No more consulting the Google oracle; the intimacy has become too strong for me to step back.

It’s difficult for me to find a feel-good book without schmaltz. Most books that are billed as heartwarming tend to make me roll my eyes or retch a little. Dietrich works magic, though, and although it takes a minute or two to reel me in, ultimately I am captivated. The droll, understated humor that drops in and out at just the right moments is a key element. The captions that appear regularly make me guffaw more than once; don’t skip over them! They’re terrific. The text is punctuated now and then by contributions from the Moab newsletter, whose minutiae underscores just what a dull place this town usually is.  

However, let me also say a quick word here about the audio version. I began reading this book close to the publication date, and so when I was partway into it, I checked out the audio book from Seattle Bibliocommons. By doing so, I could extend my reading sessions, switching over to the audio when I had to do something else with my eyes and hands. The author reads his own narrative, and he has a wonderful voice, warm with just the right amount of drawl. The best way to enjoy this book is to access both the print version and the audio; if you must choose one or the other, it’s a toss-up, perhaps with a slight edge toward the audio.

Some readers will be pleased to know that there is no off color language or sex involved. If a movie were made based on this book, it would most likely show a General Audiences rating.

Highly recommended to those that love a feel good story, historical fiction, or Southern fiction.

Who Killed the Fonz? By James Boice***

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I was invited to read and review this strange little book by Net Galley and Simon and Schuster, and I thank them. It’s for sale now.

Fonzie is the eternally cool lone-wolf character in the television sitcom “Happy Days,” which was aired during the 1970s and early 1980s, back before the internet and the digital era gave us choices. The show is set in the 1950s, with malt shops, sock hops, and so forth. Richie Cunningham was the main character, an ordinary small town teen who was befriended by the Fonz.  This book morphs forward to the 1980s, which places Richie—er, Richard—in middle age. He’s a Hollywood producer but is called back home by the death of Fonzie.

When I saw this book in my email, I wasn’t sure what to think. How does anyone write this book? Neither Richie nor the Fonz was anything more than a stock character during the series itself. Every problem encountered by any character had to be resolved with humor and warmth within thirty minutes—more like twenty once advertising is figured in. So my first assumption was that this must be some sort of dark satire. But that would be very edgy and risky, and I wasn’t sure Simon would touch something like that. But, it’s an invitation and a quick read, so let’s have a look.

Satire it isn’t. It’s promoted as noir, and it isn’t that either.  I can go sit in the garage. I can say I am a car. I can get my children to all say I am a car. I still won’t be a car, or for that matter a motorcycle. And so I’m telling you right now that this is, in spite of its quirky title and book cover, a cozy mystery, period. It is what it is.

Now, that’s not a bad thing. There are a lot of readers that enjoy a good cozy, and it seems likely that a lot of those readers will fall into the demographic to which this story appeals, namely the Boomer generation, the readers that watched Happy Days when they were young and (hopefully) happy.

So here we are, back in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Potsie and Ralph Malph distrust Richard because he has become some sort of Hollywood big shot. His career is on the rocks, but they don’t know that; all they know is that he’s come back to the Midwest wearing designer clothes, and when he calls himself “Richard,” they snicker. But ultimately they all work together to unsnarl issues of local corruption as well as the mystery about Fonzie, and Richard realizes he is really still Richie.

So we have corn; we have cheese; and we have cheese corn. But it’s an accessible story that will provide a pleasant level of distraction that doesn’t require a tremendous amount of concentration or analysis. If your gram is undergoing chemo, she can take this into treatment and it will help keep her warm.

I recommend this book to those that primarily read cozy mysteries and are familiar with the series.