TIMELESS TALES OF HUMANITY

By Paola Mendez-Garcia

A feminine hand turns a brass doorknob to reveal a room full of smoke, papers, and men sitting behind desks. I draw in a breath of anticipation and there she is: our heroine, the little woman of our hearts, Josephine March— this time, in the form of the brilliant Saoirse Ronan. Yet, she remains our beloved Jo, her face confidently set, but nervously brimming on the verge of eagerness and passion. She’s in the room to make a name for herself through her words. She’s here to tell us a special story. It is one that peeks into the world of four sisters and touches the very depths of our hearts— stirring in our souls delight, hope, and fervor as we are moved to tears and laughter. 

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott’s most celebrated novel, centers around the lives and characters of four sisters; the first half of the book being dedicated to their lively childhood and the second half touching upon their rockier futures. Somehow, this tale has been subject, time and time again, to various adaptations, ranging from plays to television shows to several renowned movies. When yet another adaptation was announced, this time at the hands of talented director Greta Gerwig, I was skeptical. 

As an avid reader, and, well, a woman, I had a fond childhood attachment to Alcott’s novel, and in my adolescence, had taken a vow of devotion to Winona Ryder, Christian Bale, and Claire Danes’ 1994 performance. Even when the beautiful trailer was released, which sported esteemed actresses like Emma Watson, Laura Dern, and Meryl Streep; displayed magnificent cinematography; and promised a grand, authentic retelling, I stubbornly refused to see reason. In my mind, there was absolutely no way that the film could embrace modernity and originality whilst remaining true to Alcott’s own words and the values of her tale. And yet, upon walking into the theater with my own marmee’s arm in mine, the excitement brewing in the pit of my stomach indicated that I could no longer lie to myself: I was, in every sense, yearning to witness the vivid colors and smooth textures on the big screen, longing to see Ronan’s Jo and Timothee Chalamet’s Laurie, and, above all, I was simply dying to experience the retelling of a story that was near and dear to my heart. 

Gerwig’s masterpiece did not disappoint. I left the cold theater filled with warmth, itching to read the novel again, and determined to coax everyone I knew into watching the breathtaking film that I would surely one day own. While a lot of people had similarly enthralled reactions as mine (some more intense than others), I found that many viewers responded negatively. More often than not, I was subject to various reactions, praises, and critiques not merely on the film, but on its overall message and subtle implications. I wondered what it was about Little Women, in its very essence, that it could be readapted, once again, and still touch and provoke so many people. Who would want to read a little story of domestic struggles and joys? Who indeed, Jo March? 

The act of storytelling is as central to the human experience as the ideas, traditions, and values such stories convey. Perhaps the reason that a story like Little Women can be retold and embraced–– or at least scrutinized–– by different generations is because it reflects and commemorates the depths of human experience and connection, baring both its dreadfulness and beauty, its tribulations and jubilations. When the final credits of Little Women conclude, an empty screen stares back at us. The narrative is no longer Gerwig’s or Alcott’s, but ours–– now, with something familiar but not quite defined on our tongues, we are forced to examine ourselves, our lives, and how we treat others. Little Women is made up of a beautiful string of intrinsically human moments, those of joys and those of struggles, those of virtues and those of vices, those of love and those of suffering. Each of these moments come to life in different ways and while we may each have our own opinion, for we are all different, we can all agree that there is something categorically unique about a tale that conveys the raw depth of human emotion and purpose through art.  

There are aspects of Little Women that are often overlooked in preference for the romance of the tale, whether that be the physical romances in the story or the idyllic portrayal of humanity. Gerwig seemed to grasp at some of those details and flesh them out, making them central parts of the film. This was, of course, met with both praise and criticism. Many friends of mine shook with excitement at the fact that the socioeconomic implications of the time period concerning the role and expectations of women were brought violently to light; others that I spoke with were greatly annoyed by these small, but stark details. Many statements and speeches were embellishments of Alcott’s ideologies, while other details seemed to reflect modernist ideas that were not being so openly shared by women of the time. 

