Which of the "Little Women" are you?

    

Jessie Wilcox Smith

     I doubt there are any readers of Little Women who have not likened themselves to one of the March sisters. Nor do I believe there are any readers of the book who have not wished they were one of the sisters they knew they were not like. I also doubt there has ever been a sentence more convoluted than that last one.

     Of course, I used to think I was most like Jo. Doesn't everyone? And why is that? Is it because she's the most flawed? The most ambitious? The most out of sync with her environment? Or, if she is the March sister we most want to emulate, is it because we admire her ambition and fierce independence? Because she's funny and fun to be around? Because, despite all her flaws, she was able, with the help of her family and friends, to work through her difficulties and accomplish what she set out to do? To be honest, I thought I was most like Jo because I fancied myself to be colorful, interesting, unusual. Like her, I always hated following the crowd.

     Now, through the filter of intervening years during which I hope my self-knowledge has grown more acute, I see I have only two things in common with Jo: her desire to write and her hot temper. At the same time, I see I have much more in common with Amy than I thought. She's persnickety. Pretentious. Selfish. She loves to correct everyone. She has delusions of grandeur. Thankfully, Amy turns out very well in the end. As Marmee says, she finally becomes a gentlewoman in the true sense of the word.

     And what of Meg? Have you ever noticed that she's the one readers seem to forget? And have you ever stopped to think that perhaps the reason for that is because she represents the kind of person most of us really are and know? Think about it. She starts out at sixteen a rather vain, shallow girl who worries about her looks and her clothes. And boys. She dreams about marrying a wealthy man and living in the lap of luxury for the rest of her days, never having to risk harming her beautiful white hands with manual labor. Yet she falls in love with a humble tutor who can only give her a humble home and two beautiful children. And she ends up happier than she ever hoped. Yup. Most of the women I know are Megs.

     Then there's Beth. It distresses me to hear and read disparaging remarks about Beth. "She's too good to be true." "She's boring." "She's a wimp." I think people say those things about her because she makes them uncomfortable. Yes, she's good. What's wrong with that? Isn't that what we're all supposed  to be? The one vocation we all have in common in this world is holiness. Holiness is our true vocation, no matter what career we follow. Boring? Why? Because she loved her family so much that all she wanted to do in life was serve them and make their lives happier and more comfortable? Because she made toys and dropped them out the window to the poor neighborhood children? She realized the greatest earthly ambition a human being could ever aspire to: serving others. It may not have been in a grand, global way, but who would put a measure on true charity? As for being a wimp—look at how she struggled against her social anxiety disorder. She went to that picnic out of respect for Laurie. She pushed aside her painful shyness to talk to a disabled boy because everyone else left him alone with no one to talk to. Look at how she, who loved music so deeply, had to put up with that crappy piano, until Mr Laurence gave her a new one, not because she asked for it, but because she deserved it. Most of all, look at how she faced her own death—yes, she regretted not being there to see her baby niece and nephew grow up; yes, she regretted leaving her family. She even regretted never being in love and not being more "ambitious." But she never railed against her illness. She lived out her life doing everything she loved to do, working for others, until her strength gave out, then she faced the end with a peacefulness and strength that only her deep faith could give. She was eager to reach her true home. If you ask me, Beth is the true heroine of the four. She's the one I choose to emulate.

     But I think, even at this midlife point, I'm still very much the 12-year-old Amy with a smattering of Jo.

Film Scores I Love, Part Two

     Okay, it's not a feature film -- rather, they're not feature films -- but Hagood Hardy's scores to Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Green Gables, the Sequel (formerly titled Anne of Avonlea) are so wonderfully winsome, touching, humorous, romantic, and just downright perfect for these mini-series, I just had to include them here.

     Unfortunately, the CD is out of print and extant copies, both new and used, are outrageously expensive (at least from what I saw on Amazon). Shame. At least we still have this beautiful music on YouTube.

