What might have seemed contrived or even trite in this era of constant reboots turned out instead to be surprisingly refreshing and undeniably engaging in Genevieve Valentine's Girls at the Kingfisher Club. Valentine captures the panache of prohibition-era New York while maintaining a pure, genuine tone for her twelve heroines--all of whom are completely themselves. This retelling of the classic fairy tale, The Twelve Dancing Princesses is gripping, lavish, and heartfelt--to the point that I had a very hard time putting it down, and an even harder time accepting that I had finished reading it.
Girls at the Kingfisher Club tells the story of twelve sisters, all disappointments to their father, a nouveau-riche businessman who needs a son to inherit his empire. So he locks them all upstairs in their sprawling house and never lets them go anywhere or do anything.
So of course they sneak out to go dancing at the speakeasies of New York City. When their father starts hatching a scheme to get them married off and off his hands, things come to a head and each of the girls must go her own way, and make her own way.
Through all this, there is a beautifully painted bond between all the sisters. Their dynamic is at once distant and completely devoted, and they are herded through their misadventures by the eldest, Jo, who they call The General.
The storytelling is frank and sensual, the cadence echoing the rhythms of the dancing the girls do at the clubs every night, with all the decadence of Gatsby, but oddly, with much less sentimentality. This is a tale of sisters who look out for each other, and look out for themselves--women making it in a man's world and dancing until their shoes are worn through.
I cannot recommend this book enough. It is a thoroughly enjoyable little novel that I look forward to reading again.
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