Little Women Sunday
Feb. 27th, 2022 07:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
osprey_archerGalloping forward in Little Women! This week all the sisters have enjoyed/suffered Great Events, except for Beth.
First, Meg. She got married! In keeping with the general Little Women theme that family love trumps romantic love, “the minute she was fairly married, Meg cried, “The first kiss for Marmee!” and turning, gave it with her heart on her lips.”
Presumably Meg and John kissed as part of the ceremony, but nonetheless, a good way to make sure that young gentleman knows his place. Jo must approve. She seems overall to have mellowed on the idea of the marriage, and did not weep her way through the ceremony, which shows restraint and maturity and also perhaps a firm grasp of the fact that Meg is only moving down the road.
Meg has also had her first marital squabbles, first when John showed up for dinner with a friend without warning on the very day Meg’s attempt to make currant jam ignominiously failed, and then when Meg spent fifty dollars on a length of silk for the dress.
Jo’s Great Event is that she won a hundred dollars in a story contest! She uses that money to send Marmee and Beth to the seaside for a whole month. Fifty dollars therefore translates to two weeks at the seaside, which makes John Brooke’s ashen face over the whole affair more comprehensible.
(This trip to the seaside could have been Beth’s Great Event, but unlike the others she receives no showcase chapter; it’s dealt with in a few sentences in the chapter about Jo’s career.)
Encouraged by this experiment, Jo plunges into the dangerous yet lucrative world of writing sensation fiction. She also manages to publish her first serious novel, which the critics alternately laud and lambast, to poor Jo’s great confusion. “You said, Mother, that criticism would help me. But how can it, when it’s so contradictory that I don’t know whether I’ve written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?” Jo cries, and authors everywhere nod along in great sympathy. If only all the critics agreed (and agreed that it was wonderful, of course!).
Amy’s chapter is nightmare fuel. She throws a party for the twelve girls in her art class, and no one comes. Well, actually, ONE of the girls comes, which is almost worse, because it means that Amy has to be cheerful and sociable and pretend they’re having a grand time instead of retreating to her room to cry her eyes out, which is what I would be doing if I threw a party and no one came. But Amy is made of sterner stuff. Her voice only quivers a little when she asks her family, with great dignity, “I’ll thank you still more if you won’t allude to it for a month, at least.”
But better things are in store for Amy: the chapter ends with Amy dragging Jo along on a series of calls, ending at Aunt March’s, where Jo makes herself disagreeable… right when a trip abroad hangs in the balance, though she doesn’t know it. Possibly it’s just as well - if Jo went abroad with Aunt Carrol it might well end in double homicide - but Jo is NOT going to be pleased next chapter when she realizes what she hath wrought.
First, Meg. She got married! In keeping with the general Little Women theme that family love trumps romantic love, “the minute she was fairly married, Meg cried, “The first kiss for Marmee!” and turning, gave it with her heart on her lips.”
Presumably Meg and John kissed as part of the ceremony, but nonetheless, a good way to make sure that young gentleman knows his place. Jo must approve. She seems overall to have mellowed on the idea of the marriage, and did not weep her way through the ceremony, which shows restraint and maturity and also perhaps a firm grasp of the fact that Meg is only moving down the road.
Meg has also had her first marital squabbles, first when John showed up for dinner with a friend without warning on the very day Meg’s attempt to make currant jam ignominiously failed, and then when Meg spent fifty dollars on a length of silk for the dress.
Jo’s Great Event is that she won a hundred dollars in a story contest! She uses that money to send Marmee and Beth to the seaside for a whole month. Fifty dollars therefore translates to two weeks at the seaside, which makes John Brooke’s ashen face over the whole affair more comprehensible.
(This trip to the seaside could have been Beth’s Great Event, but unlike the others she receives no showcase chapter; it’s dealt with in a few sentences in the chapter about Jo’s career.)