     One of my favorite film composers is Thomas Newman, whose most recent credits include The Help, The Iron Lady, and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. But it's his score to the 1994 Little Women that I love best. The titles theme is unabashedly American, almost Copland-esque, with its broad brass and sweeping strings, a perfect musical evocation of this quintessentially American novel and its atmospheric film adaptation.



     Another of my favorites is Patrick Doyle. Who doesn't love the music in the final scene of Sense and Sensibility ? All the music in this film is wonderful, particularly the songs sung by Kate Winslet and, over the end credits, the platinum-voiced Jane Eaglen.



     Speaking of Jane Austen films, I particularly love the songs Jeremy Sams wrote for the 1995 Persuasion, both of them in Italian and both so lovely (though the second one is incomplete), I wish they were available on sheet music. Those of you who have seen the film undoubtedly know the scene where Anne and her family attend a salon concert (" ... to be given in Italian," said Mr Elliott contemptuously ). The first song is repeated over the final credits.

     I couldn't write a post about favorite film scores without including this scene from The Holiday, in which Jack Black, playing a film composer, tells Kate Winslet's character -- in a most descriptive way -- what his favorite film scores are. (Fastforward to about 4:00 for the scene I'm talking about.)





Fallen Castles

     There is a chapter in Little Women in which the four March sisters and Laurie tell each other the kind of life they'd like to have someday; they called them their "castles in the air," which, incidentally, is the title of that chapter. After they tell about their castles, Jo proposes that they all meet ten years hence, to see if any of their castles have been built, so to speak. Indeed, in the last chapter of the book (or of Good Wives, if you read the two-volume version), the chapter called "Harvest Time," the entire March family—Marmee, Father, sisters, husbands, children—are gathered for a picnic, and the sisters recall that day they told of their dream castles. None of them really came true, though Meg asserts that hers came the closest.

     We all have castles in the air when we're young. As a teenager, mine was to marry, build a cabin in the mountains, have twenty children, and live off the land. This was during my guitar-toting, John Denver-crooning, wildflower-picking days. A few years later, after I retired my guitar and John Denver records, the cabin changed to a large, posh London townhouse furnished with antiques; my independently wealthy husband devoted himself to my concert pianist career; we had no children, but had a live-in housekeeper and cook. I even went so far as to plan, in minute detail, my wedding—actually, two different weddings; I couldn't make up my mind which I preferred. One included a wind ensemble playing Mozart; my bridesmaids and I wore Austen-inspired empire gowns in varying shades of dusty rose and lavender; my bouquet was an assortment of lilies, and there was a choice of chicken crepes or Dover sole at a garden-themed luncheon. The other had a string ensemble playing Bach; the gowns were jewel-toned Baroque (mine in ivory, of course, with blush undertones), my bouquet was antique roses, and the reception was an evening banquet featuring prime rib or lobster. My ring was a not-too-ostentatious but out-of-the-ordinary 1.5 carat emerald-cut aquamarine in a platinum setting (I didn't like diamonds then).

     Ten years later, like the March girls, I found myself in a castle entirely different from the ones I had built in the air. But instead of lamenting the ruins, I smiled indulgently at their architects: an idealistic optimist who asked only for the bare basics, and a pretentious romantic dazzled by the elegant and glamorous. The reality, ten years after, lay somewhere in between, or, more accurately, had elements of both: I was a work horse who lived with the bare basics and had Niles Crane tastes. And now, even more years later, I find myself in a castle not my own, but content to help look after it. I've learned to leave the drafting and planning to the Master Architect. 

     Oscar Wilde famously said, "There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it." But would I deem it a tragedy that I have not the mountain cabin, nor the posh townhouse, nor husband nor children, and never had a wedding—Baroque or Regency? Of course not. We play as best we can the cards we are dealt. Or rather, we furnish and maintain as best we can the castle given us.

