Every once in a while, I read a book that reminds me of when Juliet Ashton of The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society quips that books might have a homing instinct that leads them to their perfect readers. This year, if such a book found me, it was The Awakening of Miss Prim by Natalia Sanmartin Fenollera. I read it while vacationing in Scotland, which proved the perfect combination of delights. In a spirit pleasantly similar to that of Guernsey, Miss Prim whisks its reader to a heaven-on-earth European village called San Ireneo de Arnois. Once there, said reader finds a haven of books, good food, delightful characters, and, surprisingly, potential challenges to assumptions and values. As mentioned, I felt like this book found me, which speaks to how perfect it felt for me, but I think its charm can reach readers of many types and preferences.

The Awakening of Miss Prim focuses on Prudencia Prim, a young woman who has seemingly everything the modern woman would want – several degrees, respected career, and the approval of her peers. And yet, she’s weary and disillusioned, longing for escape from schedules, noise, and workdays. She wants to find rest and true beauty, she says. So, she takes a job as personal librarian to a man living in San Ireneo de Arnois, a village that prides itself on welcoming people worn out by modernity. After settling in, she meets a colorful cast of characters who slowly and unassumingly turn her worldview upside down. 

On a first read of Miss Prim, you might only partially notice the provocative ideas it espouses. It doesn’t shy away from voicing controversial opinions on topics like education, feminism, marriage, economics, how men and women relate to one another, rearing children, what constitutes “great books,” how to measure progress, and more. Yet somehow, the dialogue and setting enfold the reader effortlessly, enabling the deeper ideas to sneak past normal human defensiveness. Before you know it, you might be considering the world from a perspective quite different from your own.

How does the author do it?

I think it’s by simply charming the reader. Everything about Miss Prim delights. I never quite worked out where San Ireneo de Arnois was located in Europe, but I want to go there even now. The village people believe that family, conversation, reflection, and simple pleasures ought to be the foundation of everyday life. All interactions take place over steaming cups of tea, fresh scones, and fancy cake. Good books fill every house in the village and a cheery fire roars in the background of every scene. And against this heartening backdrop, Miss Prim then meets one person after another who not only welcome her, but desire to know her deeply. Quirky and fun and astute, all of them steal their way into her heart with their care, hospitality, and age-old wisdom. Their piercing questions infuriate her, even while slowing her down and inviting her into the fellowship and contemplation she longs for. San Ireneo de Arnois’ jolly inhabitants meet Miss Prim where she is, but with gentle determination, do not let her stay there. She arrives world-weary, saying that she wants the rest and beauty the village offers. But she gradually realizes that the beauty and rest she really needs—and that the village people preach—will insist on changing her. One wise character tells Miss Prim, 

“You say you’re looking for beauty, but this isn’t the way to achieve it, my dear friend. You won’t find it while you look to yourself, as if everything revolved around you. Don’t you see? It’s exactly the other way around, precisely the other way around. You mustn’t be careful, you must get hurt. What I am trying to explain, child, is that unless you allow the beauty you seek to hurt you, to break you and knock you down, you’ll never find it.”

Will Miss Prim open herself up to that kind of beauty? Will the reader? This book makes a compelling case for true beauty—the beauty of Christianity—not merely by arguing, but by painting a picture of how Christian love and ethics might operate in an everyday, tight-knit community. While an idealized picture, it’s a beautiful one that will charm and perhaps even persuade along the way. I loved this book and hope you will too.

(Florence Pugh, Saoirse Ronan, and Emma Watson as Amy, Jo, and Meg in Greta Gerwig's Little Women; Source: WallpaperAccess)

One of my favorite dialogues from the Greta Gerwig's recent film adaptation of Little Women comes near its end as Jo March describes her latest writing project to sisters Meg and Amy. She worries that “a story of domestic struggles and joys” won’t interest people, but Amy counters that perhaps such stories just don’t seem important because no one writes them yet. She encourages Jo to press on, saying, “Writing about them will make them more important.” 

I appreciate the dramatic irony of the scene, as Louisa May Alcott’s domestic tale did indeed make such stories important. For me, Little Women feels like a diamond that catches a new shade of light with each read. It especially comes to mind when I consider the home I desire. I discussed last year how Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry helped me reimagine homemaking as an adult. Little Women holds a different role in that it’s been part of the furniture of my mind since early youth. As my desires and views for home and family have matured, the story of the March family has taught me a few truths I hold onto. 

1. Beauty and imagination in a home are means to loving well with it 

Throughout Little Women, the March household is a riot of color, vibrancy, laughter, and creativity. Sisters Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy have wonderfully varied personalities and interests. Their steadfast mother, “Marmee,” wisely shapes the home to cultivate the girls’ senses of wonder, guide them as they fight their faults, and harness their strengths for good. The result in their home, Orchard House, is a beautiful symphony of art, work, and companionship. 

Unsurprisingly, as a young reader, I didn’t fully appreciate Marmee’s centrality to the story. Now I see her as its irreplaceable backbone, for it is she who makes Orchard House a haven of beauty, learning, and care, not only for her girls, but also for friends and neighbors. She does so by ordering it around virtue and goodness, guiding her daughters’ minds and desires towards them at every turn. In the first chapter, readers learn that she raised the girls on the story of Pilgrim’s Progress, teaching them the lifelong journey towards heaven. The story captivates the girls’ imaginations for their whole lives and remains a constant help through joy and trial. 

Marmee also lovingly cultivates each daughter’s interests, always encouraging worthy work and play. Because of Marmee’s encouragement, Beth’s piano playing fills Orchard House, Amy’s drawings grow in skill, and Jo and Meg continually write and act in homemade plays for the enjoyment of many. She models for all of them the art of homemaking, which later looks different for each daughter, but all four use their future homes to cherish good things and serve others because of their mother’s example. 

2. A beautiful home reaches out and welcomes the goodness others can bring in 

On that note, Marmee also models extravagant generosity, both materially and relationally. Rather than withdrawing from others when hardships of the Civil War might have excused it, Marmee continually reaches out and teaches her girls to do the same. In a well-known early scene, she suggests giving away their unusually hearty Christmas breakfast to a needy family, and the girls cheerfully agree. And because of Marmee’s involvement in the war effort and various charities, Orchard House becomes known as a place sure to lend a helping hand. 

And as readers know well, the March women welcome a neighboring house of lonely men into their lives. The love found between the two houses forever reshapes everyone in them. Young Laurie Laurence comes into the Marches’ lives starved for affection, and the love overflowing at Orchard House gives him new vision for a real family. Marmee and the four sisters adopt him as a son and brother with eagerness that catches the attention of Laurie’s grandfather, Mr. Laurence, and his tutor, Mr. Brooke. Mr. Laurence, nursing long-ago grief, finds new purpose in becoming a protector to this house of women during their father’s absence in the war. And in time, gentle Beth somehow pierces Mr. Laurence’s long-held proverbial armor. Mr. Brooke, virtually alone in the world, encounters warmth and care for the first time in years in the Marches. All three of these men and all of the March women find forever family in each other, largely because of Orchard House’s determination to welcome and care for those who come in. 

3. Those who let themselves be shaped by both joy and grief are equipped to make a beautiful home 

Only in reading Little Women as an adult did I realize what a profound exploration of grief it offers. This manifests most clearly when death touches the March family through the tragic loss of Beth March. And even in their grief, the characters ultimately respond in hope, allowing sorrow’s touch to be at once painful and sanctifying to their souls. In letting both joy and grief work on them, they make better and more beautiful homes for those they love. 

Of all the characters, Jo becomes the most poignant example of a heart and a future home shaped by both gladness and sorrow. In an unlikely reversal of roles, timid Beth becomes the strongest of the Marches as she prepares to meet death, that ultimate and most fearsome of human enemies. And Jo, historically rough and audacious, learns new gentleness in keeping vigil at Beth’s bedside. As Beth gracefully accepts her end, Jo learns new patience and tranquility, letting grief soften her soul and vision for the future. Her journey is best expressed in a poem she writes on one of Beth’s final nights: 

“…Thus our parting daily loseth 

Something of its bitter pain, 

And while learning this hard lesson, 

My great loss becomes my gain. 

For the touch of grief will render 

My wild nature more serene,

Give to life new aspirations,

A new trust in the unseen.” (Alcott, p. 477-478)

Jo’s reshaped heart and life become Beth’s most beautiful legacy. With her parents’ help, she learns to “accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power” (Alcott, p. 497). In the days following her initial grief, Jo’s life does indeed become lovely and full. She writes thoughtful poetry and short stories, joyfully pouring out her heart on the page, instead of feverishly writing for money and approval as she once did. When Professor Friedrich Bhaer comes back into her life unexpectedly, she recognizes his value more deeply than she first did. Before long, the March sister who once said she’d never marry learns to open her heart to the love of a good man. Their home, while sparse, becomes one of the happiest in the neighborhood. It serves not only them and their children, but also becomes a home and school to love-starved orphan boys. Jo’s life and home look different from her youthful visions, but they are full and shaped by love of good things, sure testaments to how joy and grief have both worked their beautifying touches on her. 