Encouraged by this experiment, Jo plunges into the dangerous yet lucrative world of writing sensation fiction. She also manages to publish her first serious novel, which the critics alternately laud and lambast, to poor Jo’s great confusion. “You said, Mother, that criticism would help me. But how can it, when it’s so contradictory that I don’t know whether I’ve written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?” Jo cries, and authors everywhere nod along in great sympathy. If only all the critics agreed (and agreed that it was wonderful, of course!).
Amy’s chapter is nightmare fuel. She throws a party for the twelve girls in her art class, and no one comes. Well, actually, ONE of the girls comes, which is almost worse, because it means that Amy has to be cheerful and sociable and pretend they’re having a grand time instead of retreating to her room to cry her eyes out, which is what I would be doing if I threw a party and no one came. But Amy is made of sterner stuff. Her voice only quivers a little when she asks her family, with great dignity, “I’ll thank you still more if you won’t allude to it for a month, at least.”
But better things are in store for Amy: the chapter ends with Amy dragging Jo along on a series of calls, ending at Aunt March’s, where Jo makes herself disagreeable… right when a trip abroad hangs in the balance, though she doesn’t know it. Possibly it’s just as well - if Jo went abroad with Aunt Carrol it might well end in double homicide - but Jo is NOT going to be pleased next chapter when she realizes what she hath wrought.
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Date: 2022-02-27 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-02-27 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-02-27 03:06 pm (UTC)(I felt very much for Amy in this scene— I was similarly abandoned at my 16th birthday party, although fortunately [?] it was a "everyone told me they weren't coming the day before" rather than "nobody showed up" situation.)
Fifty dollars therefore translates to two weeks at the seaside, which makes John Brooke’s ashen face over the whole affair more comprehensible.
I hadn't made that connection before. Oof.
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Date: 2022-02-27 06:18 pm (UTC)It's so hard getting an understanding of the comparative value of money in ye olden days. Clothes in particular were SO much more expensive than they are now (and servants so much less expensive, etc), it's really apples and oranges. But knowing that Meg impulse-purchased two weeks at the seaside worth of silk really put John Brooke's reaction into perspective for me. I think on previous reads I sort of thought he canceled his greatcoat to Teach Meg a Lesson about Economy, which upon reflection is an ungenerous interpretation - they probably just literally can't afford it.
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Date: 2022-02-27 03:21 pm (UTC)It's so interesting that's one of the moments where Louisa intrudes as narrator -- something like, "I'm afraid it wasn't at all the done thing"? -- like, this is another moment the March family is odd, but better. I love Amy standing perfectly arranged and Beth hiding her face and Jo locking eyes with Laurie, all perfectly IC. I also have to wonder if that happened at Anna's wedding -- supposedly Meg's was closely based on it?
Fifty dollars therefore translates to two weeks at the seaside, which makes John Brooke’s ashen face over the whole affair more comprehensible.
Yeah, I don't want to think about what FIFTY DOLLARS in 1862? 63? could buy. And Jo got twenty-five dollars for her hair!
Encouraged by this experiment, Jo plunges into the dangerous yet lucrative world of writing sensation fiction.
That's one of my favourite passages in the whole book -- "She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house, for by the magic of a pen, her ‘rubbish’ turned into comforts for them all. The Duke’s Daughter paid the butcher’s bill, A Phantom Hand put down a new carpet, and the Curse of the Coventrys proved the blessing of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns." It's so self-aware and funny, but not mean, like "Does genius burn, Jo?" a bit later.
Amy’s chapter is nightmare fuel. She throws a party for the twelve girls in her art class, and no one comes.
It always really interests me that this is where we basically get Amy's philosophy -- "You don’t care to make people like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I mean to make the most of every chance that comes. You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That’s not my way." It's not quite get along to go along, but it's the reason why she gets the grand European tour, and Jo doesn't. And the hilarious calls chapter leads to a really revealing exchange:
“So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely because we are not belles and millionaires, are we? That’s a nice sort of morality.”
