Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott

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Little Women

Young adult literature has changed profoundly over the past century and a bit since Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott, was written. While modern young adult literature encourages readers to stand up against tyrannical governments, experiment with relationships with vampires, and navigate the darker sides of life, Little Women is part and parcel of how literature for minors used to show youngsters the benefits of following tradition and being a good Christian. There are some parallels in terms of doing the right thing even when its hard, but books like Alcott’s are difficult to read in this age because the characters are just so wholesome.

I first read Little Women when I was a teen, probably because I enjoyed the 1994 film version and wanted more time with Jo. (To this day, the film’s plot is the version that sticks in my head rather than the book’s plot.) Now that I’ve reread it, years and several gender in literature courses later, I have more than a few problems with how the March sisters are hammered into the shape of “angels in the house” while living in genteel poverty during and after the Civil War. I also have serious issues with Laurie, the boy next door who loves Jo but later marries her younger sister Amy. These problems are much better expressed by Maddie Rodriguez in her article for Book Riot, “Laurie Isn’t a Good Guy; He’s a Nice Guy™.”

The first half of Little Women is the one most familiar. In it, we are introduced to the four March girls, each with their particular vanities and quirks. Apart from the saintly Beth, each one is encouraged by their mother (who speaks mostly in parental lectures) to work on their character defects. Jo is too boyish—wild, messy, inclined to pull pranks, etc.—and has a temper that frequently flares up. Meg is too fond of material comfort and wealth. So is Amy, but Amy is also vain about her appearance. Some of these flaws are genuine concerns, but I was uncomfortable with the way the girls were taught to strive to become the Victorian ideal of wife and mother. Meg and Amy come the closest by the end of the book. Jo preserves some of her delightful eccentricity, but even she becomes a somewhat idealized wife and mother.

The half of Little Women reads like an extended epilogue in which we learn about what happens to the girls as they grow up, after their father returns from war and Beth fails to die of scarlet fever. (Beth’s death is completely different in the book.) It’s episodic and has little of the depth of the first half. We see less of the characters struggling with flaws and more hearing them talk about it, giving the appearance of summary rather than development.

I can’t help but be a product of my own time. I suspect this is the big reason why I dislike Little Women so much now. I’ve been taught about the virtues of individuality, how women have been culturally oppressed for centuries, and the myth of the friend zone. The narrative pushes its mid-nineteenth century values and morality through the characters and onto the reader. (I daresay readers in another century will say similar things about contemporary young adult fiction.) There are moments—usually when the girls are allowed to be themselves—that I enjoyed. For these moments, I think Little Women remains a classic that readers will look on fondly—but maybe shouldn’t reread after they’ve gotten a degree in literature.

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