Bayou Pages | “The Briar Club” by Kate Quinn

REVIEW BY MEREDITH MCKINNIE

“I’m so good at being lonely, though. I’m just so good at it.”

As a latecomer to Kate Quinn, who’s written 17 books including 4 series, I didn’t know what to expect, but the author had my attention by the second page. As a professed lover of historical novelists, namely Kate Morton, I seek escapism in historical fiction with the grounding of the past. The genre feels real, tangible, and reminds me that the universal experience of humanity can transcend time and location, that even when women shirk love, they feel lucky to find it. The Briar Club, set in 1950s Washington D.C., opens with a police investigation of two bodies in Briarwood House, a boardinghouse for women. The house itself poses a perspective, intent on protecting its inhabitants and the many secrets of their lives. 

The story goes back and forth in time, relaying the backgrounds of the six women renting rooms in Briarwood, posing each as a suspect and/or victim of the murders. The British-born Fliss struggles to raise her young daughter while her husband is enlisted abroad. The uphill climb of motherhood is highlighted by the necessity of the village within Briarwood’s walls. Baseball-loving Bea nurses an injury and secretly longs to play in the male big leagues. Nora’s day job at the National Archives is complicated by her falling in love with a renowned gangster, and Reka, the Hungarian artist, navigates grief for her life partner and the theft of a family heirloom. Arlene wants only to be accepted despite her affinity for McCarthyism, and Grace, the noted enigma of the bunch, possesses all the wisdom of having lived many lives and acts as the glue holding the group together within Briarwood’s walls. Grace comments, “I make it a policy to never believe a third of what men tell me.” Aside from each woman’s compelling story, the sisterhood forms as these women live on the margins of a society that idealizes the nuclear family. 

Quinn’s talent emerges in characterization and the immense details that enrich the novel without overwhelming the reader. She lets the past live without overstaying its welcome. Interwoven into the narratives, Quinn introduces the headlines of the era – the Red Scare, the atomic bomb debate, and a woman’s place in the home. Quinn reminds us that the portrait of the 1950s with husband, wife, and 2.5 children in suburbia is only a fraction of America’s story, that outside those constructed lines women lived rich, complex, and noteworthy lives. They made their own rules instead of falling in line. If women’s stories suit your preferences, and diverse tellings enrich your reading experience, then a bout with Quinn’s historical fiction might be the ticket. 

“When you had spent so much of your life just surviving, it was such a pleasure to drift. Such a strange sensation to be able to thrive.”