   

You're Unfaithful, but I Like You Anyway

     Whenever a new film or television adaptation of a Jane Austen novel comes out, I am frustrated, even angry, if it is unfaithful to the book. Mind you, it doesn't have to be word-for-word. It can even "do away" with a character or two, or with entire scenes -- that's fine with me (Emma Thompson's screenplay of Sense and Sensibility does away with quite a few of both). But if the pure essence of the story is in any way corrupted or contains the smallest whisper of "revisionist," if the characters in any way stray from Austen's crystal clear portrayals, if the elegant language of Austen is "dumbed down," and the details of production incorrect to the period, I'm very unhappy. Besides the Thompson Sense and Sensibility, the adaptations I consider truly Austen-worthy are:

     Emma (with Kate Beckinsale and Mark Strong, ITV 1996)

     Persuasion (with Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds, BBC 1995)

     Pride and Prejudice (with Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth, A & E, 1995) 

     Mansfield Park (with Sylvestra Le Touzel and Nicholas Farrell, BBC, 1986)

     I also like certain aspects of the latest Sense and Sensibility and Northanger Abbey, both BBC, 2007. Every other adaptation (and I've seen them all, either whole or in more-than-generous part) is, in my opinion, guilty of at least one of the offenses listed above. I am, however, a big fan of Clueless. Why? Nowhere in the film's credits does it claim to be "based upon the novel Emma by Jane Austen." Only those who know the novel recognize Clueless to be a very clever modern-day retelling, but it is not an adaptation. The film took the modern-day concept and ran all the way with it; it is not a mixed bag of period costume, off-the-mark characterizations, and easier-to-understand (for whom?) vernacular, claiming to be Austen's Emma.

     All that said, I must admit to a certain inconsistency in myself. When it comes to other books, I somehow don't mind unfaithful adaptations -- in many cases, I even like and enjoy them. For instance, I love A. S. Byatt's novel Possession and was very excited when I heard a film adaptation was being done. I missed it in the theaters, however, and didn't get to watch the DVD till years later, after I left the monastery. When I did finally watch it, I actually liked it, even though the character of Roland was changed from British to American, and the film was but a mere shadow of the book, and a very spotty shadow, at that. I also am not crazy about Gwenyth Paltrow as a rule, and some details of the film I found and still find laughable. But I enjoy it, nonetheless.

     Alcott's Little Women is a book I've cherished since my brother gave me the beautiful Tasha Tudor-illustrated edition for Christmas, 1972. I have always loved the 1933 film with Katharine Hepburn as the perfect Jo. For me, it captures the very atmosphere of Alcott's book, and the cast delivered the faithful dialogue so naturally and convincingly. In lesser hands, Alcott's language can come off stilted and cloying. I'm not enamored with the 1949 film, which I think is, for the most part, seriously miscast, so much so that I just can't watch it all the way through. Also, its pacing is much too slow. However, the 1994 adaptation is wonderful. Although Winona Ryder is physically not Alcott's Jo, being much too petite, she conveys the essence of the character beautifully. The rest of the cast is equally fine; the script, though certainly not word-for-word or even scene-for-scene, and perhaps bearing a few social and political banners that I'm not sure Alcott intended in her simple but relevant story, is well-written and moves along nicely. I'm not bothered at all by these small inaccuracies and liberties, and rank the film among my top favorites. I only wish that someday, someone will do an adaptation of Little Women that places Laurie's proposal to Jo in the correct place, which is after Jo comes back from New York.

     Rumer Godden's In This House of Brede is another novel I love and read every few years. There is a film version from the late '60s, starring Diana Rigg (inspired casting). The film runs 100 minutes, which is not a sufficient length of time to include every storyline and plot twist of the novel, so the screenplay focuses on just one basic storyline. Unfortunately, that storyline is nowhere to be found in the novel; or, rather, they took two of the novel's storylines, altered one of them considerably, and put it together with the second one to make an entirely new storyline. The screenwriter also sacrificed accuracy in portraying monastic life, in favor of drama. The Rule of St Benedict was pretty much torn to bits in this film, so it is not a true picture of monasticism. Still, I like it. The acting is good, the story in and of itself is good -- I just separate it from the novel in my mind, and enjoy the film for itself.