There’s nothing historically incorrect with the words that Florence Pugh’s elegant Amy shares with Chalamet’s insouciant Laurie, responding to one of his quips with “I’m just a woman, and as a woman there’s no way for me to make my own money.” She goes on to say that if she could make her own money it would not be enough to support her or her family, and regardless, it would belong to her husband. “So don’t sit there and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition [for women], because it is” Amy finishes her speech. This point is later emphasized in Jo’s retort that “marriage has always been an economic proposition, even in fiction” when asked by her publisher to marry her main character.

These impassioned speeches about the socioeconomic status of women, in addition to Jo’s early insistence against marrying in order to pursue her passions, might imply that a takeaway from the film could be that marriage is ultimately a trap, the epitome of destroying a woman’s freedom– but perhaps not. The argument concerning marriage that Pugh’s Amy makes is not only accurate for the time, but embedded in Alcott’s work. Whatever Gerwig’s intention might have been, Alcott herself, who did in fact refrain from marriage and contently remained a “literary spinster,” believed that marriage and motherhood were two of the greatest joys in life, even if they weren't for her. [1] 

Alcott’s radicality concerning marriage and motherhood is simply this: that a woman could exercise the right to choose whether she wanted such things, despite what society expected and demanded of her. Alcott wrote in her personal journal that “Girls write to ask who the little women marry, as if that was the only end and aim of a woman's life. I won't marry Jo to Laurie to please any one.”[2] Her refusal to marry Jo wasn’t a disdain for marriage, but a disdain for it being the center of a woman’s existence. Alcott didn't want young girls to only be concerned with who Jo married, as if that was her only aim in life. It was refreshing to see an adaptation of Little Women that emphasized these factors accordingly. And whether Gerwig intended it or not, the marriage of Meg and Mr. Brooke, as well as Marmee and Mr. March, are two beautiful depictions of marriages chosen out of love– they aren’t perfect, brazenly revealing the trials that couples have to encounter together, but they are good. 

I was particularly struck by Gerwig’s portrayal of Meg and Mr. Brooke’s financial struggles after talking with a male friend of mine who was deeply touched by their marriage. Meg struggles with poverty, humanly desiring the pretty things that she likes, and John Brooke, in turn, struggles with remaining financially stable and not being enough for her. John wants to give Meg what she needs, what she wants, but he is unable to and that hurts him. My friend shared his own underlying worry that he wouldn't be able to fully provide for his wife and family one day and was then comforted by their love. In the end, Meg chooses John, and John chooses Meg– each willing to compromise their wants for the other. It isn’t just a beautiful portrayal of marriage, but a beautiful portrayal of love. They meet in the middle, and though the difficulties don't disappear, their love and devotion overcome them. 

But neither does Gerwig’s adaptation idealize romantic love as the most important end for Alcott’s characters, brilliantly interpolating parts of Alcott’s own life as an unmarried female author with the character of Jo. While this approach is certainly clever considering that Little Women is widely believed to have been based on Alcott’s own family, blurring the lines between Jo and Alcott could prove deceptive, as the novel certainly was not intended as an autobiography of Alcott, her family, and her life. Retrospectively, however, by simply reinserting Alcott into the story, Gerwig paves a new path, inviting viewers to look at the story of Little Women with a greater perspective. It is in this free space where viewers can form their own opinions, be it praises or critiques of Gerwig’s rendition of Alcott’s coming of age tale. Gerwig herself allows for great speculation and interpretation as she concluded the film with an elusive ending: Did Jo marry Mr. Bhaer or was that just the demanded ending of her newly finished book? Did the March sisters start a school for boys and girls where they happily reside together with their husbands and families or is that Jo’s own ending? It is up to us to decide, in the same way that it is up to us to figure out what to praise and what to critique, what to treasure and what to adapt. 

A moment that my friends and I still shed a tear over is the scene where the brazen Jo breaks down in front of her mother. “Women, they have minds, and they have souls, as well as just hearts. And they've got ambition, and they've got talent, as well as just beauty. I'm so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for. But... I am so lonely.” Jo’s inexplicable loneliness and need for love and connection does not contradict what she believes about women being capable of so much more than what is attributed to them. We need each other no matter how content we are within ourselves and our passions. We need friends, family, and perhaps a lifelong companionship with someone special. But above all we need communion with God, and whether or not Gerwig intended it like that, that's another layer of that scene that raged upon my heart. Our human souls crave something from ourselves and then something from each other, but in the end, we need our Creator who has made us in His image. 

