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I’ve been meaning to read this since January of this year, so it only makes sense that I’ve finally read it by *checks calendar* the end of October. I actually finished Little Women several days ago, but have been putting off finally writing the review for it because I was so massively disappointed.
Obviously as a book published in 1868-1869 (was originally two volumes), there’s going to be exhaustive literary analysis going back a century and a half. There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t been said a hundred times over but OH WELL that’s really never stopped me before! In all seriousness, I intended on giving this book a thoughtful critique and trying to take into account the time this was written and how it was probably even considered transgressive then and blah blah blah, whatever. But by the end I was so pissed with the direction Alcott was going that I knew this was just going to be a huge rant-y, mostly unproductive review, which is more about venting than informing potential readers. Sorry y’all, this ones for me!!!!
Everything after this point is going to be a huge spoiler, so only read on if you’ve read the book, seen one of the movies or just don’t care.
I’ll start with Meg because she’s the oldest and was the first to be totally dropped by the story. Seriously, Meg started off as independent and smart, but is tossed aside like a used rag as soon as she gets married. After Meg had inexplicably agreed to marry her trash husband John Brooke, the only time the author decides to check in on her is to see how not perfect of a wife she’s being. John, who is useless and proud, one of the worst combinations, all but abandons his new wife because she’s ‘always busy caring for their children’ and not the hot young wife he married. These are his actual reasons for staying out all night and ignoring her. And to add insult to injury, one of his worst enablers is Meg’s own mother.
This becomes a theme in the book, where one of the girls usually rightfully points out things that are unfair or ridiculous to expect of women, only to be subjected to a Marmie Lecture® about why, actually, it’s good to be miserable all the time. Marmie’s speech this time went something like, “Ah, I too use to want to take care of my children (you), but then my husband (your father) got grumpy and I saw it was actually all my fault!” See how that works! You can not simply expect your husband to help out, you actually should just feel lucky he wants you at all anymore because you’re 22 and basically decrepit!!
But anyways, on to Beth! The most likable because she has no personality. I’m not being mean, that’s literally a theme of the book, except Alcott calls it being “agreeable”. I never want to hear that word again. It’s just code for ‘do not give any indication you have any opinion whatsoever’, basically going along with whatever the man in the room says. This rule has made such a strong impression on Beth that she is genuinely afraid of anyone not a blood relative to her and she tries to physically hide herself whenever a stranger is present.
The elephant in the room with Beth is that she famously dies near the end. The sickness came early on in the book and made a feeble girl practically invalid for the rest of the story. The character of Beth is based on Alcott’s sister, Lizzie, who died at 23. And though I’m sure it was comforting for the author to try to ascribe meaning to a beloved sibling who died so young, narratively, I really hated what she did with Beth’s character. It felt like as soon as Beth might start showing interests and goals outside of being ‘the quiet one’, that her agency was stripped away from her. I’m sorry, no teenage girl is actually ‘happy’ she’s dying young because she couldn’t figure out what she wanted to do when she grew up. That’s clearly an author’s issue in not being able to imagine Beth beyond the flimsy character development she’s had so far. It’s a way to make both writer and reader more comfortable with the death of a young girl, and I’m not here for it.
I’m going to do Amy and Jo together, because they felt like they were written mostly as foils for each other. Amy is prim and Jo is messy. Jo acts like a tomboy and Amy is a girly-girl. Amy follows the rules and Jo likes to break them. I didn’t mind this characterization, but it was interesting to see them clash and figure out who they were when they were apart from one another.
What I disliked the most about them was the romantic direction Alcott took with them. We could see the budding relationship between Laurie and Jo, and it came as no surprise when he proposed. I wasn’t surprised when she said no, either, in fact I actually really liked that choice for her. She’s fiercely independent and has shown no interest in any form of ‘settling down’, so no, I don’t think she should have ended up with Laurie. But oh my god Amy?????? Her and Laurie make even LESS sense together than him and Jo!!!!! He literally says “when he couldn’t have one sister he took the other, and was happy” WHAT
Is Amy not allowed to have her own romance? Her own dreams? Must she get everything second-hand from her sisters—even a husband?!? Amy from the first half of the book would NEVER have married Laurie, she wouldn’t dream of it!! Which brings me to the second most disappointing pairing of the book: Jo and whatever his name.
There’s just no reason for this. She never wanted a husband, but if she did for whatever reason, WHY would she pick this middle-aged German man she knew for a few months over a boy her age who she’s been best friends with her entire life??? She wouldn’t, it makes no sense. And he’s not supportive of her! He literally shames her out of writing for money because he morally objects to some ‘popular’ stories that appear in papers. Ohhhh noooooo, not a story someone enjoys reading, THE HORROR!!! He lectures her at every opportunity, is twice her age, is ugly, poor and takes advantage of his position as her teacher to make a move on her. He’s gross, I hate him.
As a coming of age story, this was terrible. I could not think of a worse moral for young women to pull from a book then ‘you cease to matter as an individual as soon as you’re married’, which is my assumption of what Alcott was going for. If you want to be entirely turned off the idea of marriage, I would recommend Little Women. Or maybe just read Part 1, which is superior in every way. If I average the star rating of the first part with the second, I guess that averages to three stars, which is the nicest I can do for this “classic”.
