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Apparently I'm an awful person. I just completely hated this! which came as quite a surprise. I was expecting Jane Austen-ness, whom I love, but while the language was similar, the sentimentality was cloying, the moralizing unrelenting, the plot lurching (serialized, I'm guessing), the characters caricatures, the themes of goodness, love and moral responsibility revolting. THIS is what our foremothers at one time believed was the ideal for womanhood? (No wonder they eventually revolted, but) THIS is what American women aspired to? Flaccid, be-ribboned, personhood-less dolls? Shock and outrage!
I concede that I must read about Alcott and the historical context of this book that everyone else loves, but I doubt that could reverse my interpretation.
One positive: is Jo March the first transgendered woman in American literature? The constant harping on Jo's boyishness and frustration with her female lot was authentic and just a little too... distinct. Methinks Jo March, circa 2000s, would be taking hormones, adding an E, and being a lot happier.
I concede that I must read about Alcott and the historical context of this book that everyone else loves, but I doubt that could reverse my interpretation.
One positive: is Jo March the first transgendered woman in American literature? The constant harping on Jo's boyishness and frustration with her female lot was authentic and just a little too... distinct. Methinks Jo March, circa 2000s, would be taking hormones, adding an E, and being a lot happier.