This leads me to one of my few serious criticisms against the film adaptation, the omission of the deep religiosity and faith aspects seeped through the book’s pages. The book itself is clear on one thing: God is present in the lives of the March family– yet aside from movie Jo’s challenging of God’s will for sweet Beth’s life, the topic is avoided in the film. It wasn’t just the removal of God’s presence that was alarming, but Gerwig’s alteration of Marmee’s famous “I’m angry nearly every day of my life” speech which modified Alcott’s original message. In the movie, Marmee simply tells Jo that she isn't patient by nature and that with 40 years of effort, she’s learning to not let it get the better of her. However, in the novel, Marmee gives Jo much more than this. When asked for practical help, Marmee tells Jo that ultimately, her help comes from her Heavenly Father, sharing these beautiful words with her daughter: “The more you love and trust Him, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from you, but may become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as you come to your mother.”[1] 

Jo is overwhelmingly comforted and takes her mother’s advice to heart. In the movie, Marmee’s meaningful words are replaced by a line that Alcott’s own mother once said to her: “There are some natures too noble to curb and too lofty to bend.” In short, Gerwig seemingly attempted to represent women as fiery, unapologetic natures who were allowed to have strong emotions. Jo’s passionate spirit isn't the problem, it's what she allows it to do, being so blinded by her anger that she allowed her sister to fall in harm’s way. It’s not a woman issue, it’s a human issue– and Marmee does not reprimand nor condemn Jo for her very human feelings. Instead, she shares her own experience and offers practical advice: that God is the only one who can provide peace and healthy guidance for our anger. 

There are a lot of things Gerwig omits, doesn’t portray correctly, and even embellishes on for the sake of “modernity” and “quality, secular” cinema. And while this should not be overlooked, it also should not take away from the value of her adaptation. Considering that movie storytelling loses the orchestration of beautiful sentences that alight the imagination, the visual aspects of Gerwig’s storytelling offer a different kind of artistry to this retelling: through the aesthetics, textures, colors, beautiful performances and scene transitions, the work comes to life in a refreshing way, while remaining authentic to its original tale. No matter how you spin it, Little Women is a good–not perfect–portrayal of humanity and Gerwig’s own human hands add something special, no matter how many complaints there are against the work. The very act of criticism is a form of praise considering that the work is deemed significant enough to demand attention and close inspection– such is the search for human understanding and meaning. And the reflection of humanity in Little Women is, ultimately, a reflection of the divine.

In the words of Cornell’s very own M.H. Abrams, “We are human, and nothing is more interesting to us than humanity.” We are like Laurie, prying into the lives of the March girls and longing to be one of them, or in one sense or another, longing to be a part of their world. There’s something about what Louisa May Alcott orchestrated, so many have adapted, and Gerwig perfected, whether they were fully aware of it or not. The desires of these girls, the reality around them, their love for each other, and the art that flows from them, all resonate with the human soul in an almost inexplicable way. 

So who would care to read about a few little women? Perhaps the answer lies with the Psalmist who first asked, “What is man that You are mindful of him?”[3] Humankind is God’s precious creation and as such, God cares a great deal. It’s quite simple. To us, humanity is most fascinating, and to God, the “least of these” is most important, and that is why Little Women is timeless.[4] Every time we reencounter this story, by rereading the novel or watching one of its various adaptations, we are able to venture back into Alcott’s world of these four girls and experience the retelling of what it means to be a woman, a family, an artist, a friend–– a human person. Let your hearts be moved by raw brilliance and sheer loveliness.

SOURCES

1. Louisa May Alcott, Little Women. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg 1996. 

2. Louisa May Alcott, Her Life, Letters, and Journals. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg 2011. 

3. Psalm 8:4 (NKJV) 

4. Matthew 25:40 (NKJV)