Louisa May Alcott

As a child, I loved, and reread many times, Louisa May Alcott's books: Little Women, Little Men, Jo's Boys, Eight Cousins, Rose in Bloom, An Old-Fashioned Girl, Under the Lilacs, and Jack and Jill. Of course Little Women and its two sequels were my favorites. I loved the strength of the girls, especially Jo; the warmth of the family scenes; the relationships among the girls; Jo's writing; the innocent but fraught romances; the pathos of Beth's illness and death; and so much more. I couldn't get enough of these books. However, when I reread some of them with my daughter, and again when I taught Little Women in a Women's Literature class, I noticed what I had mainly missed or perhaps overlooked as a child: the heavily didactic aspect of Alcott's novels. Almost every chapter in Little Women has some kind of explicit, spelled-out lesson about life: be good to those who are poor, don't hold a grudge, control your temper, don't be vain... I think Alcott felt that a book during that time period -- especially a book that was, very subtly, a bit subversive about female roles -- had to prove its moral worth through these lessons; she was probably right. Still, despite the heavyhanded didactic aspect, I will always love these books, especially Little Women.

"The Lake Shore Limited"

It is hard to judge the place of Sue Miller's novels. They have elements of the popular, of the middlebrow, and of the literary. They are well written, but seem to be aimed at a popular audience. In any case, they are always enjoyable to read, and often thought-provoking as well. I just listened to her latest novel, "The Lake Shore Limited" (Knopf, 2010) on CD (Books on Tape, 2010); the author reads the novel herself, which adds to listeners' enjoyment. The foundation of the story, which takes place mostly in Boston and New Hampshire, is the death of Gus - a young teacher - on one of the doomed planes on September 11, 2001. Gus' sister Leslie, who has been almost like a mother to him, mourns him deeply, and becomes even closer than she had been before to Gus' girlfriend, the playwright Billy, assuming they share the same sorrow. But Billy's feelings had secretly been more ambivalent before the tragedy, which makes her uncomfortable with Leslie now. She feels trapped into pretending to something she doesn't feel. Billy's true feelings are indirectly revealed in her latest play, which is attended by Leslie, her husband Pierce, and their friend Sam, whom Leslie hopes will develop a relationship with Billy; Leslie feels it is time for both Sam (who is divorced) and Billy to find love again. After the play is over, we are taken backward in time to various histories of each character, and forward in time to see what happens after the night of the play. The characters are engaging, and we become involved with their stories, feeling pity, dismay, and hope. Some of the characters are less likable than others: Leslie is the one everyone likes, while Billy is more reserved and prickly, perhaps understandably so, but is ultimately sympathetic. I recommend this novel.

Possible Brief Pause

Dear readers, I will be very involved in a (happy) family event over the next three days, so may or may not post on Friday and Saturday; if not before, I will definitely be back with a post on Sunday. Thanks, as always, for reading this blog (and do please tell your reading friends about it!). -- Stephanie

Browsing in Libraries

I have praised libraries and librarians here before; today I write specifically about the pleasures of browsing in libraries. I like browsing in bookstores as well, especially when I want to see what is new. But browsing in libraries has its own particular joys. A few days ago, for example, after what had been a while, I was in our university library with a little time to spare. I started by looking for books by and about Sarah Orne Jewett, about whom I posted on May 2, 2010; I thought I would enjoy rereading some of her work. After I found what I wanted, I remembered that I had been thinking lately about a trio of British women writers who have some similarities, whom I hadn't read for many years, and whom I had been idly considering revisiting: Muriel Spark, Ivy Compton-Burnett, and Iris Murdoch. But I had just read a review of a new, rather unflattering biography of Spark; I also remembered that when I reread Spark's "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie" a few years ago, I liked it much less than when I originally read it in my twenties. So I made the perhaps shallow decision to skip rereading Spark for the time being. I then found, browsed through, and picked up a couple of novels each by the other two writers. (These may well appear in future posts here.) Then I happened to see on the shelf, very near to the Murdoch books, several titles by Penelope Mortimer. I had read novels by her years ago, and had a vague memory of enjoying them, so decided to choose two novels by her as well. As I passed by various shelves, I stopped for a minute or two here and there to look at various other books, but since I had a mini-tower of books in hand already, I decided I had better stop adding to the tower, and went downstairs to check out my chosen books. It is hard to explain how much pleasure I got from my leisurely roaming through the stacks, stopping here and there, making pleasant decisions about WHICH Murdoch, WHICH Mortimer, to choose, holding various books - some quite old, each with its own history of former readers - in my hands as I skimmed through their pages, reading tantalizing passages here and there, even smelling whiffs of the particular scent of books, and knowing that there were so many more possibilities, so many more books yet to read. What a delicious hour that was!

