How to Read Little Women

I read Little Women every year—sometimes twice a year, sometimes even more. It’s just another one of my quirks, I guess, that I find a 19^th century parable about how to be a good little woman so entertaining and memorable.

Because that’s what it is, right?

I’ve read countless blogs and reviews and NPR stories in which women re-read Little Women as adults and say, “Jeez, what did I ever see in this?” And their daughters think the same thing. On the surface, I think they’re right. Little Women seems to be nothing more than “moral pap,” as Louisa May Alcott herself described it. But is there more to it? I think yes.

And so, in the spirit of my best friend Ale, who is currently blogging about her misadventures with existentialism while reading The Stranger, I will be blogging about why Little Women is more than just "pap" as I re-read it for the hundredth time.

Seriously, this might be the hundredth time. I never really started counting, but if the poor beat-up copy I have could talk it would probably recite a list of every time it cringed in fear as I picked it up and tossed it in my backpack, my carry-on, or that little pocket in back of the car's front seat.

Anyways, that’s what I’m going to do. I don’t expect brilliance or PhD style insight; I just want to read it in a new way and see what I find. Maybe I won’t find anything at all and I’ll end up assigning meanings to things that are really not meant to be anything but themselves, like all of our elementary school Lit teachers seemed to do. I promise to try not to; nothing is as annoying as calling a slipper a symbol of housewifeliness or something equally ridiculous when the slipper is, in fact, just a slipper.

Now, I had the ridiculously romantic notion of starting my hundredth rereading during the first (real) snowfall of the season, but this won’t work because a) that might take a very long time to get here, considering the fact that it’s 62 degrees out today and is supposed to stay in the 50s and high 40s for a while, and b) when it’s snowing I will probably want to be outside catching snowflakes on my black gloves again and marveling at the fact that ice is falling from the sky, not to mention that once it snows enough there is a prime sledding hill right outside of my dorm. So maybe when the temperature hits the 30s I’ll start it off.

Ok, enough of me sounding like a lunatic.

Whatever the case, Little Women is, in my opinion, a book best enjoyed snuggled up in a blanket with the heater turned up and a cup of tea in hand— or in this case, a notebook.

Mini Book Review!

So I just finished reading Bel Canto, by Ann Patchett. And all I can say is, "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR, ANN??"

It goes like this: The President of an unidentified South American country wants Mr. Hosokawa, a businessman, to build a factory in said Country. So he throws Mr. H. a big birthday party and invites all kinds of international dignitaries, including Roxane Coss, the opera singer that Mr. H. adores more than anyone simply because of her singing. Roxane reluctantly shows up and sings a few arias, and everyone is happy until a bunch of terrorists (mostly kids, under the command of a few adults) quite literally fall from the sky and take over the party. They want to kidnap the President, but alas! the President is at home watching his novela instead, and the only one there is the VP. So to avoid looking like total failures, the terrorists decide to take everyone hostage anyways. Four months later, everyone is still there. The terrorists and hostages are actually friends-- waaay more than friends, in some cases.

The novel is very nicely written. The narration stays in third person the whole time, he said/she said etc., but shifts every so often to another character's perspective. A lot of the time it's Mr. H.'s translator, Gen, who speaks every language imaginable and is therefore the only way for the hostages, negotiators, and party guests to talk to each other. What I liked was that each character was incredibly distinct, even the numerous terrorists. You'd think it would be difficult to tell Ishmael from Cesar from Benjamin, but Patchett gives each one such a unique personality that it's easy.

A lot happens within the four months: like I mentioned, people fall in love, but they also make friends, learn new things (like how to play chess and speak Spanish), and learn a lot about themselves. If there's a moral to the story, it's that time is all relative. When the days are spread out like leaves on a palm tree, time is long. When you realize that your days have always been numbered, time takes on a frantic, now-or-never feel. It all depends on what you want to do with your time.

The book is funny at times, serious at others, and always thought provoking; the kind of book that you hesitate to close the covers on. When Patchett describes Roxane Coss singing and how it affects all of the other characters, it's impossible to imagine that such a person didn't exist; she is only a collection of other singers, she borrowed other people's hair and eyes and confidence.

Eventually I looked at how many pages I had left and realized that the happy-go-lucky thing the terrorists and "hostages" have going on can't last until the end. They don't live there in the Vice Presidential mansion forever, even though some want to, so it has to end somewhere. It's clear that neither the terrorists nor the government want to give in, so something big has to happen.

And boy, does it.

The big dénoument is what left me screaming at the book (and Anne Patchett) "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR???" Because it just doesn't make sense why it had to end that way. Nothing could be perfect, but it didn't have to be so far from it either.

Aaaaand I've probably given too much away, so I'll end here. If you get the chance, read it. It's a fantastic book.