Molly Beth Griffin, September 2012. Garnet is sixteen years old in 1926 and plans to live the life her mother wants for her: she’ll graduate high school in a year and then marry her boyfriend and become a happy homemaker near her family in Minneapolis. The shadow over her life is her dad’s PTSD, earned during World War I. But when she’s sent to the resort town of Excelsior, Minnesota, for the summer to escape the polio epidemic, everything changes.
In Excelsior, Garnet stays with a distant relative, the haughty Mrs. Harrington, and her quiet, stuck-up teenage daughter Hannah. She longs to visit the brand-new amusement park or even the local dance hall, but the latter is strictly out of the question while the former can be enjoyed only under close supervision. Yearning to do something other than sit around on the patio sewing and gossiping with the Harringtons, Garnet gets her first job, in a hat shop, and that’s where she meets Isabella.
Isabella is a flapper and a dance-hall queen and a runaway, beautiful and mysterious and exotic. Garnet had no idea she might like girls, but her relationship with Isabella quickly turns physical, and provides the perfect escape from her troubles. Soon there is bad news from Minneapolis; her dad has left the family and her mom is coming to get her. Worse, Mom wants Garnet to drop out of high school and get a job to support her – or else get married right away so that the family has income.
I loved this sweet, sexy, feminist coming-of-age tale. The plot is quiet but moves swiftly, and even secondary characters are well-drawn and have their own subplots, e.g. Hannah can’t read very well, and the hat-shop owner uses feathers in her wares until Garnet shows her the environmentalist light. Okay, that part was a little heavy-handed. But overall the book was excellent.
I’m worried, though, about getting teens to pick it up. Historical fiction can be a tough sell to begin with, and when you add in the birdiness of the title and the brown and gray cover – which I personally think is pretty, but I’m thirty-six – well, I worry.