“I can’t argue about it, I only know that it’s the way of the world, and people who set themselves against it only get laughed at for their pains. I don’t like reformers, and I hope you never try to be one.”
“I do like them, and I shall be one if I can, for in spite of the laughing the world would never get on without them. We can’t agree about that, for you belong to the old set, and I to the new. You will get on the best, but I shall have the liveliest time of it. I should rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think.”
“Well, compose yourself now, and don’t worry Aunt with your new ideas.”
That's the Amy that nearly marries Fred, although Louisa piles it on rather thick with the fair (which really puzzled me when I was a child, I thought a fair was like an amusement park). Clearly the narrative (and most of the readers) are on Jo's side, but Amy is the one who wants to be a "lady" in a moral and mental sense, and (I forgot this) the fair is where Aunt Carrol observes her and talks to Marmee. And she's practical like Marmee is: she wants to use the trip to Europe as a test of her talent, and writes IN HER LETTER HOME "One of us must marry well. Meg didn’t, Jo won’t, Beth can’t yet, so I shall." Damn, girl. It's a nearly Austenian sentiment (and I think it's a bit significant Fred is English -- isn't he? -- and he was a total jerk earlier in the book).
if Jo went abroad with Aunt Carrol it might well end in double homicide
HAH, YES! (And while Amy goes to the Old World, Jo literally goes to the new -- New York. By herself!)
- but Jo is NOT going to be pleased next chapter when she realizes what she hath wrought.
I remember when I first read the book I thought it was SO TERRIBLY UNFAIR that Jo couldn't go -- and Louisa's constant "if only she had known what depended on her behaving well" didn't make it any better. Just because Amy knew how to flatter people and get along and know what to say! But once again it's about Jo not being able to hold her tongue, unlike Marmee and Amy. And it's the beginning of a sad run of events for Jo -- she doesn't go to Europe, she loses Laurie as a friend and support, she nurses and loses Beth, and her parents are depending on her. And she even gives up her writing. (GRRRRRRRRRRRR)
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Date: 2022-02-27 06:31 pm (UTC)I think perhaps I've been a bit hard on John Brooke in the past, for really no better reason than the fatal crime of being boring; on previous readings I've thought he was unnecessarily harsh/scolding to Meg here. But two weeks at the seaside worth of money is a pretty big expenditure! Given their financial circumstances, it's high enough that a couple probably ought to talk about it before making the outlay.
And yes, Amy and Jo's different philosophies are so interesting! It's especially striking because their goals are so similar, and similarly unconventional: they both want to be artists in a world that has decidedly mixed feelings about women artists. But they take such different approaches. Jo is unconventional in basically every way, whereas Amy tries to be perfectly conventional otherwise. You just imagine someone from another 19th century novel visiting her in her atelier and being relieved that, "though an artist, Miss March is a thoroughly charming and feminine young lady, as at home in a fashionable drawing room as she is in her studio."
Disappointed though Jo is, I think she would have found going to Europe with Aunt Carrol a poisoned chalice: yes, she's in Europe where she's always wanted to go, but with an aunt who is going to demand FAR more conventional behavior than her family ever has. She's just not built for the position of companion. Whereas the job suits Amy to a T: she's good at it and she gets a certain pleasure out of being able to do it well.
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Date: 2022-02-27 08:17 pm (UTC)And that's where they both meet their future husbands, instead -- well of course Amy already knows Laurie. But they're so different from when they were young, and those sections read as way more "sophisticated" (should we say, Contiental?) -- almost from another kind of novel. It's almost kind of Jamesian (that detail where Amy scandalizes the European women by greeting Laurie) except in the James novel Amy would marry Fred and it would be six thousand pages. Or Jo would marry Laurie after all, and it would be a tragedy, and Amy and Fred and Jo and Laurie would all realize that six thousand pages later. Anyway. (Did she know James? ....oh dear apparently James shredded "Moods" as being about "precocious little girls." YOU SHOULD TALK, HENRY.)
