Thriller Chiller: Don't Take That Tone With Me

Remember that episode of Friends when Joey's reading Little Women and Beth gets sick and Joey gets scared and has to put the book in the freezer?  Well, that's what I had to do with Lucy Foley's The Guest List.  Not that I really wedged it between a DiGiorno and a mess hall-sized bag of broccoli.  But I did stop reading it a third of the way in, much to the consternation of my book club besties.  (Hi, Mom!  Hi, Sis!)  Why?  Because its tone made me nervous.  

Now, I've read more than my share of murder mysteries.  But they're always either dignified and distant, like Agatha Christie, or hilarious and homespun, like all those cozies, that I barely notice anyone's bit the big one.  In other words, their tone is lighthearted.  You know.  Sunny.  Funny.  And sometimes accompanied by recipes.  And that little light is all that I need to go on to find out whodunit.  Yet a story that's shadowed through and through, with characters as damaged as their murky dismal surroundings (even my "serious" descriptions are "silly," Rainbow Brite's Murky Dismal being as cartoonish a villain as they come), plunges me into an abyss of black-out blinds.  And for a spirited sunseeker such as myself, that's a bad place to be.  

That said, my mom and sister weren't really surprised that I dropped Ms. Foley like a bad habit.  They know I don't do well with darkness and were very understanding.  Being in a book club is funny like that, even with -- especially with -- people you know really well.  The titles we choose say a lot about us and what we want and need from books.

And I know what I'll need when it's my turn to pick is something with a colorful cover. 

Women's March Madness

Just before the pandemic, I read and loved Meg & Jo, Virginia Kantra's modern take on Little Women.  And this week I had the pleasure of reading Kantra's follow-up, Beth & Amy.  Set in twenty-first century North Carolina instead of 1860s Massachusetts, Kantra's story takes an in-depth look into the hearts and minds of the four March sisters.  It's an emotional exploration that wouldn't have happened when Louisa May Alcott wrote the original.  Because back when horse and buggies roamed the earth, people -- even authors -- didn't really talk about their feelings.  

Beth is a singer-songwriter touring with -- and dating -- a huge country music star.  But although she's alive in Kantra's version, she's far from well.  Still painfully shy and self-effacing, she keeps a dark secret from everyone, including her sisters.  As for Amy, she remains a go-getting fashionista.  A rising handbag designer -- she cheekily calls her business Baggage --, part of her is still out to prove that Jo isn't the only creative genius in the March matriarchy.  Also, that Jo isn't the only one who has Laurie's -- or, as he's called, here, Trey's -- heart.  So, Beth is a mouse and Amy a peacock.  But despite their opposite personalities, they have one key thing in common; no matter how far they roam, they always long for and return to the comfort of home:

Amy: "All my life I'd dreamed of Paris.  The light, the food, the art, the fashion.  Turned out it was just like high school, a bunch of assholes following me around saying horrible things." (52)

Beth: "It felt so good to be home, to fade into my familiar supporting role.  Not the princess or the fairy or the star.  Just . . . me, one of the March girls, the quiet one who brought home strays and sometimes played guitar." (68)

I love how Kantra crafts the voices of the youngest March sisters.  Amy's is witty and bold yet betrays scars from her past.  Beth's reveals that she doesn't want the spotlight, just the music she plays for herself.

It's also cool how Amy challenges the idea that each of the four sisters is only one thing:

Amy: ' "Ugh.  Why do we do that?  . . . Pigeonhole ourselves.  The responsible one, the smart one, the good one, the pretty one." ' (180)  

Little Women is famous for creating the premise that each of its heroines inhabits a box.  Which in some ways is fun, like a Seventeen quiz.  As in, ooh, am a Jo or an Amy?  A Meg or a Beth?  But once you get past the thrill of that slumber party impulse, you realize it's not realistic.  Because no one is just one thing.  Plenty of women can be responsible and smart and good and pretty and a zillion other things all at once.  Alcott knew this and told us so in subtle ways, but the constraints of her time clouded her message.  That's why it's so compelling -- and important -- when Kantra challenges the one-adjective-per-March-sister rule and, by extension, the limits for all women.  In this way, she expands upon Alcott's classic feminist tale while staying true to the characters we grew up with.  And I dare say that her books, while imbued with the emotional intelligence of adult, of-the-minute women, are as fun as the frothiest teen magazine.   

So, thanks, Kantra.  Keep marching on.  

Modern Love and 2000 Gushes

Unicorn Universe Necklace

Top: Vylette, Kohl's

Skirt: Tinseltown, Kohl's

Bag: B&B

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Belt: Marshalls

Barrettes: The Tote Trove

Tricolor and green spike bracelets: Amrita Singh, Zulily

Neon green bracelet: Cloud Nine

Rainbow, yellow, and pink bracelets: So, Kohl's

This post isn't about David Bowie.  But "Modern Love" is my favorite Bowie song (I know, I thought it would be "Ziggy Stardust," too), and it kind of fits here.  Even if I am using "love" loosely to cover both the romantic and sisterly kinds.

But upward and onward.  

What would Louisa May Alcott's Little Women be like if Jo was a journalist-turned-food-blogger in lust with a world-famous chef?  Or if Beth had lived and was an aspiring country singer?  Or if Pa March finally got his comeuppance for leaving Ma and his girls all alone?  Virginia Kantra answers these questions and others in Meg & Jo, a "contemporary retelling of Little Women" (just like it says on the cover).  

