Little Women

I’m celebrating! PBS just announced that it’s planning a three-hour miniseries based on Louisa May Alcott’s classic novel Little Women.

Alcott (1832-1888) is famous for her books for girls, most of which I read again and again when I was growing up – and returned to many times after that. Alcott herself was dismissive of those books, calling them “moral pap for the young.” But I think she was probably mistaken about their quality, and last year I undertook an experiment to see whether I was right.

What many Alcott fans don’t know is that she also wrote fiction for adult readers – mature, true-to-life novels about the relationships between men and women,  and sensational stories about passion, betrayal, and murder. (Alcott fans also may not know that she lived on a commune as a child, had a crush on Ralph Waldo Emerson, ran a school with Henry David Thoreau, and served as a nurse in the Civil War. Have you figured out why she fascinates me?)

Back to Alcott’s writing. I started thinking about that “moral pap for the young” remark and decided I wanted to take a look at her mature writing. So last year I read the novel she considered her finest work – Moods. (You can use the link to download it free to any e-reader.)

And what I discovered was that Moods is almost unreadable…until the story changes from an adult romance to a tale about a lively tomboy and her journey to womanhood. (Gee, it almost sounds like Little Women, doesn’t it?)

Here’s an excerpt from Chapter I of Moods. The speaker is Ottila, a worldly-wise woman who has just learned that her fiancé no longer loves her:

“I, too, desire to be just. I will not reproach, defy, or lament, but leave my fate to you. I am all you say, yet in your judgment remember mercy, and believe that at twenty-five there is still hope for the noble but neglected nature, still time to repair the faults of birth, education, and orphanhood. You say, I have a daring will, a love of conquest. Can I not will to overcome myself and do it? Can I not learn to be the woman I have seemed? Love has worked greater miracles, may it not work this?”

Gack. I had to force myself to keep reading.

And here (relief is on the way!) is the opening dialogue to Chapter II, which introduces a tomboy named Sylvia who will grow up in the course of the novel:

“Come, Sylvia, it is nine o’clock! Little slug-a-bed, don’t you mean to get up to-day?” said Miss Yule, bustling into her sister’s room with the wide-awake appearance of one to whom sleep was a necessary evil, to be endured and gotten over as soon as possible.

“No, why should I?” And Sylvia turned her face away from the flood of light that poured into the room as Prue put aside the curtains and flung up the window.

Notice any difference?

Alcott fancied herself a sophisticated writer of mature novels – but her grown-up characters are stiff and unnatural. Hardly anyone reads Moods any more (I would never have stuck with it if I hadn’t been curious about Alcott). But her stories and books for girls are still alive and real – and the writing is often superb.

There are a couple of lessons here for all of us. First, we need to practice unflinching criticism of our own work. That first chapter of Moods should never have seen the light of day. (Years later Alcott actually revised it out of her novel). Learn how to spot bad writing, and be merciless about fixing or getting rid of it.

Second, know where your energies lie. Learn to pick up the internal and external signals that a writing project is (or isn’t!) working. Writers have told me that they type faster when a piece is going well – or their bodies feel lighter – or there’s a gentle humming noise in their heads. Try to figure out what subjects and genres work best for you, and direct your writing energies there.

Most important, love your work. Generations of girls have laughed and cried over Little Women. I went back to reread it a few years ago and was astonished by the amount of Transcendental philosophy that found its way into this apparently simple tale of four girls who are stumbling into adulthood. (“Moral pap” indeed!) I wish Alcott had been able to take pride in what she’d accomplished.

Alcott’s dismissive attitude towards her books for girls doesn’t do her any credit, and it makes me feel ashamed of finding so much pleasure in beloved books like Jack and Jill, An Old-Fashioned Girl, Little Men, Eight Cousins, Rose in Bloom, and A Garland for Girls. (Jo’s Boys is the only Alcott novel – besides Moods – that I found impossibly tough going. I never did finish reading it, despite multiple tries.)

Bottom line: If you yearn to be a writer, focus on who you are rather than who you wish you were – and use that knowledge to guide your writing.

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