"The Bradshaw Variations": Switching Roles

I had read and liked novels by British writer Rachel Cusk before, most recently and most notably "Arlington Park" (2007), so when I heard she had published a new novel, "The Bradshaw Variations" (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010), I sought it out. It tells the story of a married couple, Thomas Bradshaw and Tonie Swann, and their year of switching traditional gender roles. Tonie accepts a demanding full-time administrative position at her university, and Thomas stays home to take care of their eight-year-old daughter and to spend time on his music. On the surface, everyone is agreeable and all is well, but certain cracks in the marriage begin to appear, as difficult adjustments are made. Family members are more or less supportive, yet some - subtly or not so subtly - cast doubts on and undermine the arrangement. These family members are almost as central to the story as Thomas and Tonie: Thomas' brothers and their wives, Thomas' quirky parents, and Tonie's awful mother and father. These are all vividly portrayed, each with his or her own backstory. There is much talk among them, much analysis, much taking of emotional temperatures. Despite this, for some reason the characters seem a bit bloodless; although the book focuses on a topic that is of great interest to me (gender roles), I found it hard to care very much about the characters. However, Cusk writes very well, the story is mildly enjoyable, and I never considered stopping reading the novel. It does make readers think about issues of family, marriage, and gender.

Charlotte or Emily?

Whose novels do you like better - Charlotte Bronte's or Emily Bronte's? I was swept up by Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights" when I was in college; the extreme romance (in both senses of the word - the "love" sense and the literary sense) and drama were appealing to me as they are to so many young people. Those moors...that howling wind...that love that even death couldn't end.... But as the years went by, the appeal of the novel wore thin, and the appeal of the cruel, overbearing "hero," Heathcliff (understandable as his behavior was, given the way he had been treated as a child), turned sour. Ever since, I have liked and appreciated Charlotte Bronte's work more. "Jane Eyre" is, of course, also romantic, gothic, and unrealistic in some ways, and its hero is also sometimes quite overbearing and even unlikable. But there is somehow more reality in "Jane" than in "Wuthering." And the character of Jane is so well drawn, so appealing. The story and main character in Charlotte Bronte's "Villette" are also very believable and compelling. Charlotte's writing conveys a kind of hard-won wisdom about life. I have re-read and enjoyed her novels several times. But when I tried to re-read "Wuthering Heights" a few years ago, I just couldn't do it.

"Mrs. Bridge" and Betty Friedan

I have long heard about the twin novels, "Mrs. Bridge" and "Mr. Bridge," by Evan S. Connell, but somehow never got around to reading them. I have now just finished reading "Mrs. Bridge" (North Point Press, 1981, but originally published in 1959). It is the story of a traditional wife and mother in the mid-20th century, living in the American Midwest (Kansas City) and married to a busy, ambitious lawyer. Her story is told through a series of brief episodes ranging over her adult lifetime. The tone is straightforward, flattened, matter of fact, undramatic. Mrs. Bridge attempts to be a good, correct wife, mother and citizen of her city and country. Her interests and intellectual pursuits are limited, and her few attempts to branch out in that regard - such as trying to learn Spanish, or considering voting Democratic in one election - usually fizzle. Her relationship with her husband and children seems loving but - despite her efforts - somehow distant. She often wonders - but discusses only with one or two close friends, one of whom commits suicide - why her life seems to rush by with so little sense of meaning or fulfillment. "She could not get over the feeling that something was drawing steadily away from her"(p. 63), and as her servant Harriet does all the housework, she feels useless and "so often dismally bored" (p. 64). "She spent a great deal of time staring into space, oppressed by the sense that she was waiting. But waiting for what? She did not know" (p. 94). Mrs. Bridge seems the classic case that Betty Friedan was writing about in her groundbreaking feminist book, "The Feminine Mystique" (1963). Friedan wrote about all the women who were isolated in their homes, from which their husbands left early every morning and to which they returned late every night. These women had little opportunity to have meaningful work outside of their homes; they knew they were supposed to be happy with their lives as wives and mothers, and were ashamed to admit to others that they often felt unfulfilled and lonely. Each woman thought her discontent must be her own burden and even her own fault, so kept quiet about her sense of desperation. The ending of "Mrs. Bridge," which I won't give away here, is a perfect (although perhaps too literal) metaphor for Mrs. Bridge's feeling of being trapped in her own life, and a vivid illustration of Friedan's thesis.