Monthly Archives: February 2011

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Moods: Sylvia’s Choice

I enjoy how Louisa describes Geoffrey Moor and Adam Warwick, the two love interests of heroine Sylvia Yule through comparing and contrasting how they respond to similar situations.

Here’s one scenario: Sylvia lost her mother at an early age and she has grieved throughout her young life over that loss. She first meets Adam Warwick (the Thoreau character) while expressing some of that grief; the scene finds her wading in the ocean when thoughts of her mother and that lost relationship come to mind (this scene is not in the earlier 1865 version):

“Tears dropped fast, and hiding her head, she sobbed like a broken-hearted child driving for its mother. She never let Prue know the want she felt, never told her father how powerless his indulgent affection was to feed this natural craving, not found elsewhere the fostering care she pined for. Only in hours like these the longing vented itself in bitter tears, that left the eyes dim, the heart heavy for days afterward.

A voice called her from the cliff above, a step sounded on the rocky path behind, but Sylvia did not hear them, nor see a figure hurrying through the deepending water toward her, till a great wave rolled up and broke over her feet, startling her with its chill.

Then she sprung up and looked about her with a sudden thrill of fear, for the green billows tumbled everywhere, the path was gone, and the treacherous tide was in.

A moment she stood dismayed, then flung away her cloak, and was about to plunge into the sea when a commanding voice called, “Stop, I am coming!” And before she could turn a strong arm caught her up, flung the cloak around her, and she felt herself carried high above the hungry waves that leaped up as if disappointed of their prey.” (Chapter 2 – Warwick)

This scene, appearing early in the book, very much characterizes the kind of feeling Sylvia had for Adam: feelings of passion, strength, power, turmoil. Feelings that thrilled her to the bone. She goes on to describe Warwick as the “manliest of men.”

Geoffrey Moor comes across very differently, as cerebral, peaceful, not at all physical. Note how he handles Sylvia’s grief in a discussion that they have in a later chapter (she has just described to him her sorrow at never knowing her mother, and how she needed to have her mother take her in her arms and show her God:

” ‘Dear Sylvia, I understand your trouble and long to cure it as wisely and tenderly as I ought, I can only tell you where I have found a cure for doubt, despondency, and grief. God and Nature are the true helper and comforter for all of us. Do not tire yourself with books, creeds, and speculations; let them wait, and believe that simply wishing and trying to be good is piety, for faith and endeavor are the wings that carry souls to her already; you will find her always just and genial, patient and wise. With the harmonious laws that rule her, imitate her industry, her sweet sanity; and soon I think you will find that benignant mother will take you into her arms and show you God.’

Without another word, Moor rose, laid his hand an instant on the girl’s bent head in the first caress he had ever dared to give her, and went away leaving her to the soothing ministrations of the comforter he had suggested.” (Chapter 8 Sermons)

It’s as if Moor was a minister and Warwick a savior. It lays out an interesting diachotomy for Sylvia which, to me, reveals the same for Louisa – embracing the thrilling, and frightening, physical life (Warwick) or living the transcendental, peaceful life that was preached to her by her father and his friends since childhood (Moor). This, of course, is so plainly evidenced in Louisa’s body of work, from Little Women‘s glorification of wholesome (nearly spiritual) domestic life to such “blood and thunder tales” as “Pauline’s Passion and Punishment.” Sarah Elbert, in her introduction to Moods, writes, “Consequently modern scholars have identified a correspondence between Louisa May Alcott’s canny separation of her literary markets and the nineteenth-century concept of “separate spheres” which divided home from workplace, sharpened the social boundaries separating genteel ladies from working women, and gradually turned childhood and youth in all classes into a protected stage of life.” A 21st century word for that might be “compartmentalization,” usually a more male trait. Louisa certainly displayed that in her life, and illustrated it in an interesting way with Moor and Warwick.

Now the question is, which life did Sylvia wish to choose and which one did she ultimately choose?