I also forget every time that Jo is going away to New York to make Laurie forget about her because it's just a silly pash like he got into at his college and Beth will make him feel better! OH JO. I always want to think she's setting off to find her fortune. And her job's not that convincing either, there's much more about Bhaer and the Weekly Volcano (lol), except it does foreshadow her being a teacher. Then again being a teacher was a nearly inescapable fate for young women in the 19th century, but I do like how Bhaer's instructing and romping with the kids is like a glimpse of Jo's happiness at Plumfield. ....DID I SAY I LIKED BHAER. (Even a little.)
I think perhaps I've been a bit hard on John Brooke in the past, for really no better reason than the fatal crime of being boring
He is soooo boring. It's always a problem writing convincing and lively Good people, but Louisa especially keeps striking out with Good Men. Laurie and Mr Laurence are extremely vivid, but Bhaer and Mr March and John Brooke just kind of drift around on the page for me. Altho I at least feel I can see Bhaer, but that's mostly through Jo's descriptions. Mr March is like a sort of cuddly Emerson (there's a hint of Fruitlands when he starts extemporizing about salad in the ancient world or whatever and John Evelyn? and the family cracks up. Did John Evelyn write about salad?).
(John Evelyn did indeed write about salad. Had no idea. Or rather, sallets, and of course that's a veiled ref to Alcott's vegetarianism as well. https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/for-sale-old-salad-cookbook)
And yes, Amy and Jo's different philosophies are so interesting! It's especially striking because their goals are so similar, and similarly unconventional
Amy's really been taking on a lot more life for me in this reread and these discussions, which is neat! I was of course on the DROWNING IS TOO GOOD FOR YOU side as a kid, because of Jo's writing, and I thought she was kind of a silly prig as a girl and then a rather vain snob as an adult. And Louisa's rather dismissive of her art (again, I really wonder what May thought of this).
they both want to be artists in a world that has decidedly mixed feelings about women artists. But they take such different approaches. Jo is unconventional in basically every way, whereas Amy tries to be perfectly conventional otherwise.
And it's kind of wild because Amy's attitude to her art is unconventional, at least to me, she's so cold-eyed and pragmatic about it -- genius or nothing! Nothing? okay fine, then -- which is really different from the cliche of the time of the young untalented women hauling around their camp stools and whatever all over picturesque ruins. Jo always says Amy hates work, but clearly that isn't true -- she's disciplined enough to grow as an artist (I love the comparison of those two sketches of Laurie). But Amy isn't totally ride or die for art the way Jo is for writing. Jo without writing in a sense isn't Jo, really. But she quits writing too, in New York (that bit where Bhaer approvingly notes her fingers are no longer ink-stained! FUCK YOU, FRITZ) just like Amy quits art. (And I forgot of course Laurie is a parallel to both of them, he's rejected by Jo and Amy really reads him the riot act and then he gives up art. Amy ripping into him -- "I despise you"! -- is an interesting parallel to Bhaer, who's much more gentle with Jo.)
You just imagine someone from another 19th century novel visiting her in her atelier and being relieved that, "though an artist, Miss March is a thoroughly charming and feminine young lady, as at home in a fashionable drawing room as she is in her studio."
//DIES
OMFG now I want that in a fic so much. And also that sounds straight out of the Gaskell biography of Charlotte Bronte about how even though Emily was studying German while she was making bread, the bread was still excellent and fluffy! at least I think it's Emily. Gaskell's whole biography is like that about Charlotte, too, she was not at all coarse and sweet and lovely and a true lady and &c &c.
Amy also kind of reminds me of that passage I read in an art history class about Leonardo how an artist should sit down to his work in a really nice silk outfit that is just as beautiful as his palette and it's not at all like being a sculptor who gets sweaty and there's marble chips flying everywhere and he makes noise like a workman (a very thinly veiled dig at Michelangelo). Jo is more like Michelangelo, the Romantic genius, even though she keeps getting sat on.