     So why can't I do the same when it comes to Austen? Why can't I mentally divorce her novels from those less-than-faithful versions? Is her work so "sacrosanct" to my literary sense and sensibility?

My Favorite Literary Heroines, Part Two

     Maybe Mary Lennox seems an odd sort of character for a child to emulate, as she is selfish and sour and has abominable manners when we first meet her. However, all that was the result of her lack of proper upbringing; her rich mother was too self-absorbed to pay any attention to her, and an ayah, no matter how efficient, is no maternal substitute. What I love about Mary is her journey from spoiled brat to loyal friend and companion. She is a hopeful heroine. She taught me that however unlikely the original material, there is potential to be a good person, and a happy one. She also taught me that happiness is acquired, not given, and never to be taken for granted.
     As fond as I am of Mary, my favorite character in The Secret Garden is Dickon. What a shame that the 1993 film sold him rather short! He's such a unique and fascinating person in the book, totally without pretention or preconceptions; he sees the good in everyone, even Mary, unquestioningly and unconditionally. Yet he is no "goody two shoes." Dickon is a great role model for both boys and girls.

     What young girl doesn't love Jo March? So ahead of her time! Jo is a heroine for the ages, never dated, always relevant. I hardly need to expound on her exemplary qualities, as they are well known to the billions of readers of Little Women, but I would like to stress what I think is her greatest quality as a role model, which she shares with Mary Lennox: her potential to be a truly good woman. More than her intelligence and independent spirit, young girls should learn from her struggles to overcome her faults. And, though many are disappointed that she doesn't end up marrying Laurie, they should realize that a good man is more than a handsome appearance and solid financial state, and a good husband is more than someone to pal around with -- not to take anything away from Laurie, of course; but Jo was really very wise in recognizing that marriage with him would have been a great mistake.

     I admit, I also had a soft spot for Amy when I was a kid. For all her selfish, pretentious little ways, she turns out great -- plus, she hooks herself a great husband in Laurie. Wrong as he is for Jo, he's just perfect for Amy and she for him. Amy has the tact, which Jo doesn't have, to handle him and his mercurial temperament; and her sense of the tastefully elegant serves her well in running hers and Laurie's house. I can't imagine Jo managing the household staff of such a grand house, or ordering a suitable dinner for Laurie's business associates, nor can I see her being hostess at such a dinner. No, Jo is much better suited for the academic life.

     No one ever seems to think of gentle Beth as a heroine. Indeed, in the first few years of my acquaintance with the March girls, Beth was my least favorite. Perhaps she was Tasha Tudor's least favorite, too; her famous color illustrations include none of Beth, except in the group portraits. But in recent years I have come to love Beth most of all. I think the reason some people find her unappealing is that she's so shy and timid; they equate that with "weak." The truth is, Beth suffered from severe social anxiety disorder -- but because she had such a good, loving heart, she was able to overcome her affliction when she saw someone in need, like the lame Vaughn brother or the poor children in her neighborhood. That takes real courage, the kind that too often goes unnoticed. I also think too many of us need to learn the difference between a virtuous prig and a genuinely good, pious, and giving person. Maybe the reason we do find it difficult to see the difference is that true goodness makes us uncomfortable with ourselves. Understandable. No one likes to face his shortcomings. We can all learn from Beth.

     Does anyone besides me not "get" Meg? Of all Alcott's character portraits, Meg is the least clearly drawn and therefore the least memorable. But maybe Alcott made her so on purpose. In almost every family, there is a Meg -- sort of "white bread," if you will, neither here nor there, not flawed enough to be deeply interesting to us readers, nor angelic enough to make us face, albeit reluctantly, our own flaws. Maybe Meg is supposed to be the note of calm and predictability in a gallery of such challenging characters.