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Need book recommendations about Transcendentalism

I would like to read some basic books on Transcendentalism and its famous writers (Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, Fuller, etc.) that are not too scholarly (for now) just to get a better, objective idea of what the tenants of it are. I had started reading American Bloomsbury by Susan Cheever and was enjoying it but after reading the scathing reviews on Amazon about the many errors and unsupported theories in the book, I no longer wish to read it.

I also need recommendations on good, basic and reliable books on life in the 19th century for the average man and woman. Intellectually I understand that the Concord writers were revolutionary but I want to understand it emotionally (ideally from the point of view of an average 19th century man or woman – is that possible?). I am particularly interested in books about what Christian spirituality was like at the time as I know that Louisa’s spiritually was considered fairly radical.

I am beginning to suspect that my own spirituality and way of looking at life both have been very much influenced by Transcendentalism (gee, big surprise considering I’ve lived all my life in eastern and central Massachusetts) through my mother especially (she was loosely Unitarian and grew up in Lynn and Swampscott, also known as the North Shore in MA). I was raised Roman Catholic (through my dad) and very much practice it and consider it the core of my life but I feel so at home too reading Thoreau and seeing the Transcendentalist threads especially in Moods. The spirituality that Louisa espoused in Little Women felt very familiar and was very attractive to me (the spirituality that I gleaned from reading between the lines).

So, any suggestions? I’m all ears . . . :-)

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The Conundrum that is “Moods”

I’m about a third of the way through both versions of Moods and have concluded that this book is a total mess! Now don’t get me wrong, I am enjoying it, but considering the capital Louisa May Alcott had as a famous author, you have to wonder why she didn’t just release the book the way she had originally written it. Did her publisher stop her? If anyone has information on that, let me know, I’d love to find out.

Here’s a perfect example of why this book is such a mess. The 1865 version published by A.K. Loring had fewer chapters but included a subplot left out of the 1882 version. That subplot involved Adam Warwick and a Cuban fiance, Ottila. The first chapter details their argument and his deciding to “take a break”, you might say, from the relationship, but as a man of honor, he would return to decide if he would marry her. He felt she had deceived him though it wasn’t clear to me exactly what the deception was. She probably played some games with him as lovers will do, but Warwick being such a black and white (and intolerant) character, probably was offended by that. Just my guess.

At first I didn’t think eliminating this subplot would present a problem but it does for later in the story, Warwick suddenly departs just as it appears he and Sylvia are recognizing their feelings for each other. Knowing the subplot, this departure makes sense – he’s a man of honor and he wants to either be true to Ottila or break it off with her so that he can pursue a relationship with Sylvia.

In the later version, there is no subplot. There is only some vague reference made to something Warwick must take care of, and he mysteriously takes off. I happened to know why from reading the earlier version, but the reader must scratch his or her head and say, “Huh?”

So Louisa keeps the subplot in the earlier version but cuts out so much more. There’s very little development in the relationship between Warwick and Sylvia so that when he does leaves, the reader may not even care. I found myself scratching my head over it. Two extra pages are added to the later version which seem incredibly important in moving along the relationship. I can’t imagine why she cut those pages out because they truly made it clear that Adam was falling in love with Sylvia. Without those additional pages, the reader can only guess.

The later version includes a chapter each on Moor and Warwick so that you can become acquainted with the character, and then includes a chapter called “Dull But Necessary”  which acquaints the reader with Sylvia (this chapter is included in a very queer place in the older version). It strikes me as quite funny the way that Louisa will suddenly take the reader aside, as in a confidence and say, “okay, you need to be filled in with the back story before we can continue.” I noticed she did that a little bit in Little Women too.

The answer? You have to read both versions to get the full story. Google Books has the 1865 version.

Oh, and here’s something else that confuses the issue: Even though the 1882 version includes a chapter called “Holly” (which was also included in the earlier version) it is not included in The Portable Louisa May Alcott where I am reading the later version! Glad I have the book on Nook. Geez!

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Ever pictured Louisa May Alcott as a Lego? This and other fun tidbits

I have a Google alert set up that sends me new links every week to anything relating to Louisa May Alcott. Just for fun, I thought I’d share some of the  interesting links with you.