Disappointed though Jo is, I think she would have found going to Europe with Aunt Carrol a poisoned chalice: yes, she's in Europe where she's always wanted to go, but with an aunt who is going to demand FAR more conventional behavior than her family ever has.
Oh ghod, Jo would TOTALLY get into some scrape, wouldn't she, or wind up insulting minor nobility the way she can't get the hang of socializing with calls.
She's just not built for the position of companion. Whereas the job suits Amy to a T: she's good at it and she gets a certain pleasure out of being able to do it well.
That is nice! And she's like that with Laurie, too -- they seem to have a much more companionate marriage, like that very pretty little metaphor about them rowing well together. Bhaer is such a Mr March type figure, and John's also authoritative -- and both of them are not just teachers but they instruct their future wives. Laurie and Amy seem a lot more like equals. (John's not that much older than Meg, is he? But he's not really youthful, and he's a disciplinarian to both Laurie and his own son.)
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Date: 2022-02-27 09:32 pm (UTC)At some point I want to track down contemporary reviews/reactions to Little Women; I'm so curious how they reacted to the characters, particularly Amy, because I think that her ambitions to be ladylike might have struck readers as more comprehensible and sympathetic in the 19th century and then come to seem SO old-fashioned and priggish in the 20th. (Although Jo actually CALLS her a prig in chapter one, so maybe 19th century readers saw her that way too!)
And now in the 21st century, there's been a minor renaissance in Amy appreciation (I'm thinking particularly of the Gerwig movie) - although that tends to focus more on her artistic than her social ambitions. Like Jo, Amy has multiple facets, and different eras focus on different sides of her.
And yes, "the artist has not let her artistic pursuits spoil her womanly graces or distract her from her womanly skills!" is SUCH a 19th century trope. (Ofc Gaskell had the additional incentive of defending her dear friend from those jerks who thought Jane Eyre was the product of a coarse mind. HOW DARE THEY, Charlotte only ever thought the highest and most beautiful thoughts.)
Amy does eventually settle down to painting, doesn't she? Earlier in the book she's making lots of "mud pies" (sculpting with clay) but painting IS so much neater and more ladylike. Although only by comparison. Leonardo must have been an extremely neat painter not to muss his nice silk outfit as he painted! (Maybe that's why he finished so few paintings.)
Amy/Laurie is interesting because in the first part of the book it's definitely Laurie instructing/cajoling Amy (or straight up bribing her: "I'll visit you every day if you'll stay with Aunt March while Beth is sick!"). But by book two, Amy is the one scolding him for wasting his talents, such as they are, and then they both... well, as we've said before, they don't really give up art, do they? But they stop pursuing it professionally; they remain content to be talented amateurs.
(And, speaking of our last artist: Beth basically stops playing in part 2 of the book, because of her illness, presumably. Maybe that's why people never think to include her when they talk about the book's conversation about art: by the time the book is really in the weeds with it, Beth has fallen silent.)
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Date: 2022-02-27 08:27 pm (UTC)....young Henry James's review of Louisa May Alcott's first serious adult novel, Moods, scoffed at her use of the same heroine he himself would build so many novels around: “We are utterly weary of stories about precocious little girls. In the first place, they are in themselves disagreeable and unprofitable objects of study; and in the second, they are always the precursors of a not less unprofitable middle-aged lover” (Literary Criticism I: 189). It seemed odd to la Rose and Anthony that the man who wrote this surly dismissal would in time create a number of precocious girls of his own – Isabel Archer, Verena Tarrant, the governess at Bly, Maisie Farange, Nanda Brookenham. James's first novel would in fact introduce its heroine by twice calling her precocious (“Watch and Ward” 238, 241). Even stranger, as Anthony noticed, every one of these girls would fall in love with the older man James claimed to be so weary of.
BUSTED, HENRY.
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Date: 2022-02-27 09:08 pm (UTC)Read my version instead"no subject
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