Several years ago, I had the amazing opportunity to visit the real Orchard House, Louisa May Alcott’s home in Concord, Massachusetts. I distinctly remember the tightening in my chest as I ran a hand over the desk where she had written Little Women. Domestic stories now overflow the book world, but I maintain that Little Women still takes the title of the most important one. Its vision of hope, generosity, and beauty in the home has touched generations, undoubtedly shaping many girls’ dreams for their own homes. I know that Orchard House and the laughter of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy will always live in my mind’s eye, helping me make a home wherever I live. I hope and pray that my home offers the kind of love and heavenly-mindedness that theirs did.

Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House in Concord, Massachusetts

My ideas of home and homemaking used to be small. In years past, I associated such words with a comfortable house in suburban America, complete with a husband and a few children. My current self, living in a house shared with three other women in the middle of a big city, would have likely looked like an alien being to my 18-year-old self. While I’ve certainly grieved that some aspects of that youthful dream of home have not yet come to pass, at the same time, I understand more clearly now that making a home is more. I’ve seen that a home is made by loving well and pouring out. Homemaking is the opening of hands and committing to what the Lord gives in each season. It’s cultivating joyful, loving community wherever you are by bringing others in.

Unsurprisingly, stories have deepened my vision of home and taught me much about what it looks like. I hope to take a few posts to reflect on a few such stories. First up is Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry, which, for all its quiet prose and gentle introspection, truly axed me (as a friend and I once said of Wendell Berry).

I read Hannah Coulter in the spring of 2021, just over a year into COVID-19, which forced many questions of embodied community, loss, and home into sharper focus. I live in Washington, D.C., a city known for transience, politicians on the move, and basement apartments. I’ve said many tearful goodbyes in my years here and wondered if this city truly allows one to build a lasting home. In short, Hannah Coulter convinced me that it’s possible, even here.

That may sound odd, since D.C. is fairly opposite of everything Wendell Berry vocally advocates for – rootedness, enduring community, and commitment to a particular bit of earth. But Hannah Coulter moved me deeply because its characters’ fight for those things amidst shadows of grief and impermanence. The setting of Port William, Kentucky, a fictional stand-in for Berry’s own hometown, certainly sees less turnover than D.C., but even this little agrarian town, emblematic of longevity, can’t resist the march of time or the sting of loss.

Hannah of the title narrates the book as an elderly woman reflecting back on her life, now almost a complete tapestry of interconnected joyful and sorrowful threads. Her marriage to Nathan Coulter and the home she has built with him are things of beauty and endurance, but they have grown out of loss. Decades before, World War II took Hannah’s first husband, Nathan’s brother, and years of Nathan’s own youth. “He saw a lot of places, and he came home,” Hannah muses of Nathan, “I think he gave up the idea that there is a better place somewhere else.” So, they look right in front of them for their “place” and resurrect an abandoned homestead, making their own. Out of another’s loss, they make and commit to a home to love and cultivate and share.

Feelings of unmooring and uncertainty loomed large when I first read Hannah Coulter, and they still sometimes do – D.C. culture does not naturally encourage commitment to anything, and more people than usual left the city between 2020 and 2021. But in that season when uncertainty felt so much sharper, reading about Hannah and Nathan’s intentionality in loving each other, their land, their people, and their house grounded and challenged me. They still remind me that rootedness is often found in pouring oneself out for the place and people right in front of you. I don’t have a plot of land to work and keep, but I do have a house and backyard that I can make beautiful, both by caring for it and by welcoming in others with their joys, memories, and pains. D.C. may be a far cry from Port William’s tight-knit farming community, but I do have a church in the middle of the city that not only encourages, but expects and requires commitment. Deep love amongst members has manifestly followed. I expect to keep saying goodbyes for as long as I stay in D.C., but I can still intentionally love the people around me for as long as we’re all here, even though the leavings hurt.

Hannah Coulter showed me that homemaking is pouring out those very gifts of place and presence. It showed me a tangible example of how loving a place and its people go hand in hand. And that pouring out is perhaps especially important in a place like D.C., where things like deep community and commitment are so much scarcer. Hannah reflects, “There is no ‘better place’ than this, not in this world. And it is by the place we’ve got, and our love for it and keeping of it, that this world is joined to Heaven.” Her story has certainly strengthened me to “love and keep” the place and home I’ve got, city or otherwise.

Greetings, friends! I'm admittedly cheating slightly with this post, as it's a piece I wrote for my recently begun graduate program in writing, but I want to keep writing here. I'm still working out what it'll consist of reguarly, but I figure this piece is a good place to start. As last year's posts made clear, Little Women has been on my mind frequently, and, in exciting news, I recently visited the Alcott house for the second time! This reflection was written with my first visit there in mind, and in anticipation of the second. The story of the March sisters and their parents continues to inspire and give me courage, and I certainly want this space to be one that celebrates courage and beauty. I hope this short missive in honor of the Marches and their author does that and perhaps encourages you to pick up Little Women for the first, or maybe the one hundred and first, time :) 

Girlhood Dreams: Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House

It’s like stepping back in time, I thought in excited wonder. The countless nights spent with my battered paperback copy of Little Women came rushing back as I walked up the drive of the Alcott Orchard House. The famous soundtrack from the 1994 movie rang through my mind. Of all the sights to see in Boston and the surrounding area, this little house on a quiet street in Concord called my name most of all, for here Louisa May Alcott had penned her famous 1868 story of the March family, inspired by her own family, that would thrill generations of young women after her. For me, Little Women had always presented a compelling picture of family, love, pursuit of dreams, and growth into womanhood. Traversing to its place of origin now offered me the chance for fresh reflection on its formative influence.

Everywhere I looked inside Orchard House surfaced more memories and images. The family room looked exactly like it did in the movie. That’s where Marmee reads letters from Father to the four girls, I mused, studying the large easy chair by the fireplace. Will I have a family to sit by a cozy fire with someday? I’d definitely want to be a mom like Marmee. Across the hall stood the dining room, where the March sisters famously decided to give away their Christmas breakfast to a family in need, effected by their mother’s encouragement. I hope I’d inspire that kind of virtue in daughters of my own one day.

The tour group wound its way upstairs. Every turn brought images and scenes to mind. Here in the hallway, Jo and Meg had paced nervously while waiting for news of Beth’s illness. In that bedroom, Beth and Amy had whispered and giggled into the night as young girls. We enter another bedroom and pause to admire an authentic, well-preserved gown from the 1860s. The guide explains it belonged to Anna Alcott, Louisa May’s elder sister and the inspiration for Meg March of Little Women. It seems appropriate to display a fashion item in honor of “Meg,” who wrestles with materialism and vanity throughout the novel. But the gown on display boasts simple patterns and colors, perhaps reflective of Meg’s growth. The beautifully admonishing words of the film version’s Marmee come to my mind:

“If you feel that your value lies in being merely decorative, I fear that someday you might find yourself believing that’s all that you really are. Time erodes all such beauty. But what it cannot diminish is the wonderful workings of your mind, your humor, your kindness, and your moral courage. These are the things I cherish so in you.”

As a young girl reading Little Women, I cherished those aspects of Meg too, as I did various quirks of each sister. Unlike many readers of the novel, I never strongly preferred one sister over the rest, but found characteristics I loved in all four. Meg’s tender and motherly spirit, Jo’s writerly ambitions, Beth’s love of home and family, and Amy’s fascination with beauty all spoke to me. And at the quiet and steady helm of their struggles into womanhood, their mother kept faithful watch, gently guiding and rebuking and encouraging each of them into the best versions of themselves. In the March women, I found early models of courage, virtue, and femininity to emulate, and they represented the family I dreamed of making one day.

The old walls of Orchard House bring the Marches closer than ever. To how many childlike dreams, whispered hopes, family arguments, and murmured prayers has the worn wallpaper borne witness through the centuries? How many young women like me does it now usher into nostalgia every day? I stop short as I pass Anna Alcott’s dress and come to a small, simple table surface cut out of the wall. Here, shares the tour guide, likely marks the place where Louisa May Alcott wrote most of Little Women. Tears sting my eyes. Here she sat more than a hundred years ago to bring Marmee, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy to life. Did she have any idea how much they would speak to girls like me? How their story would become such a significant girlhood rite of passage for so many? I let my fingers reverently brush the old wooden surface before turning back out of the bedroom.