The Vintage Book of American Women Writers
It, of course, includes our own LMA . . . this looks like an interesting read

Concord Players’ Newest Production
Louisa helped found this troupe back in 1856 and it’s a fine legacy for the would-be actress to have this group thriving.

Charlotte Cushman, an actress Louisa admired
So much so that Louisa based a character in Jo’s Boys on her . . . can you guess which one?

An extraordinary family names their farm after the school in Little Men and Jo’s Boys
See what this family does at their “Plumfield”

How about Louisa (and other favorite) authors as Legos? :-)

The Amy March Shirt of Justice! coming soon . . .
You know I wouldn’t buy one, but you might. :-)

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Book Review: Louisa May Alcott A Personal Biography by Susan Cheever

Susan Cheever has offered the latest in a flurry of books about Louisa May Alcott; hers is titled Louisa May Alcott A Personal Biography. In a little over 250 pages, she sketches out the life of the popular author of Little Women. Cheever’s book is an easy read, with a writing style that is very accessible. The preface immediately captured me as she shared her personal connection with Alcott (thus the subtitle, “A Personal Biography”). I only wish that the book had lived up to the preface (and the epilogue as well) for I actually didn’t find all that much that was “personal” about it.

As a disclaimer, I have to say that I read this book in a way that most would probably not as I am very involved in reading about Louisa May Alcott for this blog: I took notes as I read. That plus reading several primary sources mentioned in Cheever’s bibliography made this a 3 month-long  journey. Like I said, a little unusual!

My feelings about this book are decidedly mixed. On the one hand, I very much enjoyed the back drop of history that Cheever presented throughout the book and did not find it a distraction as has been mentioned in other reviews. As an example, her comments about the Civil War helped put into context Louisa’s experience as a Civil War nurse. I also liked the material she presented on the state of 19th century medicine, Christian Science and Mary Baker Eddy in the final chapter as Louisa desperately searched for relief from the many symptoms of her illness. I find it helpful to have the back story.

Yet, even though a lot had been made about the parallels between Louisa and Bronson, and Cheever and her famous writer father, John Cheever, I didn’t recall seeing much of that in the story (at least it didn’t make much of an impression and I had actually hoped for more). I did think she presented a compelling and realistic portrait of Bronson whom I think has got to be one of the most difficult of historical characters. Certainly he evokes strong, and very ambivalent, emotions!

The most inspired part of the book for me was the chapter on Little Women and her brilliant insight into the creation of the book. So much has been said about how Alcott didn’t want to write the book, but Cheever put forth a wonderful argument about the genius of it being an ‘accident.’ She set up the example of Alexander Graham Bell and his assistant Thomas Watson (whom she is related to) and their accidental discovery of sound through wire as a result of the spilling of battery acid. She maintains that Bell, because of his work with the deaf and other related knowledge, was able to discern the sound coming through the wire as a breakthrough because of that knowledge. It was an accident that was backed up by much preparation. Cheever then writes:

“If great works and great inventions happen by accident, careful research can also often show that the accident has been prepared for for years. It was Bell’s understanding of sound, partly developed in his years of work with the deaf, that made  him understand the pings he heard through the wire. Man’s accidents are God’s purposes, as Sophia Peabody might remind us. From the perspective of 1868, the writing of Little Women looked like an accident. Because of the accidental coming together of Alcott’s need for a publisher, her concern for her parents, Thomas Nile’s jealousy of other publishers’ successes with children’s books, Bronson Alcott’s unpublished manuscript, and a dozen other things, in May of 1868, Louisa May Alcott, after much stalling finally sat down and started writing Little Women.
Yet the accidents that caused the writing of Little Women, seen in hindsight, look more like destiny . . .”

(For more on Little Women as an accident, read my previous post on Little Women The Grand Accident.)

As inspiring as that chapter was, there were big problems throughout this book beginning with an almost total lack of inclusion of her three sisters in the narrative who played such a enormous role in her life. It’s inconceivable to me how Cheever could have written so little about them. May got the most ink – a few pages. Anna received practically nothing which, when considering how inseparable she and Louisa were in their youth, is puzzling.