Set in modern-day North Carolina instead of Civil War Massachusetts, Meg & Jo showcases the timelessness of Alcott's treasured tour de force.  Because the more things change, the more they stay the same.  The story is still about the social dynamics at work among sisters, the little alliances and rivalries that bind and separate.  Due to birth order, Meg and Jo are besties, as are Beth and Amy.  But Jo references how Beth is her baby and how Amy is Meg's, revealing other alliances.  Finally, there's the friction between Jo and Amy.  On the surface, it seems to stem from them being so different -- Jo is the tomboy, Amy the porcelain doll -- or from vying for the affections of the boy next store.  But their issue is that they're too much alike.  They're both headstrong, passionate artists -- Jo a writer, Amy a designer -- who are (despite said boy) more interested in their own dreams than furthering men's.

But I don't mean to woman-splain Little Women to you.  You already know all of this. 

The main conflict in Meg & Jo is a big blow-up between Jo and her chef, which occurs when she posts his mother's pierogi recipe.  She hasn't told him about her blog because she doesn't want him to see her as an "idiot hipster food blogger."  But her secret is outed when her readers spot the tattoos on his arm in a picture, forcing her to confront her feelings.

"He thought I was using him.  Which . . . Okay, I had.  He'd served up his big heart on a plate, and I'd taken his passion to feed my own.  But I put myself out there, too, in my words, on my blog.  When I wrote about him, I revealed a piece of my heart.  And he didn't see.  Or maybe he didn't care.  He'd belittled my blog.  And that made me feel small.  I couldn't forgive that."  (267)

Kantra gives us the Jo that Alcott created: the tough girl with the gushy heart.  And although I don't think of myself as tough and am one of the girliest girls that I know, this is why Jo is my favorite.  To her, stories are everything.  She's guarded and prickly in person, but vulnerable where it counts -- on the page.  The man who understands and respects that is the one who gets to be in her life. 

Meg & Jo blends romance and feminism and wraps it up in that age-old theme of following your heart.  It both stands on its own and parallels its predecessor, making for textured reading.  I look forward to Kantra's sequel, Beth & Amy.

And now for a craft project report.  This Unicorn Universe Necklace has little to do with Meg & Jo or Little Women.  But its black unicorn head is a cross between edgy and enchanting, serving as a subtle reminder that being girly doesn't mean not being strong.  Also, unicorns, mythical though they may be, are supposed to be pretty powerful.

Just like the one in that Squatty Potty ad.  I bet they wish they had that in Little Women.   

Women's Lit and Ladies' Wit: Writers Gotta Write

Fabulous Felt Book Barrettes

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: Vanilla Star, Macy's

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Bag: Dancing Days by Banned, Modcloth

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't like classic literature.  It's as moldy as Brie, its thees and thous sticking in my throat like errant Doritos as yet someone else dies of consumption.  And yet, I love Louisa May Alcott's Little Women.  I think that almost everyone knows this novel about the four March sisters coming of age in Massachusetts during and after the Civil War.  Meg is pretty and traditional, Jo is a rebellious writer, Beth is sweet and shy, and Amy is a social-climbing artist.  Women of all ages love this story and these characters just as I do.  It just took seeing Greta Gerwig's big screen adaptation to remind me.  

Did I check Little Women out of my elementary school library multiple times so I could finish reading it?  Yes.  Did I ask the super nice librarian, with not a little (totally unwarranted) trepidation, what * * * meant?  Yes.  (Scene change, it turns out.  To this day, I can't see a series of asterisks and not think about that.)  Did I watch the 1994 movie with Winona Ryder as Jo and Christian Bale as Laurie?  And did I cry when Beth (Claire Danes) died and Jo refused Laurie's proposal?  Um, is Aunt March an asshole?  Spoiler alert: she is.  Yet despite or perhaps because of spending all this time with the March family, I was instantly under Ms. Gerwig's spell as the first scene opened that day in the theater.  Maybe it's because the story starts in the middle and shows what came before in flashbacks.  We first see Jo (Saoirse Ronan) when she's living in New York at that boarding house, teaching and publishing her vampire stories and dealing with Professor Bhaer's cruel-to-be-kind dismissal of them.  Still, despite Jo's troubles, her life has a kind of vitality, a promise that threatens to explode when she's swept up in a dark yet lively dance scene.  By contrast, when we meet Meg (Emma Watson), she's peering sadly outside the door of her shabby house, resignedly telling her children to go play.  This makes it all the more poignant when we see Meg come to the same house, then sunshine yellow, years earlier as a bride, as euphoric and blind as the teenager she undoubtedly is.  She wanted marriage and children more than anything, but money troubles drive a wedge between her and her schoolteacher husband, a problem that becomes obvious when they quarrel over the $50 that Meg spent on fabric for a dress.  They make up, of course (although not after Meg has sold the fabric), but their reconciliation is bittersweet.  John's a good man, and Meg loves him.  But Gerwig makes no mistake in showing that Meg's life is limited.

Little Women is full of romance and girlish dreams.  But it's also about women's rights and being allowed to want more than being someone's wife and mother.  Gerwig shines a spotlight on that, making this classic seem as if it were happening today.  

Anyway, here's my copy of the book.  I hate how the cover features two randos instead of the four March sisters.  But then, bargain book buyers can't be choosers.

And now for some arts and crafts!  As a nod to Little Women and other timeless tales, I made this set of Fabulous Felt Book Barrettes:  

The spines are supposed to imitate old-timey leather, all rich and scholarly like the kind in the nineteenth century library of a land baron who never reads.  Speaking of which, here I am with some of my books.  Most of them are paperbacks, and most were written by women.    

I think that Jo would agree with me when I say this: women, uncap your pens.