Back outside, I turn to gaze at the beautiful, simple front of the house once more. The realization of all I owe to the Alcotts and their fictional counterparts in the Marches strikes me anew now that I see the home in which they lived and learned. In each March sister, I found role models for family, friendship, and pursuit of dreams. They showed me virtue lived courageously and love given unconditionally. Marmee offered me an example of joyfully embracing motherhood with all its trials and blessings. I hope I can make a home like this one day, I murmur inwardly, turning back up the street. Hope flares brightly inside me as Orchard House fades into the distance, its images burned into my mind. Hope for a home, a family, the warmth of a shared hearth, and days filled with love and laughter.

***

I sigh in contentment from my couch in Washington, D.C. Candles burn, friends sit around me with sewing projects, and the newest film adaptation of Little Women plays in the foreground. The famous words of Mr. March’s letter from the book play in voiceover as the sisters excitedly perform a play for neighboring children:

            “I know they will remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully, that when I come back to them, I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women.”

My heart swells with affection for the women around me. My home may not look like Orchard House, and I may not yet have daughters to love, but I can invite others into my everyday spaces now. I keep re-reading and studying Little Women these days, and I reminisce often on my visit to Orchard House. Then, I didn’t fully understand that while the Marches certainly encourage hope for good things, they also make a case for relishing the beauty of the present. Yes, hope for a family and a shared fire, but also make a home in your little D.C. townhouse that lacks a working fireplace. Make it a place that invites friends to gather and love to be shared. In doing so, maybe you’ll see a little taste of Orchard House right in front of you. Tears prick my eyes as I watch Marmee on the screen applauding her girls’ performances. I want to be like her, I ponder. If I have daughters, yes, but also right now.

As we bid farewell to another year, per usual, I’m reflecting on what I’ve read and the books that stood out. As previously discussed, 2020 was different for my reading life, just as it was different in practically all areas of life for most people. When I look back on the upheaval my reading life saw this past year, Wendell Berry and A.A. Milne stand out as its most obvious lifesavers. When I think about what I read in 2020, I’m filled with gratitude for the work of these two authors. Their writing breathed renewed life into my reading, steadied me amidst anxiety, and reminded me to recognize the beauty and goodness of everyday life. I hope what I’ve learned from them can encourage you too, help you think about what made your reading easier this past year, and perhaps move you to pick up a Berry or Milne book. 

Wendell Berry’s Poetry

I hadn’t read much poetry regularly before this year. But, as providence would have it, I picked up a volume of Wendell Berry’s the last weekend before my local library closed in March. I knew a bit about Berry and had been wanting to try something of his, but I had no idea just how much his poetry would mean to me in the coming weeks. I read his Selected Poems and A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997, and there are still several across both volumes that I think about regularly. Berry’s reflective style and his steady focus on what is good, true, and beautiful were a balm to my tired heart. When I think about my time with his poems, I notice three overall themes in how they were a help to me–

1. They slowed me down

There’s something about the rhythm of a poem that forced me to stop and breathe. Even now, when I read a Berry poem, I can often nearly feel my heart rate coming down as I absorb it. In a time when my attention span was suffering, poetry ended up being the perfect solution, because its cadence enabled me to pay attention and to re-center myself in a way that prose couldn’t. And yet, poems are also comparatively short, so it wasn’t difficult to sit with a few at a time.

2. They helped me notice the simple good in front of me

Wendell Berry’s love of nature and simple living is well-known, and his poems bring it to center stage. His Kentucky farm life features heavily, as do the people he loves, his value for meaningful work and leisure, and other seemingly “everyday” things that become miraculous when you stop and consider. A friend of mine recently commented that he was thankful for how 2020 has reminded so many people to be grateful for “the basics” like family, health, church, and community. Wendell Berry certainly reminded me of how beautiful the basics can be too, and I’m so glad he did.

3. They helped me look up at the beauty of the world and away from self

I’ve always appreciated nature, but, as mentioned, Wendell Berry loves it. And now, at the end of 2020, I’d say that I also love it. His lyrical voice and word pictures awoke me to the beauty of my own backyard in new ways, and my daily walks gradually became an outlet not only for exercise, but for remembering how big and beautiful the world is, and, subsequently, my own smallness and finitude. Acceptance of one’s own limits can be difficult, but it’s also freeing. Berry turns often to the natural world’s grandeur both for thrills and for reminders to be at peace with the present, and I’m grateful for how his perspective encouraged me to look up and outside of myself.

A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh Books

Somehow, A.A. Milne’s Pooh books didn’t make it into my childhood repertoire, and I was only passingly familiar with the animated movies based on them. I picked up the first two, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, on the recommendation of two trusted friends when I was easing back into chapter books. Surely a light children’s story would help me work up to normal size books again, right? Right, BUT! Oh, how I ended up savoring these delightful tales. The characters are endearing, and the writing was easy to follow, yet it also surprised me with its wisdom.

1. They made me laugh

This may seem too obvious, but I don’t want to treat it like a small thing. We all needed laughter in 2020, and I’m glad I read books that provided it! Charles Dickens wrote in A Christmas Carol, “There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor,” and I found that true while reading about the Hundred Acre Wood and its inhabitants. I have the antics of Pooh, Tigger, Piglet, et al to thank for laughter when I needed it, and I think the fact that I didn’t expect to get it from them made it sweeter.

2. They made me remember the beauty and profoundness of simple children’s stories

The benefit of simplicity was again brought to my attention through these books. They’re short, easy, and the plots aren’t particularly exciting or fast-paced. The characters stay close to home and their troubles could be seen as silly if one resorts to easy cynicism. But I was reminded of how helpful and wholesome it can be to read a story stripped of extra frippery and mind games. I didn’t have to think hard or get uptight with suspense, so the poignant moments really smacked me in the face with their simple, heartwarming goodness. The final scene between Pooh and Christopher Robin in The House at Pooh Corner still gives me all the feels. *cue blinking*

Have I convinced you to try either of these authors yet? I hope so! But I’d also love to hear from you. If you struggled with reading in one way or another in 2020, what helped? What books or authors were steadying or newly inspiring for you amidst the year’s uncertainty? I’d love recommendations too! In closing, here’s my favorite poem from Wendell Berry. It’s a lot of people’s favorite, but there’s a reason for that :)

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Nobody knew how much the world would be collectively grieving just halfway through 2020. In January, a new decade full of possibilities stretched ahead. But now, people look back on months of hurt and confusion and wonder how the year could possibly be only half over. Our world aches as it battles a global disease, loss of loved ones, division, injustice, and disappointment.

For me, 2019 was a year of learning to honestly process disappointment and grieve well during relatively normal times. So, when cancellations, isolation, and anxiety began to grip the world this year, I was surprisingly thankful for the practice of 2019, hard as it was at times. Grief and disappointment are common to humanity, but we’re still filled with questions and confusion when they first strike. And no matter how large or small the cause for a particular grief may be, facing it honestly and maturely is important and requires intentionality.

As a lifelong lover of good stories, I’m a firm believer in the power of stories to help us grow in any area of life, sorrow being no exception. To that end, I’m returning to Little Women, one of my favorite books and one that explores grief with candor, empathy, and thoughtfulness. Only recently have I realized how much this well-beloved story has to do with grief, and I was fittingly re-reading it when the pandemic began to wreak havoc in my community. Since then, I’ve been strengthened and helped by its messages on loss and sorrow. So, whether you’re grieving the death of a loved one, widespread injustice, or cancelled plans that were dearly held, I hope this book’s handling of grief and the reflections I share here from my reading may help you face it with a little more clarity and move forward with a little more hope.

(Disclaimer: Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers everywhere)

Little Women’s Great Grief: Beth March’s Fate
Little Women has been analyzed and re-read throughout generations since its publication in 1868, and yet, as Greta Gerwig’s lovely new film adaptation has lately proved, it continues to stand the test of time. It endures because it explores universal themes, such as growing up, family dynamics, love, and, necessarily, grief, through the untimely death of one of the story’s four “little women.” Mixed feelings abound among Little Women fans regarding the third March sister, Beth, and her sad end. She battles painful shyness, but always exudes kindness, generosity, and tenderness. Indeed, for some, her unfailing selflessness makes her death feel inevitable and cliché, and they may nod in agreement when second sister Jo says, “The good and dear people always do die” (Alcott, p. 212). Others struggle to like Beth, as her constant goodness can seem almost martyr-like, while still others have argued that her death is merely a convenient plot device used to inject conflict. But upon close reading, this death elicits raw emotion and invites readers to thoughtfully examine death and grief, primarily through Beth’s courageous acceptance of her end, and through Jo’s pained reckoning with the loss.