I also felt her theory, that Louisa was not especially loved by her parents, was not tenable. While I haven’t done Cheever’s level of research, I have read several biographies on Louisa May Alcott and I just couldn’t reach her conclusion. To me, Abba (who also was not mentioned all that much in the book) was shown to be a tremendous support to Louisa, writing encouraging notes in her journal, empathizing with her moods and anger and so forth. Louisa was obviously devoted to her mother, having sacrificed so much for her care. The immortal tribute she gave to her “Marmee” in Little Women supports that devotion.

While it’s certainly true that Louisa’s relationship with her father was troubled and difficult (mainly because of his lack of acceptance of her as she was), yet how could one say he didn’t love her if his last words to her when asked what he was thinking was, “Up there: you come too!”?  The last line of his poem written for Louisa reads, “I press thee to my heart as Duty’s faithful child.”

There were obvious errors in the book too, such as mentioning that Lizzie, the 3rd sister, was the youngest. I noticed 3 or 4 times that this error was made.  It also seemed like she lifted a bit from Madeleine Stern’s excellent book, Louisa May Alcott: A Biography I read Stern’s chapter on Little Women as Cheever had mentioned it in her footnotes and was amazed how similar some of the writing was.

Madeleine Stern’s book got me into Louisa’s head and I loved that. Harriet Reisen’s book had tremendous heart and caused me to look again at Louisa’s body of work. But Susan Cheever’s book didn’t really evoke any particular emotion except for the chapter on Little Women, and the last sad chapter about Alcott’s declining health. Here I was very moved.

It was an enjoyable book, worth reading and I experienced my usual sense of sadness and emptiness at having to part with yet another friend. But Louisa May Alcott A Personal Biography is not the book I’d recommend first if you want an in-depth and comprehensive look at Louisa May Alcott.  Read Madeleine Stern’s book if you want the definitive biography, and then read Reisen’s. Cheever’s book doesn’t add much that’s new to the mix.

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Gaining a new understanding of Louisa May Alcott’s “Vortex”

Dictionary.com had several definitions for the word, “vortex” which I thought were interesting:

1. a whirling mass of water, especially one in which a force of suction operates, as a whirlpool.
2. a whirling mass of air, especially one in the form of a visible column or spiral, as a tornado.
3. a whirling mass of fire, flame, etc.
4. a state of affairs likened to a whirlpool for violent activity, irresistible force, etc.

Obviously the fourth one is the one that applies to Louisa but I thought the first three were a great description too, in an allegorical sense. :-)

I remember learning of Louisa’s self-described “vortex” when I read Louisa May: A Modern Biography by Martha Saxton. I was fascinated by her description of the vortex and found myself wishing that I could lose myself in something creative like that.

This weekend I realized that I do. I wouldn’t call it a vortex because it’s certainly not like the definitions above; I would call it more like a tunnel. I retreat into my tunnel, blocking out the world and heaven forbid if anyone interrupt me! It takes a lot of mental and emotional energy to prepare to enter the tunnel and often I procrastinate going there because of the constant threat of interruption that will break the spell (and possibly shut off some creative inspiration that may never come back). Family members do not like it when I enter this tunnel – it can cause downright resentment because suddenly I am not available for conversation, running errands, cleaning dishes or cooking dinner. I am not available for companionship. It’s necessary to shut out the world and everybody in it to complete my creative task, and when I can stay in my tunnel, I produce a hell of a lot of stuff! And it feels damn good too.

I was asked a while back to put together a weekend long religious retreat for women. I’ve been working with a partner and the partner was getting nervous because I had not sent her my outlines for the talks I was supposed to do. In all I had to prepare 4 talks (one was an older one I had used before that needed tweaking). It required time for reading and research, then writing out the outlines, and then actually giving the talk and timing it to see if it would work. My goal was to get all 4 done in one weekend. Thanks to my tunnel, they are done!

But thanks to my tunnel, I have a family member who is not happy with me.