     Moving away from Alcott and Burnett, I of course have to list Laura Ingalls among my favorite heroines, though she, being a real-life person, belongs in another category. And you may be asking, "Where is Anne Shirley?" Well, I confess -- Anne didn't come along till much, much later in my life, so perhaps I'll write about her later.

     So many great characters, so many role models! All I can say, along with Jo March, is: "Christopher Columbus!"

All of the above illustrations were done by the legendary and beloved artist, Tasha Tudor.



The Young Poet

     When I was in the fifth grade, my teacher asked each of us to write a poem. Whether or not she told us the real reason, I don't remember (I probably wasn't paying attention, as usual), but it was that she planned to enter one of them in the Young Pegasus Poetry Contest, a city-wide contest sponsored by the San Antonio Public Library for budding poets grades 1-12. I wrote a concrete poem (a poem that has a significant shape on the page) in the shape of a diamond called "Sun and Moon" which was chosen as one of the winners in the fifth grade division. The results for being a winner were publication in that year's Young Pegasus anthology, a luncheon at which all the winners met and shared their poems, and a taped television appearance in which the older winners read their own poems and the younger had their poems read by one of the judges.
     The only person I remember at that winners' luncheon was the then 17-year-old Naomi Shihab (Nye), who is today one of this country's most respected and prolific poets. I remember her, not for her poetry, but for her appearance that day -- she looked like a poet to me: loose, flowing clothes, waist-long hair in a braid, very sort of bohemian.
     The television appearance was rather embarrassing for me and, I imagine, for the rest of the younger winners who weren't allowed to read our own pieces. Instead, each of us had to perch on a stool doing absolutely nothing except look straight at the camera, goofy and uncomfortable, while listening to his or her poem being read. What on earth were they thinking, putting us through such embarrassment?!
     This did not put me off writing poetry, however. Through middle school, I wrote quite a lot of it, compiling my work into a collection called Poems of a Childhood Romance. Except for drafts of a few of the poems, it has since disappeared. (Judging from those extant drafts, it's no great loss!) I wrote a few more in high school, but by then I was more interested in writing songs in the style of Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins, John Denver, etc., and I dreamt of wandering round the country with my guitar and a knapsack, earning my weekly bread by singing my ballads in smoky, dimly lit coffee houses. Eventually, of course, I intended to meet a fellow balladeer, preferably a James Taylor type, build a cabin with him in the mountains, have twenty children, and live off the land.
     On the other hand, I was still the aspiring concert pianist, giving performances and entering (but hardly ever winning) competitions. This persona dressed more neatly than the balladeer, enjoyed meals at stylish restaurants (Ms. von's treat), and dreamt of dwelling in marble halls, single, but with a string of wealthy and powerful lovers.
     In both these fantasies, I never stopped writing in one form or another.
     When I was in the eighth grade I followed my sister Alice's example and started to keep a journal. Being an aspiring writer, I never meant my journal to be private, but passed it round among my friends (is it any wonder I eventually decided to blog?). I also wrote short stories, which were really my own original episodes of The Partridge Family, all of which were centered around Keith (David Cassidy). There was even a rough outline and one chapter of a novel entitled Sisters and Lovers, a tale of two orphaned sisters in early 20th-century San Francisco; the elder was prudent and practical, the younger impulsive and romantic. If this sounds suspiciously like an American Sense and Sensibility, let me hasten to say I hadn't even heard of that novel at that time, much less read it. However, I had read Little Women and was very much influenced by Alcott's style -- in fact, that was the start of my love affair with the semi-colon.
     The novel, poetry, and song writing all fizzled out (temporarily) by my senior year in high school, but I continued to keep a journal and my dreams of becoming a concert pianist.