Sorry Louisa May, it’s not for me.
Obviously as a book published in 1868-1869 (was originally two volumes), there’s going to be exhaustive literary analysis going back a century and a half. There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t been said a hundred times over but OH WELL that’s really never stopped me before! In all seriousness, I intended on giving this book a thoughtful critique and trying to take into account the time this was written and how it was probably even considered transgressive then and blah blah blah, whatever. But by the end I was so pissed with the direction Alcott was going that I knew this was just going to be a huge rant-y, mostly unproductive review, which is more about venting than informing potential readers. Sorry y’all, this ones for me!!!!
Everything after this point is going to be a huge spoiler, so only read on if you’ve read the book, seen one of the movies or just don’t care.
I’ll start with Meg because she’s the oldest and was the first to be totally dropped by the story. Seriously, Meg started off as independent and smart, but is tossed aside like a used rag as soon as she gets married. After Meg had inexplicably agreed to marry her trash husband John Brooke, the only time the author decides to check in on her is to see how not perfect of a wife she’s being. John, who is useless and proud, one of the worst combinations, all but abandons his new wife because she’s ‘always busy caring for their children’ and not the hot young wife he married. These are his actual reasons for staying out all night and ignoring her. And to add insult to injury, one of his worst enablers is Meg’s own mother.
This becomes a theme in the book, where one of the girls usually rightfully points out things that are unfair or ridiculous to expect of women, only to be subjected to a Marmie Lecture® about why, actually, it’s good to be miserable all the time. Marmie’s speech this time went something like, “Ah, I too use to want to take care of my children (you), but then my husband (your father) got grumpy and I saw it was actually all my fault!” See how that works! You can not simply expect your husband to help out, you actually should just feel lucky he wants you at all anymore because you’re 22 and basically decrepit!!
But anyways, on to Beth! The most likable because she has no personality. I’m not being mean, that’s literally a theme of the book, except Alcott calls it being “agreeable”. I never want to hear that word again. It’s just code for ‘do not give any indication you have any opinion whatsoever’, basically going along with whatever the man in the room says. This rule has made such a strong impression on Beth that she is genuinely afraid of anyone not a blood relative to her and she tries to physically hide herself whenever a stranger is present.
The elephant in the room with Beth is that she famously dies near the end. The sickness came early on in the book and made a feeble girl practically invalid for the rest of the story. The character of Beth is based on Alcott’s sister, Lizzie, who died at 23. And though I’m sure it was comforting for the author to try to ascribe meaning to a beloved sibling who died so young, narratively, I really hated what she did with Beth’s character. It felt like as soon as Beth might start showing interests and goals outside of being ‘the quiet one’, that her agency was stripped away from her. I’m sorry, no teenage girl is actually ‘happy’ she’s dying young because she couldn’t figure out what she wanted to do when she grew up. That’s clearly an author’s issue in not being able to imagine Beth beyond the flimsy character development she’s had so far. It’s a way to make both writer and reader more comfortable with the death of a young girl, and I’m not here for it.
I’m going to do Amy and Jo together, because they felt like they were written mostly as foils for each other. Amy is prim and Jo is messy. Jo acts like a tomboy and Amy is a girly-girl. Amy follows the rules and Jo likes to break them. I didn’t mind this characterization, but it was interesting to see them clash and figure out who they were when they were apart from one another.
What I disliked the most about them was the romantic direction Alcott took with them. We could see the budding relationship between Laurie and Jo, and it came as no surprise when he proposed. I wasn’t surprised when she said no, either, in fact I actually really liked that choice for her. She’s fiercely independent and has shown no interest in any form of ‘settling down’, so no, I don’t think she should have ended up with Laurie. But oh my god Amy?????? Her and Laurie make even LESS sense together than him and Jo!!!!! He literally says “when he couldn’t have one sister he took the other, and was happy” WHAT
Is Amy not allowed to have her own romance? Her own dreams? Must she get everything second-hand from her sisters—even a husband?!? Amy from the first half of the book would NEVER have married Laurie, she wouldn’t dream of it!! Which brings me to the second most disappointing pairing of the book: Jo and whatever his name.
There’s just no reason for this. She never wanted a husband, but if she did for whatever reason, WHY would she pick this middle-aged German man she knew for a few months over a boy her age who she’s been best friends with her entire life??? She wouldn’t, it makes no sense. And he’s not supportive of her! He literally shames her out of writing for money because he morally objects to some ‘popular’ stories that appear in papers. Ohhhh noooooo, not a story someone enjoys reading, THE HORROR!!! He lectures her at every opportunity, is twice her age, is ugly, poor and takes advantage of his position as her teacher to make a move on her. He’s gross, I hate him.
As a coming of age story, this was terrible. I could not think of a worse moral for young women to pull from a book then ‘you cease to matter as an individual as soon as you’re married’, which is my assumption of what Alcott was going for. If you want to be entirely turned off the idea of marriage, I would recommend Little Women. Or maybe just read Part 1, which is superior in every way. If I average the star rating of the first part with the second, I guess that averages to three stars, which is the nicest I can do for this “classic”.
Sorry Louisa May, it’s not for me.