This has been an ongoing struggle for my whole adult life. As a musician, I often entered these tunnels to write and record music. There was a period back when I was first married and before I had children when I could enter the tunnel every weeknight for hours on end because my husband taught guitar lessons during that time at a studio. I would have to pick him up at 10 pm because we only had the 1 car. My job was only about 10 minutes away so I could run home, eat a quick dinner, dump the dishes in this lovely deep sink that had a cover (!), meaning they wouldn’t get washed for a week, and I could write and record to my heart’s desire.  What a wonderful time that was, a time I mourn the loss of to this day.

There is a price though for entering the tunnel. Resentment from family members is one cost for entrance. Others include self-absorption, wild mood swings and tunnel vision. I would literally lose myself in these tunnels and it terrified me. As I grew older and recognized the consequences, I became afraid to enter the tunnel. In fact, when I had children, I sold off all my music equipment and gave up music for five years, instead pouring myself into my children. Eventually, music knocked on my door again and I let it in. But now with a family, I had to steal time. It was hard and frustrating, and it makes me wonder truly how May Alcott Nieriker would have coped with having a husband and child while pursuing a career as an artist. Her resolve to continue pursuing her art as she was expecting Lulu all sounded rather naive. How long would her husband have put up with it? Too bad we’ll never know the answers to those questions.

And now this HUGE tunnel is beckoning me, the writing tunnel . . . yikes!

I applaud Louisa for having the courage to leap head first into her vortexes. Her family understood her need and she went ahead and did it. There was some advantage to there being a practical need for her writing fits – they made a lot of money for the family and everyone lived very well off Louisa!

My goal now is to find a way to gain the support I need from my family and balance life with the tunnel, and ultimately, enter that tunnel and produce something good, maybe even great. Maybe it’ll never go any farther than self-publishing, maybe it will, who knows? I keep it all in prayer, asking for God’s guidance, and I look to Louisa for my example, remembering her courage. My goal is not necessarily to get published, but to produce something worthwhile.

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The always adaptable Louisa May Alcott

Following up on my last post, one of Susan Cheever’s footnotes referred the reader to Madeleine Stern’s tour de force, Louisa May Alcott: A Biography, and the outstanding chapter on Little Women. I read Madeleine Stern’s book several years ago and and it still remains one of the best books I’ve ever read. Now voraciously hungry for every little detail, Stern’s book is even more delicious. The text is positively dense with information and insight! If you haven’t read this book, it is a MUST.

One of my first questions after reading Cheever’s analysis of Louisa’s coming greatness through the writing of Little Women was: how could a woman who wrote sentimental romance novels and sensational blood and thunder stories write for children? And why was she even approached by Thomas Niles for Little Women or Horace Fuller for the children’s magazine, Merry’s Museum?

Stern answers these questions definitively in her chapter on Little Women: Louisa was an eminently practical woman who could adapt herself to whatever job she was asked to do. Considering the fact that she came from probably the most impractical father you could possibly imagine, this is extraordinary – talk about an opposing, even rebellious action on the part of the daughter!

Stern leads you through the process of how Louisa came to write juvenile literature, going through her motivation (mercenary, because she was asked to), her process (having the courage to try – simply writing stories until she hit upon her groove) and her inspiration (her life). The $500 that Fuller offered for editing the magazine was certainly needed – now it would be just a matter of getting down to business. Stern writes:

With the exception of Flower Fables and The Rose Family, Louisa had had no experience in writing for a juvenile public, and wondered how the author of “V.V.” and “The Abbot’s Ghost” would adapt herself to the new enterprise. To try her hand at literature for children, she wrote a story about the German family of Hummels, who lived in an old omnibus on the flats behinds the stables and subsisted on the money that little Fritz earned from selling chips. “Living on an Omnibus” appeared in October . . . it did not noticeably decrease the circulation of Merry’s Museum. Perhaps the editorial work would extend her skill in writing and selecting material. It would at least give her a public that, with the exception of Flower Fables, her stories had never known. Children might prove fruitful critics . . . (pages 163-164)

There’s a lot to be learned here (things I need to take to heart). Louisa never shrunk from a challenge. Her belief in her talent and the need for her work drove her to try just about anything. She wasn’t put off by a new experience; instead she embraced and exploited it (notice how she became a Civil War nurse despite her lack of experience – she adapted to it, embraced it, and it became a transforming life experience). Louisa adapted her writing style which began with the terser, simpler (and more authentic) prose of Hospital Sketches and, with much hard work, created the genius of Little Women simply by reporting what she had lived and seen.