Beth’s Courage

Top L, Top R, Bottom: Claire Danes, Annes Elwy, and Eliza Scanlen as Beth March (1994, 2017, 2019 respectively) [Sources: Forever Young Adult, WGBH, BFI]

Beth may be the most fragile character in Little Women, and her propensity for service may seem overly saint-like to some, but, paradoxically, it is in preparing to meet death, that most dreaded of human enemies, that she demonstrates victory over the fear with which she has struggled her whole life. Shyness and anxiety are Beth’s marked traits. She sticks close to home, fears talking to new people and trying new things, and thrives best amidst quiet and familiarity, pouring her heart into serving those she knows and loves. True to her natural reserve, when she first realizes her time is waning, she keeps the knowledge locked away, perhaps out of some faulty martyrdom, but also out of genuine desire to keep a right perspective. By the time she confides in Jo, she has grown accustomed to her fate, but Jo’s grief helps Beth to truly grieve well as she prepares to depart life. She recognizes the gifts of life that she’s loath to give up, but also determines to devote her remaining time to making the world a bit happier for those she will leave behind. Beth fully acknowledges the pain, but also strives for peace with it, as the narrator aptly describes:

“Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety; it shows itself in acts rather than words, and has more influence than homilies or protestations. Beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave her courage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death…She could not say, ‘I’m glad to go,’ for life was very sweet to her; she could only sob out, ‘I try to be willing,’ while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over them together.” (Alcott, p. 428)

Beth’s sorrow is indeed great, but she never allows bitterness to take root in her heart and works hard to love others well as long as she can. And through both her quiet acceptance and efforts to prepare herself to depart life, her fear becomes secondary and those dear to her are made better for her example. The narrator summarizes Beth’s final days well:

“With the wreck of her frail body, Beth’s soul grew strong, and though she said little, those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrim called was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore, trying to see the Shining Ones coming to receive her when she crossed the river.” (Alcott, p. 476)

Jo’s Reckoning
Of those who wait with Beth on that proverbial “shore” before her death, none do so more faithfully than second sister Jo, and it is Jo who is also most changed by her own grief and by Beth’s example as Beth slips away. Jo is the opposite of Beth in every way – loud, stubborn, adventurous, and mischievous – and yet, of the four March sisters, the bond between these two is perhaps the closest and most tender. So, upon learning the hard truth of Beth’s impending death, Jo’s natural first response entails anger and rebellion. But as Jo devotedly cares for this beloved sister, rarely leaving her side as her days wane, Jo softens and learns to love and serve ever more willingly, and after Beth’s passing, Jo learns to live without despair, painful as her loss remains.

Eliza Scanlen as Beth and Saoirse Ronan as Jo in Greta Gerwig's "Little Women" (2019) [Source: YouTube] 

As the narrative winds through Beth’s final days, Jo wrestles with resentment over losing Beth, but also allows her gentle sister to become her teacher in qualities she has always struggled to absorb. Historically, Jo was the brave and wild one, while Beth was quiet, meek, and looked up to Jo. But at this stage of the story, their roles are reversed as Beth’s courage to meet death teaches Jo greater humility and care for others. The narrator expresses Jo’s growth in bittersweet tones:

“…with eyes made clear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow, [Jo] recognized the beauty of her sister’s life – uneventful, unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which ‘smell sweet, and blossom in the dust,’ the self-forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered soonest in heaven, the true success which is possible to all.” (Alcott, p. 477) 

This painful maturation through loss is perhaps best expressed in a poem of Jo’s own writing which Beth accidentally finds on one of her last nights. The words are raw and honest about the ache of loss, but also demonstrate how Jo has accepted that she must learn to carry on with the virtues Beth has imparted to her. Even amidst heavy sorrow, Jo has clearly recognized her gains from years with Beth and even from watching her live out her final days with courage, as the poem expresses: 

“O my sister, passing from me,
Out of human care and strife,
Leave me, as a gift, those virtues
Which have beautified your life.
Dear, bequeath me that great patience
Which has power to sustain
A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit
In its prison-house of pain…

“…Thus our parting daily loseth
Something of its bitter pain,
And while learning this hard lesson,
My great loss becomes my gain.
For the touch of grief will render
My wild nature more serene,
Give to life new aspirations,
A new trust in the unseen.” (Alcott, p. 477-478) 

And after Beth’s passing, Jo does continue forward with new aspirations and trust. The ache of loss remains, but Beth’s influence and peace at death have changed Jo for the better, and she strives to live in keeping with those changes. With the help and love of family, Jo’s demeanor gentles and becomes more thoughtful, and she uses her energy and gifts with a view to serve others rather than her own ambitions. The book notes that her parents strive to help her “accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power” (Alcott, p. 497). And to her credit, Jo does, even while facing the most painful of losses, making her Beth’s dearest and most enduring legacy. 

Grieving Honestly and Hopefully
The journeys of grief for Beth in accepting her own death, and for Jo in observing it, never deny the heaviness or the need to face sadness honestly. Both of them feel their sorrow intensely and struggle to accept the tragedy, but they also look ahead through their tears and allow their grief to change them for the better. Beth and Jo may be fictional characters, but the world they inhabit in Little Women wrestles with pain just as much as my current real world of 2020. Indeed, grief feels particularly relevant for many right now, so I’ve loved revisiting this beloved favorite book with it in mind, and I’m grateful for how Beth and Jo have reminded me to grieve honestly and with tears, but also with hope. 

Reference: Alcott, L. M. (1868). Little Women. New York: Scholastic Inc.

Y’all, it’s time to talk about Sense and Sensibility. I go on plenty about Pride and Prejudice around here – it was my first real introduction to Austen – but I’ve recently rediscovered just how fantastic Sense and Sensibility is. This was Austen’s first published work, it tells a tale of devoted sisters, and I’ve fallen in love with it all over again after listening to the audiobook narrated by Rosamund Pike, who played Jane Bennet in the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie (she’s narrated a version of Pride and Prejudice too. Both are exquisite). After revisiting the story in this format, I have some new-ish/hopefully interesting reflections on my experience with Sense and Sensibility, especially when it comes to the two contenders for Marianne Dashwood’s heart. Here’s my Sense and Sensibility story, and I hope you’ll share yours. 

The Beginning
Like many of us probably were, I was first introduced to Sense and Sensibility through Ang Lee’s 1995 film version that starred Emma Thompson, Alan Rickman, and Kate Winslet. I now think that I might have seen it even before I saw Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice, which is the film I’ve long credited for introducing me to Austen. Either way, when I first saw Sense and Sensibility, I was unaware of the Jane Austen connection and had no idea how famous this story was.

And my sensitive, romantic-hearted little 12 or 13-year-old self was immediately captivated by the romance of the vivacious Marianne Dashwood and the charming… Willoughby. Yes, it was the handsome, roguish Willoughby who first turned my head. As a youngster, I frankly didn’t notice or understand Colonel Brandon’s generous heart and gentle, strong constancy. He was the older guy, sort of quiet and awkward, and definitely not as handsome (sorry, Alan Rickman groupies). Willoughby, on the other hand, was PERFECT for Marianne! Hello, he carried her home in a rainstorm after she’d sprained her ankle and then quoted her favorite sonnet to her! Swoon.

So, I was a goner. Such a goner, in fact, that even after all of Willoughby’s bad deeds were exposed, I was still convinced that he would come back to Marianne at the end with a full apology and explanation ready. I was utterly convinced of it right up until the ending scene in which Marianne walks out of the church on Colonel Brandon’s arm. Immediately, my jaw dropped, I uttered some exclamation of disappointed surprise, and I angrily stormed from the room. My emotional involvement in stories has clearly always been a thing.

Greg Wise and Kate Winslet as Willoughby and Marianne in Ang Lee's "Sense and Sensibility" (Photo Credit: Book Snob)

These Years Later
Fast forward some years, and I’m now firmly in the Colonel Brandon camp. As an adult, I’ve now willingly joined the ranks of women who sigh contentedly over his steady strength, gentle attentiveness, and quiet protectiveness over Marianne and others in his care. That angry scene I made after my first viewing of the '95 film ended up leading into a valuable object lesson for my 12 or 13-year-old self, but I’ve come to believe that my early, short-lived infatuation with Willoughby was due to his portrayal in that particular film adaptation.

