Chain smoking, a defining characteristic of Selma, Malvina, Marcella and Ruth, the titular siblings in Julie Klam's "The Almost Legendary Morris Sisters," elicited a laugh of recognition. Who doesn't have (or had) a relative who smokes like a chimney? I know I do, more than one, and it's this kind of detail, along with plenty of self-deprecating humor, that makes Klam's "true story of a family fiction" so relatable and such an enjoyable read.

"Every family has stories," she writes, and her family's have long fascinated her. Klam touched on her mother's branch of the family tree in a 2008 memoir, her first book, "Please Excuse My Daughter," which Klam had intended to follow with one about the Morris sisters, cousins of her father's mother.

Life and other projects intervened (a divorce and books about dogs, celebrity and friendship, not necessarily in that order) but she couldn't shake the unmarried chain-smoking sisters who were born around the turn of the last century and lived together for most of their long existences — except for Ruth, who married briefly and then returned to the fold — and somehow amassed a fortune.

How did these " 'manless,' independent, rich sisters who existed in a time when the world did not support any of that" accomplish what they did? It was time for Klam to find out.

What ensues is an engrossing search for truth and how learning that truth might affect identity, a crucial aspect for Klam and one she touches on over and over again. What if the stories she grew up hearing about the Morris sisters prove to be false, she asks herself, and where will that leave her, a Jewish woman in modern America?

Finding the answers is a serious quest, but Klam's touch is light as she goes about digging up facts, as some of her chapter heads suggest: "Start at the Very Beginning, a Very Good Place to Start," "Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis" and "Step One: Index Cards," the last attesting to her admitted lack of genealogical expertise, a deficit that's hammered home with the silly but funny decision to kick off her search for information with a visit to a psychic to contact the sisters in the spirit world.

Eventually, Klam taps into real expert help that reorients her research, including the Romanian Genealogical Society in Mendota Heights, which proves instrumental in connecting her with resources in Romania, where she travels. Mostly, though, she is unbelievably lucky, and she knows it.

Some truly astonishing discoveries about the sisters await the reader, but the book flirts with the possibility of disappointment, that the lack of information and "brick walls" that Klam runs into will translate into a book that just peters out, leaving these fascinating people lost to history. As the conclusion nears, regret is palpable.

Instead, a wave of good fortune saves the day, the ending the equivalent of actor Paul Henreid lighting two cigarettes at once and handing one to Bette Davis. It's a classic gesture from the 1942 movie "Now, Voyager," but it's also a metaphor I'm sure the Morris sisters would appreciate. Klam might not have gotten the moon, but she did capture the stars.

Maren Longbella is a Star Tribune editor. • 612-673-4012

The Almost Legendary Morris Sisters
By: Julie Klam.
Publisher: Riverhead Books, 272 pages, $28.