(in the picture, Stern, L and lifelong friend Leona Rostenberg, R)
Stern then goes into a remarkable description of how Little Women essentially wrote itself as Louisa gave in, accepted her assignment, and lost herself in her vortex, reliving her life and the lives of her sisters. Much as she didn’t initially want to write Little Women, once she entered the process, the inspiration came. Stern presented the challenge of Little Women not so much as a thoroughly disagreeable task which Louisa took no creative pleasure in whatsoever, but rather as an assignment, much like a student would receive from a teacher. We all recall in school how we dreaded the writing of long term papers (I remember staying up all night and writing up until 10am when my English class was about to begin, finishing up my thesis on playwright Lillian Hellman); we’d procrastinate, dreading the process. But once giving in, sometimes, the term paper would take on a life of its own and become enjoyable to write. I believe this is what Stern is saying in this chapter and it backs up my claim that Little Women was inspired and that there had to be times when Louisa found it enjoyable to write. Perhaps it wasn’t the writing orgasm that Moods was, but it was still enjoyable.

This is why I love Madeleine Stern. She creates the most balanced picture of Louisa May Alcott and seemed to live inside of Louisa’s head while writing this extraordinary biography. I remember living inside Louisa’s head while reading it, and feeling very sad when the experience was over. I hadn’t read Little Women when I read Louisa May Alcott A Biography so this time, that chapter was especially meaningful.

I have a couple of ideas that I’ve wanted to explore on Louisa’s life that would require writing a paper or book but lack of confidence in my ability (and total lack of experience, plus no real academic background or disposition) has stopped me in my tracks. When I read this chapter in Stern’s book and I see the courage and resourcefulness that Louisa had, and the adaptability she practiced so well (one of her true marks of genius), then I think, why not? Why not give it a go?

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Little Women – the grand accident

I really loved what Susan Cheever had to say in her chapter on Little Women in Louisa May Alcott A Personal Biography. I had  found myself wondering why Little Women was the standout book from this prolific author, seeing that it was written under such duress, and I think Cheever really hit on it. Here’s what she says, in part (page 200):

“Great writing will always be a mystery. Why now, after everything she had been through, reluctantly tackling a novel for young girls, did Louisa May Alcott get suddenly catapulted into greatness? There are two kinds of artists — those who seek and those who find. The day she sat down to write during that may of 1868, Louisa seem to shift from being an artist pushing towards meaning to being an artist able to relax and discover meaning — the way Michelangelo purportedly said that he discovered his statues embedded in the marble he carved.”

On the next page she goes on to describe how the insights of great work and the insights of great inventions can go hand in hand, often happening ‘by accident.’ Her example is Alexander Graham Bell, discovering the telephone because of an accident spilling battery acid (page 201). He called for help to his assistant Tom Watson (Cheever’s great grandfather) and he heard Bell through the wires in the next room. She then quotes Louis Pasteur, “Chance favors the prepared  mind.”

She then goes on to write:

“If great works and great inventions happen by accident, careful research can also often show that the accident has been prepared for for years. It was Bell’s understanding of sound, partly developed in his years of work with the deaf, that made  him understand the pings he heard through the wire. Man’s accidents are God’s purposes, as Sophia Peabody might remind us. From the perspective of 1868, the writing of Little Women looked like an accident. Because of the accidental coming together of Alcott’s need for a publisher, her concern for her parents, Thomas Nile’s jealousy of other publishers’ successes with children’s books, Bronson Alcott’s unpublished manuscript, and a dozen other things, in May of 1868, Louisa May Alcott, after much stalling finally sat down and started writing Little Women.
Yet the accidents that caused the writing of Little Women, seen in hindsight, look more like destiny . . .”

