Women's March Madness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, thanks, Kantra.  Keep marching on.