Who is Willoughby in Ang Lee’s film, which is largely carried by Emma Thompson’s phenomenal script? I recently read a fantastic blog post about Willoughby which actually argues for more merit in this version of Willoughby than many give him credit for. I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I admit that even now, when I watch this Willoughby, played with ever-convincing charm by Greg Wise, I feel a little wistful. He is quite dashing, sweet, and thoughtful towards Marianne. If only he’d been less afraid to be poor. But I think that’s the major conflict that much of the plot comes down to for Willoughby in this version. The blog post linked above discusses this in detail – he’s portrayed as a bit of a rogue who made some mistakes, but in the end, still could have been a good match for Marianne if only he’d been willing to give up the promise of wealth. While this film is gorgeous and I love many things about it, I think this portrayal of Willoughby varies from the book in important ways. 

My conversion to Team Brandon, therefore, came when I read the book and watched the 2008 miniseries that was directed by Andrew Davies and starred Hattie Morahan, Dan Stevens, and Charity Wakefield. This miniseries was particularly important in my experience because it gives a more holistic portrayal of Willoughby’s character and Colonel Brandon’s thorough distrust of him. Dominic Cooper’s Willoughby in this version is perfectly charming and sweet, but he also has a definite edgy quality, and key scenes from the book that were omitted from the movie remain in this version. The unchaperoned visit to Allenham, Willoughby’s duel with Colonel Brandon, and his lengthy explanation offered to Elinor during Marianne’s illness are all lifted from the book and included in this version, and all of these are pretty vital to understanding Willoughby. Colonel Brandon’s young ward is also shown onscreen more than once, which gives cogent visual evidence to the audience of what Willoughby’s actions have done. He's a despicable scoundrel in this version without question, and even if he did truly love Marianne, his deceit and lack of remorse towards Brandon’s ward give ample evidence that he and Marianne probably would not have been happy in the long run. And I think this is what Austen had in mind when she wrote the book. Willoughby might be the more charming one to the eye on first impression, or even second and third impression, but Colonel Brandon is the truly honorable and good and faithful one. And I think that if I had seen this version first, I would have understood that better, even as a young teen.

Hattie Morahan and Charity Wakefield as Elinor and Marianne Dashwood in Andrew Davies's "Sense and Sensibility" (Photo Credit: Page to Screen)

And on that note, I admit that I do love David Morissey’s Brandon in the miniseries. Maybe even more than Alan Rickman’s. Sorry again, groupies. But Morissey’s portrayal brings a true military hero vibe from the beginning and I love the fierce protectiveness that undergirds every interaction with Marianne, or any of the Dashwood females, for that matter. More details are given about his tragic past in this version too, and I think Morissey brings the quiet grief needed for that part of the character beautifully.

But whichever actor you may prefer, I think most of us can agree that Colonel Brandon is a masterpiece of an Austen hero. It was after my recent listen to Rosamund Pike’s audiobook that I remembered how much I appreciate him. Currently, he and Mr. Knightley of Emma are close in my estimation for the most honorable, gentlemanly, and thoroughly good hero of Austen’s creation. That changes fairly regularly, so who knows how I’ll feel about it tomorrow, but that’s how it stands for now.

What are your thoughts? What’s been your experience with Sense and Sensibility? Which film version do you prefer and how do they compare to the book for you? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this lovely Austen novel and the film adaptations!

Happy 2019, friends and readers! It’s time to take a look back at the year gone by in favorite books and reading stats. Reflecting on what I read in a year and how it grew me has become an annual joy, and I hope you’re inspired to pick up a book mentioned here or to recommend something in the comments. I’d love to hear about your top 2018 reads and what you think I should add to my list for 2019! 

2018 was a strong reading year for me with many new favorites. I set a goal to read 50 books in the year and actually made it to 51! First, I have some fun breakdown to share for those of you who like bullet points and headings. 

Books read in 2018 (new to me)
51!

Books re-read in 2018
4 classic favorites: The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society, The Angry Tide (Poldark #7), and the first three Harry Potter books

Format breakdown

• Read the physical book: 31/51 – about 60% 
• Read on Kindle/e-reader: 7/51 – about 14%
• Listened to the audiobook: 14/51 – about 27% 

I’ve been so pleasantly surprised to see how drastically audiobooks have increased my reading time. I knew they were helping, but I never expected they would up my book count by almost a third!

Number of male and female authors

• Male: 8
• Female: 44 

(this takes into account that one book in the mix was co-written by a married couple, the wonderful Keith and Kristyn Getty)

So, interestingly, it turned out that my reading slanted very heavily and unintentionally towards women writers this year! I don’t really have goals when it comes to author demographics, but it was interesting to look back on how I gravitated.

Most books read by the same author 
8 books by Susanna Kearsley: Kearsley was my golden new author find of 2018 by a wide margin. I fell in love with the first book of hers that I read in the year and then made a point to work on reading everything by her that I could get my hands on. Some strong new favorites came out of it and I’m still working on reading all of her backlist!

Standout themes across 2018 reading

• World War II stories
• Books about books
• Magical realism (this was down to discovering Susanna Kearsley’s work)
• Biography/memoir/a real person’s story

Now for favorites! I normally wouldn’t list as many as twelve, but that’s where I am this year! I just read a lot of good books, y’all. Here are my very favorites from 2018, and the list could be taken in a rough two sections if I had to narrow it down further. The first five are the ones that really got into my system, that got their teeth into me, and that I still can’t stop thinking about. The next seven also left deep impressions, but I’d separate them by an ever so slight margin. Enjoy!

Favorite Books of 2018 

We Were the Lucky Ones by Georgia Hunter: Possibly a new lifetime favorite for me. This tells the incredible true story of a large family of Polish Jews who survived the Holocaust. Any book about the Holocaust is bound to be heavy and emotionally impactful, but I can honestly say that this one has stayed with me like few others have. It is riveting, emotional, and an ultimately hopeful book about the strength and resilience and courage of the human spirit.

A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken: Vanauken wrote this in the 1970s in memory of his wife Davy, their conversion to Christianity, and his own bereavement in the wake of Davy’s untimely death. His reflections on faith, marriage, loss, grief, and the longings of the human soul are heart-wrenching in all the best ways. The couple’s friendship with C.S. Lewis also has a heavy influence in the book, so many of Lewis’s letters to them are transcribed within. I loved every word of this moving story and will be returning to it soon (and will probably cry again).

Book Girl by Sarah Clarkson: I shared recently about how this book resonated with me and it has remained a favorite since then. Sarah Clarkson loves books and expresses profound gratitude in this work for how books have shaped her while she also seeks to pass along the gift that a reading life has been to her. She is passionate, eloquent, and my new kindred spirit.

Becoming Mrs. Lewis by Patti Callahan Henry: Obviously, much is known about C.S. Lewis, but Patti Henry seeks to draw back the curtain on his wife, Joy Davidman, in this lovely novel. It offers a fascinating take on how this meeting of minds between Lewis and Joy might have progressed into their devoted, passionate marriage. Mrs. Henry tells their story with such poignancy and emotional truth – have a few tissues handy when you pick this one up!

The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley: My first Kearsley read that sent me on a happy mission to read all of her books, but this one has remained my favorite of hers. Scotland, romance, the Jacobite rising, a mysterious castle ruin, and a snug cottage on the coast made this a pretty near perfect winter read.

A Desperate Fortune by Susanna Kearsley: My other favorite Kearsley read that almost came even with The Winter Sea. Romance and the Jacobite rising still play major roles, but this one takes the reader on a journey through France, Italy, and ancient fairytales that give a magic bent to the story. Also contained in this book is one of my favorite literary proposals. Kearsley really outdid herself with that scene and with the hero for this one.

The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley: The best children’s fiction book I’ve read in many years. It tells the story of Ada, a young girl whose cruel mother has kept her locked in their apartment her whole life on account of her clubfoot. When Ada’s brother Jamie is evacuated to the countryside during World War II’s London blitz, Ada promptly sneaks out to go with him. Their foster mom opens their eyes to a completely different life, and Ada and Jamie slowly begin learning the joys of childhood. A moving story about identity, community, and courage. And the sequel, The War I Finally Won, is an equally moving follow-up.

I’d Rather Be Reading by Anne Bogel: If you’re a book lover, this is a warm hug waiting to happen. This charming collection of essays on the reading life will make you feel so wholly understood for all your reader quirks. Anne Bogel just gets it. She’s clearly a reader herself, knows readers, and takes joy in bringing readers together by inviting them to appreciate the various phases of a reading life, the book that first hooked them, and even the more embarrassing aspects of their reading lives. Take this journey with Anne and be delighted. I know I was.

