Words by: Karen Grace Prince

In my early teens, I had a phase where I’d pen letters to various female literary heroes whom I fantasised were my friends. I’d pour my heart out to characters who embodied qualities I admired: Jane Eyre’s passion, Hetty Feather’s resilience, Anne Shirley’s boundless imagination, and Tracy Beaker’s spunk. And of course, my ultimate heroine, Jo March whose unwavering literary ambition would eventually influence my own aspirations.

Since the 19th century, Louisa May Alcott’s literary masterpiece, ‘Little Women’, has captivated and inspired generations of readers and writers alike, including myself. ‘Little Women’ soon became one of my first forays into classical literature, after a mere impulsive purchase at a Scholastic book fair. In the loneliness of my childhood, I found solace in the exploits of this ragtag group of sisters—Meg, Jo, Amy and Beth—who dreamt of living loud and exciting lives beyond the scope of their purse strings.

My 12-year-old self was enamoured. Each March sister became a part of me, their essence seeping into the depths of my consciousness. Whenever I craved adventure beyond my reality, I would slip into their personas, weaving their tales into my own imagination. My utter and unwavering desperation to be a writer found a kindred spirit in Jo March, unflinching in her determination to find independence and earn praise from those she loved. I mirrored these ambitions down to the tee, squirrelling away in my room and scribbling silly little stories in my journal that to this day, I can’t bring myself to read. Terribly written—yes—but filled with the warmth and tenderness of childhood naivety, much like how the novel made me feel.

As I got older, I would discover new facets and layers to the March sisters that I could resonate with. Amy March, for instance, whom I had thoroughly despised (sorry, it’s always going to be Jo X Laurie), eventually grew on me. When she declared “Talent isn’t genius, and no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing”, I felt that in my bones, in the course of my veins, in the very fibre of my being. Her desire to rise above medioc- rity irrespective of her circumstances resonated with my entire life’s journey. Twin, where have you been?

And that is precisely what makes ‘Little Women’ such a timeless narrative—a story that continues to breathe life centuries on. It captures the female dilemma and the struggle of having to leave behind childhood innocence to make space for womanhood. It skirts away from the decadence and glamour of period storytelling, and conveys the hope of living in the face of poverty and destitution. Alcott instilled agency in her characters, while also using her literary works as mouthpieces for feminism to break away from traditional gender roles. Greta Gerwig’s 2019 adaptation is a shining example of this, taking an already beloved piece of source material and dipping it in gold. The film employs the right amount of creative liberty and artistic freedom, while still underlining what it meant to grow up in a world that sought to confine and define them. I practically have Saoirse Ronan’s monologue on women memorised word-for-word.

Yet some claim ‘Little Women’ as a feminist contradic- tion—building up the fire of female ambition and inde- pendence, only to be snuffed out by eventual marriage and domesticity (or maybe not so much in Beth’s case). I disagree. Jo’s literary ambitions stem from her desire to quell loneliness and keep her loved ones close. Alcott doesn’t prescribe a ‘correct’ path for her characters, but neither does she sugarcoat the struggles of making it without the safety net of money. Sure, marriage may have economic underpinnings, but the March sisters don’t exactly marry for convenience or for love—they do it for companionship. They do so to preserve the nuclear family they’ve clung to all their lives, even if adulthood threatens to unravel these ties.

Alcott weaved her real life into these characters, reliving her childhood through fictional musings. And just like Alcott, I found comfort in her characters, filling my other- wise dreary and mundane youth with a sorority of sisters that existed outside the margins of those pages. ‘Little Women’ is a poignant tribute to the female experience, a fictional escape from the confines of reality – it is quintessential girlhood.