Little Women (and why I just finished reading this at near middle-age)

I just finished reading Little Women, and just realized why I hadn’t read it when I was a girl. I learned how to read early (before Kindergarten), and consequently many of my birthday and Christmas gifts from family were books. My beloved grandparents gave me Little Women when I was eight, but it just did not keep my attention.


I think I know why: my dear grandparents also gave me the Little House series of books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I was a bit of a tomboy in my youth, and I am sure I related much better to Laura in the Big Woods and the Prairie than I did with proper Meg, Beth, Amy, and even Jo. Laura was somewhat of a tomboy also, and her adventures as her family moved across the Midwest (including Minnesota), grabbed my interest and held it. When I was young, I also appreciated the more simple approach to life in the Little House books – Ma versus Marmee, small towns versus travelling to New York and across Europe, and just being polite instead of worrying about one’s place in society. Certainly the writing styles of Louisa May Alcott and Laura Ingalls Wilder were quite different too; Ms. Alcott even occasionally referred to herself as the storyteller, while Ms. Wilder kept herself out of the narrative completely.

Now that I am older and (ahem) more mature, I appreciate the grace and charm of the March family a little more. Of course, I found myself liking Jo the best (the tomboy), but also found myself caring for the rest of the Women as they grew up and left the March home. It also gives me a different perspective on how life was around the same time as Laura grew up.

A part of my childhood is now complete and I can return Little Women to the bookshelf (next to the Little House books).