On Reading Well by Karen Swallow Prior: Another bookish tour, this time through classic literature, that opens the reader’s eyes to how virtue can be cultivated through reading. One reviewer of this book described Karen Swallow Prior as the English teacher everyone wishes they could have had, and I totally concur. She introduces you to Dickens, Twain, Austen, and many more while showing you how all of them can make you a better reader and a better person.

Seasons of Waiting by Betsy Childs Howard: My favorite Christian living book of recent years. Most of us feel like we’re waiting for something, no matter what stage of life we’re in. Whether that something is marriage, children, a permanent home, or good health, you will find a compassionate friend in Betsy Childs Howard. She examines various areas of life that involve waiting and explains with gentleness and solid theology how all of our waiting points to our deepest longing for Christ and our waiting for His return.

Unequal Affections by Lara S. Ormiston: I’m a Jane Austen snob and look askance at most retelling attempts, but I took the plunge with this reimagining of Pride and Prejudice, and I am SO GLAD I did. Honestly, I think it made me love the original and its characters even more than I already did, and I didn’t think that would have been possible. I listened to the audio version of this one and found myself looking for ANY excuse to turn it on. I laughed, cried, and giggled with delight throughout the whole 13 hours.

The Woman Who Smashed Codes by Jason Fagone: A few years ago, a film called The Imitation Game piqued my interest in stories about codebreaking in wartime. It’s odd, as I’ve never been a math person, but I appreciate that a bunch of nerds bent over crossword puzzles were just as vital to war efforts as those fighting on the frontlines. This book tells the unsung hero story of William and Elizabeth Friedman. Elizabeth in particular comes into focus, especially for her work to break into Nazi spy rings in South America during WWII. It’s fascinating, riveting, and has all the elements of a spy thriller.

Any of these catch your eye? What did you read in 2018? What should I read in 2019? I’d love to hear! Let me know and see my full 2018 book list below :) Happy weekend!

Full 2018 book list (in the order I read them)
The Austen Escape by Katherine Reay
Letters to Children by C.S. Lewis
Emily of New Moon by L.M. Montgomery
Newton and Polly by Jody Hedlund
The Stranger from the Sea (Poldark #8) by Winston Graham
Dear Fahrenheit 451 by Annie Spence
The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley
The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah
Emily Climbs by L.M. Montgomery
Reformation Women by Rebecca VanDoodewaard
The Woman Who Smashed Codes by Jason Fagone
The Masterpiece by Francine Rivers
Four Seasons in Rome by Anthony Doerr
The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley
Openness Unhindered by Rosaria Butterfield
Unequal Affections by Lara S. Ormiston
The Firebird by Susanna Kearsley
The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
Be Frank With Me by Julia Claiborne Johnson
Emily’s Quest by L.M. Montgomery
Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfeild
Finding Myself in Britain by Amy Boucher Pye
The Shadowy Horses by Susanna Kearsley
The Alice Network by Kate Quinn
The War I Finally Won by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
A Desperate Fortune by Susanna Kearsley
Mariana by Susanna Kearsley
The Nazi Officer’s Wife by Edith Hahn Beer
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day by Winifred Watson
Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman
We Were the Lucky Ones by Georgia Hunter
Death on the Nile by Agatha Christie
Named of the Dragon by Susanna Kearsley
Bellewether by Susanna Kearsley
Beauty by Robin McKinley
I’d Rather Be Reading by Anne Bogel
My Dear Hamilton by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie
The Miller’s Dance (Poldark #9) by Winston Graham
Sing! by Keith and Kristyn Getty
Seasons of Waiting by Betsy Childs Howard
Hero of the Empire by Candice Millard
Becoming Mrs. Lewis by Patti Callahan Henry
Remember Death by Matthew McCullough
The Dating Manifesto by Lisa Anderson
The Tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris
Book Girl by Sarah Clarkson
The Bride of Ivy Green by Julie Klassen
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie
One Day in December by Josie Silver
On Reading Well by Karen Swallow Prior
A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken

Dear Heida,
Like many others, I know about you because of Poldark. I was unfamiliar with Poldark when the show first aired, but the previews caught my eye, so I settled onto my couch one summer evening in 2015 as the first episode ran. I was captivated instantly. From there, I learned how huge Poldark is because of another series made in the 1970s and because of the 12 books that inspired it and the current series. Suffice it to say, I quickly became a fan. I started reading the books after watching the first season of the new TV show and am still gradually working my way through them (just finished the ninth one, The Miller’s Dance, to be precise). Cornwall is now high on my list of dream travel destinations. Winston Graham now ranks among the most talented authors in my estimation. I follow you and your costars on Instagram and smile every time one of you posts a picture of Poldark cast members having fun together. Again, I’m a fan.

But I’m especially a fan of you. That seems odd to say since I don’t actually know you. Sure, you kindly share snapshots of your life online that I enjoy, but we all know that’s filtered. Many of us think we “know” famous people, but I’m sure very few people really know you or other famous actors like you. Still, as much as an actress can be “known” these days through what she shares online and how she carries herself during interviews, I feel like I know you because of how generous you are in those spaces. I enjoy how easily you laugh in behind-the-scenes videos I see on Poldark’s Facebook page, your witty Instagram captions, your beautiful smile, and how you’ve frequently declared your love for pizza on social media. So, thanks for all of that.

But perhaps most of all, thank you for Elizabeth.

Photo Credit: Far Far Away Site

Elizabeth is one of the most contentious and often roundly despised characters in Poldark. She’s regularly described as cold, remote, selfish, manipulative, or weak. For many years, she was just a snob who cared only for money and protecting herself from the consequences of her own bad choices.

Until you came along and stepped into the role of Elizabeth for our present-day audience. Recently, Karen Thrussell said she thinks you brought a "wonderful emotional truth" to Elizabeth. I like to think that you saw that in her when you first signed on for the role even though many people didn't see much more to her than a pretty face. 

Admittedly, I was surprised when Elizabeth and Francis were married in the first episode. Why didn’t Ross do more to win her back, I wondered. When Demelza came into the picture, I saw a new direction quickly forming for the story, and I loved it. But Elizabeth still lingered, and I wasn’t quite sure how to place her. I loved Ross and Demelza and Verity, hated George, but I couldn’t decide where Elizabeth fit. Still, I knew for sure that I didn’t hate her. Not even close.

And, as I continued watching the story and then read the books, Elizabeth actually became one of my favorite characters, and I think you had a lot to do with that, Heida. Past generations of Poldark fans called her a snobby ice queen or cunning shrew, but many have noted how you brought something nuanced and layered to the character. You helped audiences see past the porcelain surface of Elizabeth and into her 18th-century female mind, which I’m now convinced was constantly running at the speed of light. Because of your gentle handling of her, I have enormous sympathy for Elizabeth and the complicated, inconsistent journey she takes throughout the Poldark saga. When I looked at Elizabeth, both as I watched the show and read the books, I never saw a villain or a purposely malicious aristocrat like many people have.

I saw a very young woman caught between her heart and her head, her real desires and the crushing expectations of her society; and she felt she had to follow her head since she’d been taught to be strong and lay personal preference aside in favor of public image.

I saw a new wife and mother who tried hard to support her husband, her son, and the others in her care, but felt crippled by her husband’s passivity and emotional neglect.

I saw a wronged wife, fiercely devoted mother, affectionate sister-in-law, and dignified lady of the house who was trying her best to fulfill everyone’s expectations while she had to watch her husband choke on jealousy and gamble their livelihood away.

I saw a woman constantly wondering what life might have been like if she’d defied people’s demands just once and done what she really wanted rather than what she was supposed to do according to everyone else.

I saw a woman pained by seeing the man she truly loved marry another while her own husband ignored and berated her, even though she was doing everything she’d been taught about being a good wife to him.

I saw a wife grieving for the man she’d originally thought her husband was, for what she knew he was capable of if only he would look outside himself, and for what her marriage could have been if he’d faced life’s challenges like a man.

I saw a woman who grieved even more deeply when that husband died right as he started to turn his life around for the better.

I saw an impoverished widow terrified of what the future held for her son since she had no money or security to give him after his father died and left a mountain of debt and a crumbling estate.

I saw a woman again caught between her head and her heart when an unexpected second marriage offer came, and she once again chose the logical route since she had her son’s future to think of, as well as her own security and that of her ailing relatives and a derelict estate.

I saw a woman forever tainted in her own eyes and constantly carrying a heavy, guilty secret because of the angry, jealous, impassioned actions of the man she’d always loved, but who ended up letting her down appallingly.

I saw a woman worn down by disappointment, betrayal from men she should have been able to trust, and constant fear for her future and that of her children.

I saw the wife of a powerful, influential, ruthless man who she desperately needed to please even as she tried to check the reach of his cruelty towards other people.

