A Woman's Happiness

This is what happens when you delay the review for weeks and when it’s time to write one you don’t know what to say. 

An Old-Fashioned Girl is Louisa May Alcott’s post-Little Women publication and it shows. I direct you to exhibit A: “in consequence of taking the liberty to end a certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving satisfaction, and, at the risk of outraging all the unities, intend to pair off everybody I can lay my hands on” (p.258).

And indeed…SPOILER ALERT…everybody is paired off tidily, but ironically, giving no satisfaction whatsoever. I can almost see Alcott smirking at us, the Jo/Laurie shippers, for conforming to the paradigm of romance and marriage. Because here, where there is conformity, we almost bemoan it. 

Oh, Alcott was smart about getting satisfaction without malice and spite…all she had to do was show us how banal we were in our literary demands and immediately we repented. 

But the novel by no means bench on its contrasting moments to Little Women for carrying through a narrative that is solid in and of itself. The warm and happy moments of quiet domesticity are undoubtedly where her forte is with Polly as the embodiment of it all. Compared to the city girls in glamorous dresses and act all grown up, our Polly is decidedly simple and old-fashioned. She likes the frivolities as much as any other girls of her age. Oh, the temptation of a perfectly beautiful pair of shoes! But Polly remains true to who she is (after, I don’t know, succumbing to temptation a few times and realising the guilt isn’t worth it), and she exerts her positive influence over everyone around her, because apparently city folks don’t know how to be kind anymore, even to their own family:

And Polly didn't think she had done much; but it was one of the little things which are always waiting to be done in this world of ours, where rainy days come so often, where spirits get out of tune, and duty won't go hand in hand with pleasure. Little things of this sort are especially good work for little people; a kind little thought, an unselfish little act, a cheery little word, are so sweet and comfortable, that no one can fail to feel their beauty and love the giver, no matter how small they are. Mothers do a deal of this sort of thing, unseen, unthanked, but felt and remembered long afterward, and never lost, for this is the simple magic that binds hearts together, and keeps home happy. (p.41)

As I follow Polly who transforms the people around her with her honest endeavour, sheer goodness and genuine care and consideration, my cynical and worldly self shrivels in shame, and I long to be part of her little world where “love and liberty prevailed; talent, energy and character took the first rank; money, fashion and position were literally nowhere” (p.168). Like my sister has observed, I am well on my way to becoming a full-time social activist under the unwavering influence of meliorism and incessant indignation at bigotry, injustice, indifference and complacency. Oh, to be Polly in the twenty-first century! But let’s not forget: Polly’s true reform is worked in the sphere of quiet domesticity. Yes, she participates in the greater reform during her professional years as a music teacher, observing those more unfortunate than her and doing what she can to follow her principles of being kind. But it still doesn’t measure up to being matched with the love of her life. Not implying that those can’t be achieved concurrently, but that nagging question of profession/marriage in Little Women returns here once again…what is happiness in a woman’s life? 

We have come to full circle yet with no ready answer. For Jo clearly her art was her priority. The lack of money was a factor that drove her to pursue writing as a career. But she was ambitious and devoted to abstract ideals. Polly, on the other hand, was more grounded and the connections she made with those around her were everything. To love and be loved gave meaning to everything Polly did. Jo, on the contrary, was pained and conflicted. But still she pursued, not looking back. And as I ponder on this, I am reminded that in the most recent adaptation, Jo did look back. Yet it wasn't regret. Most likely it was nostalgia. But maybe, it was something indescribable and opaque...known to none, even the person herself. It will forever remain an enigma and I think both Alcott and Greta Gerwig intended it to be that way, deliberately leaving it ambiguous, for even they know not what is there in the heart of women.