This fits right in with a philosophy that has been growing stronger by the day in my life – you can’t plan greatness. Instead, you have to be awake and alert to when the wave comes along, and then you jump on board. Sometimes you will have to jump on board out of duty and obligation, and the work may seen dull and burdensome. But if you ride the wave and do the work, then the rewards will come.

I blogged about this earlier today on my spiritual blog. In the Roman Catholic missal, today’s readings focus on the time when the infant Jesus was presented in the temple and the 2 prophets, Simeon and Anna, recognized the infant as the Messiah. I focused on Anna and how her ‘accidental’ meeting of Mary, Joseph and Jesus was actually destiny, something she had prepared herself for all her life. She rode the wave and met whom she believed was the long awaited Messiah! (see post on my spiritual blog).

Hard work is always necessary and inspiration helps. But being awake and alert in the present moment – that, I think, is the missing link, the key to greatness. It was fortunate for the world that Louisa caught that wave and wrote Little Women.

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Louisa May Alcott’s spirituality, and her better self in Sylvia Yule

Finishing up chapter V in the 1864 version of  Moods (“The Golden Wedding”), I walked away with two thoughts, regarding Louisa’s spirituality and her romanticized self in Sylvia Yule.

Louisa May Alcott’s Spirituality

I want more than ever to write a longer treatise on the spirituality of Louisa May Alcott. Although she did not belong to any particular church or religion, her spirituality in many senses is similar to mine and I am a devout Roman Catholic. I would need to do a LOT more research on how Christianity was practiced and perceived in the 19th century (a daunting task!) because my sense is her way of looking at God was radically different from the way  every other Christian practiced. Obviously this is true because of Transcendentalism and my gut tells me that fear of God’s retribution was the major motivator rather than love of God. Because I have never studied Transcendentalism, I don’t believe I was directly influenced by it although it may be that  because this is New England, I may have been influenced by it in an indirect way. All I know is when I read Little Women, I was very taken by the spirituality of the mundane that Louisa preached (see my post on Amy) – that spirituality being that it was all in the details: how a smile, a gesture, a small sacrifice can be the key to true spirituality.

I see that same ‘preaching,’ so to speak, in Moods with Sylvia. I know that family was central to salvation for Bronson and for Louisa and this explains the beautiful descriptions of a caring family holding a 50th golden wedding anniversary celebration for their matriarch and patriarch. But this was the passage that particularly struck me (page 98, chapter V):

That passage caused me to recall Louisa’s own discovery of God in her teens after an early morning excursion in the meadow over Hillside.

I just did a little bit of reading about Saint Ignatius, the founder of the Jesuits and found a kindred friend. From what I could gather, his spirituality was often about finding God in the world. He also believed in developing the mind. I feel that Louisa did this also. Her practice of virtue often paralleled the spirituality of St. Thérèse of Lisieux and Blessed Mother Teresa – doing small things with great love.

I hope I can find the time to do the research, and the guts to tackle this subject. It’s yet the latest thing that draws me to Louisa.

Louisa Romanticized in Sylvia Yule

In defending Moods in letters to readers (see previous post) it strikes me as a little odd how Louisa speaks of Sylvia as being a slave to her moods, almost speaking of her in a disparaging way. When I see how she describes her, I see a breath of fresh air – a young woman full of life and vigor, curious about everything, willing to step out and take changes, impulsive for sure, and creative in her thinking. I’m wondering if this is how Louisa would have liked to have been seen – decidedly different and accepted as such. It is easy to see why Moor and Warwick both fall in love with her, being different sorts themselves. Chapter V in particular has lovely descriptions of Sylvia: a dream version of a very complex and rather tormented woman. I have no proof of this at all but I’d like to think that Louisa, lost in her vortex, lived through Sylvia and found a temporary peace in that character (at least while the going was good!).

I am hoping, however, that the story line is going to begin to move on. I was surprised that 3 chapters were devoted to this camping excursion with Mark (Max), Moor and Warwick. It makes me think it was probably a good thing the book was edited! We shall see. :-)