I saw a wife who learned to be happy in her second marriage because that husband finally provided the security and care she'd always wanted for herself and her children; yet, she still had to tread carefully since she knew he could be merciless if provoked the wrong way.

I saw a mother crippled by fear of what would happen to her children if her second husband didn’t accept them and provide for them. 

I saw a woman of deep feeling, but who was naturally reserved and often didn't know how to express or react to what she felt, because she'd always been taught to be strong for other people and to keep her emotions in check since showing strong emotion was unfit for a lady like her; overtime, it became more and more difficult for her to keep her mask of composure in place. 

Ultimately, I saw a woman who was highly sought after and loved by three very different men, but ended up caught in the crossfires of their rivalries. All of them loved her selfishly in various ways, never focusing entirely on who she was as a person, but on what she could do for them. Sadly, that eventually led to her suffering an untimely death in an attempt to shield her son from the consequences of all of their jealous actions. To be sure, she made inexcusable choices along the way too, but those three men hastened her tragic end with their envy and manipulation. 

I saw in Elizabeth a heartbreaking example of the choices women could have been forced to make in the 18th century. I saw an intelligent, capable, eager, affectionate woman who became jaded by the many difficult hands life dealt her. I empathized with her and wanted better for her. She deserved better, I’m convinced. 

And I’m convinced because of you, Heida. All that I saw in Elizabeth started with you. You played her with quiet strength, dignity, nuance, restraint, grace, and emotion that I could always see bubbling just beneath the surface of her calm veneer. I felt for her and wanted to tell her how beautiful and worthy she was. So, thank you. Thank you for bringing this complicated woman to brilliant life and for giving me a character I learned to sympathize with in ways I never could have expected when I settled in for that first Poldark episode on that evening in June 2015. It’s been a wonderful journey and I will miss both you and her so much during the final series next year. 

Love from a grateful fan, 

Elizabeth 

Photo Credit: Heida Reed on Instagram

P.S. Maybe the fact that I’m name twins with your Elizabeth also helped me love her :) 

In many works of fiction, a proposal marks a climactic moment in the story that the audience has been waiting for, so we want it to be exciting and memorable. As I began thinking about good literary proposals, I realized that while wonderful love stories are ever multiplying, really fabulous proposal scenes are fewer. In many of my favorite books, the proposal is simply “understood” through the author’s narration or the characters’ personal reflections in their minds. And among the good proposal scenes I enjoy, the phrase “will you marry me?” or something similar is even more rare! I was honestly surprised to realize these interesting tidbits as I started narrowing down my favorites. So, while there’s no shortage of tried-and-true romance among old classics and newer fiction, I think these five literary proposals are my top favorites. And I know some of the book excerpts are long, but bear with me… they’re just SO good. Also, this probably goes without saying, but I am about to spoil the endings of these books for you :) You've been forewarned.

Persuasion by Jane Austen 

-Captain Frederick Wentworth and Anne Elliot- 

People (myself included) may swoon forevermore over Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, but Captain Wentworth is far more sure of himself in the “ability to romance a woman” category than Darcy. Wentworth and Anne are the older, more seasoned couple out of Austen’s leading pairs, and by the time they get engaged, they’ve learned a few things about heartbreak and second chances. And even though Captain Wentworth proposes by letter, it’ll probably be the most romantic thing you read all day (my own love for handwritten letters also probably has something to do with my feelings about it). He writes it as he listens to Anne discussing with another male friend how men and women approach romance; her words give Captain Wentworth hope and he pours out his heart on the page. Here it is in all its glory. 

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
F. W. 
I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never. 

Now to scoop up the melted puddle of me off the floor. 

The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows 

-Dawsey Adams and Juliet Ashton- 

This is the more unconventional favorite on this list since the woman does the proposing, but this was definitely a situation where the man needed a little help. With the prodding of her publisher and friend, Sidney Stark, Juliet finally accepts near the end of the book that she’s madly in love with Dawsey Adams, a poetic pig farmer with a quiet exterior and a big heart. Everything started for them when he found a secondhand book with her address in it and wrote her a letter. Later on, they discover they share a love of books, nature, community, and a little girl named Kit who needs a family. However, when Juliet admits to herself that she loves Dawsey, there’s another woman named Remy who unfortunately seems to have his attention. But one day, she realizes during a conversation with her unknowingly helpful friend Isola Pribby that maybe she’s mistaken there, so she takes a chance. 

[Excerpt taken from a section of the book containing Isola Pribby’s “detective notes,” so Isola is the narrator] 

Dawsey said, “Hello Juliet.” He was on top of the big stepladder. I found that out later when he made so much noise coming down it. 
Juliet said she would like a word with Dawsey, if the gentlemen could give her a minute. 
They said certainly, and left the room. Dawsey said, “Is something wrong, Juliet? Is Kit alright?” 
“Kit’s fine. It’s me – I want to ask you something.” 
Oh, I thought, she’s going to tell him not to be a sissy. Tell him he must stir himself up and go propose to Remy at once. 
But she didn’t. What she said was, “Would you like to marry me?” 
I liked to die where I stood. 
There was quiet – complete quiet. Nothing! And on and on it went, not a word, not a sound. 
But, Juliet went on undisturbed. Her voice steady – and me, I could not get so much as a breath of air into my chest. “I’m in love with you, so I thought I’d ask.” 
And then, Dawsey, dear Dawsey, swore. He took the Lord’s name in vain. “My God, yes,” he cried, and clattered down that stepladder, only his heels hit the rungs, which is how he sprained his ankle. 

Awesome. Just awesome. And even though Isola did the right thing by not spying further, we readers have a pretty good idea of what happens once Dawsey’s down the ladder. 

A Desperate Fortune by Susanna Kearsley 

-Hugh MacPherson and Mary Dundas- 

I’ve been working through Susanna Kearsley’s entire backlist this year, and A Desperate Fortune has been one of my favorites from her. Like many of her books, the historical plot focuses on Scotland’s Jacobite revolutionaries, and a faulty plan to protect a Jacobite exile brings our heroine, Mary Dundas, across France and eventually to Rome. From the beginning of her adventure, a hardened Scottish Highlander named Hugh MacPherson acts as guide and protector. Mary is terrified of him at first, but almost without realizing it, she finds herself slowly warming to this enigma of a man. He has many secrets and says very little, but his courage, dependability, quiet watchfulness, and constant nearness endear him to Mary overtime. 

The two of them slowly find a tender connection over fairytales, for Mary has a gift for creating stories based on old legends, and she tells many of them during the journey. When their course ends in Rome and Hugh must continue to Spain alone, Mary realizes that she now dearly wishes she could create a different story for herself like she does for imaginary characters. But one night on a quiet bridge in the middle of Rome, Hugh lets her do just that with this heart-stopping proposal that’s wrapped in a fairytale they both know from earlier in their adventure. 

As she told the tale over again to him, Mary could not keep from noticing all the small points of connection to how things had happened with them in real life – from the earliest part where the hero had gazed upon his lady and followed her without her ever noticing him in return, to their first meeting when the hero's lady had dropped her scarf and he'd returned it, to the time when he had kissed her and her world had been forever changed, until Fate cast a pall upon their happiness and forced him to decide between remaining with his lady or returning to the battlefield.
She stopped the story there, because she found it struck too close to home……
…“You do not like the ending,” she reminded him. “You told me so yourself.” 
He turned his head towards her then, his face so far in shadow now she scarce could see his eyes. “Then write a different one.” 
Mary was not sure at first that she understood what he was asking. 
Until quietly he told her, “Write a better one.”…
…Hope – a tiny twisted knot of it – began to loosen and expand within her. She remembered what she’d written in her journal so despondently that morning: If it were my choice to make I would lay all my heart before him and refuse to leave his side. And he was making it her choice…… 
… “Then he told her,” Mary said, “that he must leave, for he could not neglect his duty nor his honor. And his lady sighed with sadness, but she understood, and said to him, ‘Your honor and your duty are so very much a part of you I could not ever ask you to abandon them, but neither do I think I can endure it, sir, if you abandon me. So what to do?’” She could not hold Hugh’s gaze although she could not truly see it, so she looked away again, repeating, “What to do?” 
A night bird in the trees along the river’s edge began to trill, and Mary drew her strength from it. 
“And so it happened," she went on, “a fairy of the nearby forest heard the lady’s mournful speech, and being deeply moved by it, the fairy turned the lady to a falcon that could ride into the battle on her true love’s hand, and so they rode away together and had many fine adventures, and he carried her forever with him and she spent her life content, for she had wings to spread and fly with and the man she loved to hold and keep her safe.” 
There was no sound or movement for long moments but the rushing of the river and the night bird calling. 
And then Hugh asked, “What adventures did they have?” 
She found it difficult, with all of the emotions of her speech to make a calm reply. “I do not know.” 
He thought this over. “Then ye’d better come to Spain,” he said, “and live them for yourself.” 
She turned to look at him, and saw that he was straightening to stand at his full height before her in the semidarkness, and the faint light from the windows of the little island at her back showed her his steady gaze was serious. 
Her heart became a trembling thing within her as she straightened too and faced him, and the night air grew alive between them, though she could no more have guessed his thoughts than she had done when they’d first faced each other in the Paris street. Except his eyes now were not cold, she thought. Not cold at all, and no longer impenetrable. 
“Marry me,” he said. 
She had to smile at his tone, for it could not be helped. “That’s not a question.” 
“No,” he said, and bent his head towards her. “It is not.” 
And then her smile was covered by his kiss and Mary, wrapped within the warmth of it, could care for nothing else. 
Let currents flow and kingdoms fall and time move onward, Mary thought – this moment was for them. Those people of an age to come who stood upon this bridge would never know how long she’d stood tonight in Hugh’s strong arms, or what he’d said to her, the quiet simple words that had been spoken from his heart and were for her alone; nor would they know what she had answered back, and how he’d smiled and gently tipped her chin up with his hand to kiss her longer and more deeply; nor how he had finally held his hand to her outstretched and she had taken it with happiness and followed him. 

