Joey: Uh, Rach? These...these little women...
Rachel: Yeah?
Joey: How little are they? I mean, are they, like, scary little?
Louisa May Alcott's Little Women was one of my favorites as a kid. I knew it was kinda hokey even then, but I loved the sweet, wholesome New Englandness of it. Why didn't I have Lincoln-supporting, all-knowing parents who steered us through genteel poverty with a smile and life lessons? Where was my saintly and consumptive sister, sacrificing herself at home while the rest of us went gallivanting off into the world? And where the heck was the inexplicable houseservant, a remnant of our prewar glory (before Papa made that vaguely catastrophic investment we don't talk about)? Suburban, middle-class Connecticut seemed decidedly un-noble in comparison.
I read the book again in middle school (around the time the very good Gillian Armstrong adaptation came out)--but hadn't really touched it since. And I don't know that I would have any time soon, if I hadn't fooled around with the Kindle app on my iPod and downloaded it for free. But I did, and got engrossed, even on the tiny screen.
At this point, the sisters are the most compelling reason to read (and revisit) the book. Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy are basically tropes, but entertaining ones. Jo's the tomboy writer; Meg is the matronly sister ultimately fulfilled by husband and kids; Amy is the worldly, selfish one; and Beth is the Dead One. But it's easy to see how they would have been somewhat refreshing in the 1870s--all four get distinct personalities and are loved for their foibles, even if they're all ultimately validated by men in the long run.
As for the writing itself, well....The saddest aspect of my reread is that it's now official: I can't digest purely sentimental writing anymore. Some may say it's because I'm dead inside; others may speculate it's because all I seem to read these days are cynical modern male writers. But either way, I now lack the necessary sense of whimsy you need to be enchanted by the idea of gentle Christian feminism/transcendentalism. And the loss of that sense makes me feel a little sad, and uncomfortably cynical. But I just don't have the patience anymore for Victorian ideals and games.
I was also a little surprised to find my sympathies realigned. Before, I'd always sided with Jo, and lamented her rejection of her best friend and would-be lover, Laurie. This time, I found myself bored by her "I'm an independent tomboy, whee!" character--and rooting for Amy, the sister I'd traditionally liked the least. Jo talks a good game, but Amy's the one who actually pursues her ambitions (first art, then marrying well--the girl has goals!). She's the one who evolves the most out of any of the characters, a point I'd never noticed before. So by the time Jo turned Laurie down, I was already over it and ready for him to hook up with her sister. (Spoiler alert!)
And Beth, well...she still dies. (Spoiler alert #2!) But her final moments are sweet and touchingly written, and illustrate why Little Women endures. It's hard to stay truly dead inside when Beth's running out the clock and being brave for her family. Alcott makes her gentle moralizing so easy to read--very insidious.
Anyway, the best reason to read Little Women is not the fact that Alcott was way ahead of the curve on many social issues of the day (though she was). It's not the idea that we need to return to an ironclad, Victorian system of goodness and grace and civility. It's the idea that a story of a family, simply told, is more powerful than even my cynicism.
4 comments:
Sidenote: Have you ever gone on to read Little Men and Jo's Boys? The first is Jo's school with Prof. Bhaer and has a lot of sweet humor to the storytelling, the second is basically all those little kids grown up and dating. Like Gossip Girl. In the 1880s. Also, Alcott made Jo into a successful writer and in Jo's Boys we see her dealing with the consequences of fame, which is amusing.
I haven't read them, but that's by design. I felt (and still feel) like Little Women was a self-contained story, with a reasonably satisfying epilogue. I had little interest in following the Bhaers to Plumfield, especially since the focus shifts to the kids.
But the little kids were hilars! There's a lot less of the sentimentality because she wasn't looking back at her sainted childhood, instead she was confronting a household full of shrieking boys. Oh, and Meg's kid. And some neighborhood hoyden who was seriously awesome.
I think it's a bit too clear in Jo's Boys that Alcott was sick of writing about the Marches. It has its moments -- particularly the bit Miranda alludes to, where Jo has to deal with visiting readers -- but on the whole I wouldn't try to convince you to read it.
On the other hand, Little Men is much better, and it's far enough removed from Little Women -- especially in perspective; the POV is of the kids -- that it stands alone as a nice story in its own right. Or as Miranda aptly put it, "the little kids were hilars!" She's right on the money.
(Little Women's still my favorite novel ever, though.)
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