Reading *The Briar Club* felt like stepping into a time machine—one where the walls whispered secrets and the floorboards creaked with unspoken drama. The house as a narrator? Genius. It’s like eavesdropping on a juicy conversation you weren’t invited to, but somehow, you’re the most invested person in the room.

Grace, the heart of the story, is magnetic. Her Thursday night dinners with the housemates? I craved an invite. The way she weaves these women together—each with their own messy pasts and guarded hearts—made me want to start my own makeshift family. And those recipes sprinkled throughout? I bookmarked at least three to try (though my cooking skills are more "burned toast" than "1950s culinary charm").

Not every character landed for me—Mrs. Nilsson’s choices had me side-eyeing her more than once—but that tension kept things real. Life isn’t tidy, and neither are these women. The historical backdrop (McCarthyism! Baseball leagues! Post-war trauma!) never overshadowed their personal journeys; instead, it made their struggles pulse with urgency.

The twist? I gasped aloud in my bathtub (RIP, dignity). Kate Quinn crafts endings like a magician—you think you’re watching one hand, but the other’s already pulling the rug out from under you.

Pro tip: Skip the author’s note until *after*. Trust me, it’s a dessert best saved for last.