I can’t remember how long I sat still and processed this one while grinning like an imbecile, but I know it was a while. At the beginning of A Desperate Fortune, I never would have thought Hugh capable of the gentleness, emotional intelligence, or deep care he displays in these closing moments of the story. He develops so gradually that it’s nearly imperceptible, but oh, what hidden depths lie beneath his sheer physical strength and war-roughened persona. Fortunately for hopelessly romantic readers like me, he let Mary into those depths by the end. 

Poldark #7: The Angry Tide by Winston Graham 

-Drake Carne and Morwenna Chynoweth Whitworth- 

These two have my heart. What a long and difficult road it’s been for them when we finally reach this gorgeous proposal, but gorgeous it is, and it’s made so much sweeter because of the trials Drake and Morwenna have endured. By this point in the story, Drake and Morwenna have been kept apart for years by seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Morwenna was forced into a “suitable” marriage with the socially respectable, but privately monstrous, Reverend Osborne Whitworth. His incessant abuse nearly destroys Morwenna emotionally, so after Osborne’s sudden death, she pushes Drake away, saying she is now tainted and damaged. But oh, dear, dear Drake. I don’t think there’s a more gentle or sensitive soul in the whole Poldark series. His tender persistence and love become lifelines for Morwenna, and we have a precious glimpse of how he will love her back to life in this beautiful exchange below.
 

But first, here's a nice Drake and Morwenna appreciation picture from Series 4 of the BBC Poldark adaptation. Harry Richardson and Ellise Chappell are gems in the roles. Photo edit credit to my pal @drorwenna on Instagram ;) 

[From The Angry Tide]

“But now… Will you not marry me, Morwenna?” 
She shook her head, not looking at him. “I can’t, Drake……There’s so little I can give you.” 
“You can give me yourself. That’s all I want.” 
“That’s just what I can’t do.” 
“Why not, my love?” 
“Drake, you haven’t understood. Because I am still – contaminated – in my mind. I can’t look on – on love – on what marriage means – without revulsion. If you were to kiss me now I might not shiver, for other people have kissed me. It could be just – a salute. But if you were to touch my body I would shrink away because instantly, across my mind would come the thought of his hands…” 
… “He stood up, but not over her, keeping his distance. ‘Morwenna, I must tell you that just before he – Mr. Whitworth – died I had engaged to marry a girl in Sawle called Rosina Hoblyn. I’d thought that you were lost to me for ever. Kind friends thought my life was being wasted, lost. So twas. So I engaged to marry Rosina. But when I heard he was dead, I went to see Rosina and asked her to set me free… …But when you turned me away I didn’t go back to Rosina – even if she’d have had me. I resolved never to marry ‘tall. I told my sister – she was here, today – I told her only today that I should never marry ‘tall. And that is the honest truth, without a word of a lie! So… …Would it not be better to marry me than to see me have no wife – all my days?” 
She put her free hand to her mouth. “Drake, you still don’t understand.” 
“Oh, yes, I reckon I do.” He moved to sit on his haunches in front of her, but checked himself in time. He crouched some way away. ‘Be my wife in name – marry me – in church proper – that’s all I ask. Love – what you call love – carnal love – if it d’come some day it come. If not, not. I shall not press. Twill be for you always to say.” 
She released her mouth long enough to say: “I couldn’t ask it. It wouldn’t be fair on you. You love me! I know that. So how could you – how could you keep a promise it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to make?” 
“When I make a promise I make it. Don’t you love me enough to believe that?” 
She shook her head. 
“Look,” he said, “why have you come here today?” 
She stared at him. 
He said patiently, “Was it not because ye wanted to see me?” 
She nodded. 
He said: “There’s more to life than carnal love, isn’t there?” 
“Yes…oh, yes, but –” 
“Be honest. Do you not really want to be with me? With me more than anyone else in the world?” 
She hesitated a long moment, then nodded again. 
“But –” 
“Then be that not the most important thing of all? Being together. Working together. Talking together. Walking together. There’s so much to love – even if it be not the love you mean. The sunrise, and the rain and the wind and the cloud, and the roaring of the sea and the cry of birds and the – the lowing of cows and the glow of corn and the smells of spring. And food and fresh water. New-laid eggs, warm milk, fresh-dug potatoes, home-made jams. Wood smoke, a baby robin, bluebells, a warm fire…I could go on and on and on. But if you enjoy them wi’ the one you love, then it is enjoyment fourfold! D’you not think I would not give all my life to see ye sitting in that chair? What is life if you live it alone?” 

Drake Carne – hardworking blacksmith, free spirit, eloquent speech-making extraordinaire, and the most patient and pure and tenderhearted man of the Poldark saga. Be still my heart. 

Anne of the Island by L.M. Montgomery

-Gilbert Blythe and Anne Shirley- 

Oh, Anne and Gil. This famous, slow-burning romance of classic literature takes readers through a whole range of emotions for the first three books of the Anne series. It’s at the end of the third volume that they’re finally engaged, to everyone’s endless relief and PURE JOY. Gilbert had been head over heels for Anne since they were kids, but he had to wait and wait and wait for her to come to her senses. He served her, encouraged her, laughed with her, advised her, studied with her, and much more throughout their teen and college years. It took a few more years, a first proposal from him that Anne foolishly rejected, some heartbreak for Anne, and a bout of scarlet fever for Gilbert for Anne to finally admit the truth to herself. She had always loved Gilbert. But would he try again with her after so long? Happily for her and for all of us readers, yes, he would. 

“I think,” said Anne softly, “that ‘the land where dreams come true’ is in the blue haze yonder, over that little valley.” 
“Have you any unfulfilled dreams, Anne?” asked Gilbert. 
Something in his tone – something she had not heard since that miserable evening in the orchard at Patty’s Place – made Anne’s heart beat wildly. But she made answer lightly. 
“Of course. Everybody has. It wouldn’t do for us to have all our dreams fulfilled. We would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dream about. What a delicious aroma that low-descending sun is extracting from the asters and ferns. I wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them. I’m sure they would be very beautiful.” 
Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked. 
“I have a dream,” he said slowly. “I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends – and you!” 
Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her. 
“I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?” 
Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer. 
They lingered in the old garden until twilight……There was so much to talk over and recall – things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood. 
“I thought you loved Christine Stuart,” Anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose she loved Roy Gardner. 
Gilbert laughed boyishly. 
“Christine was engaged to somebody in her home town. I knew it and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if I would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did……I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else – there never could be anybody else for me but you. I’ve loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school.” 
“I don’t see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a little fool,” said Anne. 
“Well, I tried to stop,” said Gilbert frankly, “not because I thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn’t – and I can’t tell you, either, what it’s meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him……I believed it until one blessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil Gordon – Phil Blake, rather – in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to ‘try again.’ Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that.
Anne laughed – then shivered. 
“I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew – I knew then – and I thought it was too late.” 
“But it wasn’t, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn’t it? Let’s resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us……But I’ll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne,” said Gilbert sadly. “It will be three years before I’ll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts or marble halls.” 
Anne laughed. 
“I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want you.” 

I think we all know that these two couldn’t be any happier together if they had all the diamond sunbursts and marble halls that even Anne could dream up. 

And there we are. Those are my favorite proposals from literature, at least for today. What are yours? I’d love to hear in comments!