Good Girl Messages: How Young Women Were Misled by Their Favorite Books 9781474286817, 9781474286824

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Good Girl Messages

Cultural Studies: Bloomsbury Academic Collections

These seven titles are facsimile editions from our imprints Cassell, Continuum and Sheffield Academic Press. They cover a broad range of cultural studies, addressing pop culture and music, the social and cultural changes brought on by the Internet and the Americanization of the Western world throughout the twentieth century. Further, it also looks at cultural changes in the perception of gender in fashion as well as politics and literature. The collection is available both in e-book and print versions. Other titles available in Cultural Studies include: Arrested Development: Pop Culture and the Erosion of Adulthood, Andrew Calcutt Culture First!: Promoting Standards In The New Media Age, edited by Kenneth Dyson and Walter Homolka Men in the Mirror: Men's Fashion, Masculinity, and Consumer Society, Tim Edwards Sound Alliances: Indigenous Peoples, Cultural Politics, and Popular Music in the Pacific, edited by Philip Hayward Women, Europe And The New Languages Of Politics, Hilary Footitt Yankee Go Home (& Take Me With U): Americanization and Popular Culture, edited by George McKay

Good Girl Messages How Young Women Were Misled By Their Favourite Books Deborah O'Keefe

Cultural Studies BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC COLLECTIONS

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

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www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in 2000 by Continuum This edition published by Bloomsbury Academic 2016 © Deborah O'Keefe 2016 Deborah O'Keefehas asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. Every effort has been made to contact copyright holders of material reproduced in this volume. If any copyright holder has not been properly acknowledged, please contact the publisher who will be happy to rectify the omission in future editions. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: HB: 978-1-4742-8683-1 ePDF: 978-1-4742-8682-4 Set: 978-1-4742-8855-2 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress Series: Bloomsbury Academic Collections, ISSN 2051-0012 Printed and bound in Great Britain

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2000 The Continuum International Publishing Group Inc 370 Lexington Avenue, New York, NY 10017 The Continuum International Publishing Group Ltd Wellington House, 125 Strand, London WC2R 0BB Copyright © 2000 by Deborah J. O'Keefe All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers. Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data O'Keefe, Deborah. Good girl messages: how young women were misled by their favorite books / Deborah O'Keefe. p. cm. Includes index. ISBN 0-8264-1236-X (alk. paper) 1. Children's stories, American—History and criticism. 2. Girls in literature. 3. Children's stories, English— History and criticism. 4. Young women—Books and reading. 5. Conduct of life in literature. 6. Girls—Books and reading. 7. Sex role in literature. I. Title. PS374.G55 044 2000 810.9'352054—dc21

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For m y husband Dan, w h o always believed in this book, and m y three amazing sons and For all the other mid-century girls w h o loved reading more than anything else in the world

C o n t e n t s

Acknowledgments Chapter 1

Horizontal Heroines

Chapter 2

Fluttery Girls, Bloody-Minded Boys: W h e r e Girls Fit In

Chapter 3

30 62

Girls w i t h G r o w n u p s : Loving Authority, Melting Hostility

Chapter 5

11

W h a t Girls C o u l d D o , w i t h o u t Losing Their Girlishness

Chapter 4

9

83

Girls a n d Their Friends: Civilized b y the G r o u p

112

Chapter 6

Girls a n d Boys—Conservative R o m a n c e

142

Chapter 7

T o d a y ' s Terrific N e w Girl H e r o e s

171

Index

207

A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s

I a m v e r y grateful to all the relatives, friends, a n d acquaintances w h o told m e a b o u t their experiences w i t h childhood r e a d i n g — sharing strong opinions a n d i m p o r t a n t m e m o r i e s . This b o o k w o u l d h a v e b e e n impossible w i t h o u t the collection of m y o w n children's b o o k s that m y m o t h e r p r e s e r v e d t h r o u g h d e c a d e s of h o u s e h o l d confusion, a n d w i t h o u t the s e c o n d h a n d bookstores of V e r m o n t , N e w York, Massachusetts, a n d California. In m a n y of these stores I found booksellers w h o are virtually omniscient. The staff of the C h a p p a q u a , NY, Library gave k n o w l e d g e a b l e help. The late Terrence Des Pres e n c o u r a g e d m e greatly, r e a d i n g c h a p ters of m y m a n u s c r i p t at the Bread Loaf Writers 7 Conference. Special t h a n k s s h o u l d go to s m a r t a n d helpful friends P e n n y Stillinger, M a r i o n Perret, a n d Sherry Chappelle; a n d to perceptive editors Justus George Lawler a n d E v a n d e r Lomke.

Note O n e technical m a t t e r s h o u l d b e explained. This b o o k contains m a n y p r o s e passages from children's books. I p r e s e n t those q u o tations in small-capital letters, to m a k e t h e m easily distinguishable from the rest of m y text, a n d to p r o v i d e a slight sense of the t e x t u r e — t h e flavor—of that bigger-print childhood reading. W h e n I q u o t e from other k i n d s of w o r k s , b o o k s about children's literature or b o o k s o n other subjects, I revert to conventional p u n c t u a t i o n .

1

H o r i z o n t a l

•

H e r o i n e s

1 HERE WAS A HIGH WAINSCOTING OF WOOD ABOUT THE ROOM, AND ON TOP OF THIS, IN A NARROW GILT FRAMEWORK, RAN A ROW OF ILLUMINATED PICTURES ILLUSTRATING FAIRY TALES, ALL IN DULL BLUE AND GOLD AND SCARLET AND SILVER. ON ONE SIDE OF THE ROOM WAS A BOOKCASE FILLED WITH HUNDREDS—YES, I MEAN IT—WITH HUNDREDS AND HUNDREDS OF BOOKS. THE CARPET WAS OF SOFT GRAY, WITH CLUSTERS OF GREEN BAY AND HOLLY LEAVES. THE FURNITURE WAS OF WHITE WOOD, ON WHICH AN ARTIST HAD PAINTED SNOW SCENES AND GROUPS OF MERRY CHILDREN RINGING BELLS AND SINGING CAROLS. I got hold of this book s o m e h o w in 1946 w h e n I w a s seven, though it had been published in 1886. Of all the descriptions I loved in m y o w n books—Dorothy's emerald chamber with the green fountain, Peter Pan's cave, Heidi's loft—this bedroom w a s perhaps the most alluring. I used to w i s h I lived there; I admired, even envied the owner of the room—an invalid w h o died on her eleventh birthday. THE LITTLE CHILD LAY MONTH AFTER MONTH A PATIENT, HELPLESS INVALID, IN THE ROOM WHERE SHE WAS BORN. THE SHUTTERS COULD ALL BE OPENED AND CAROL COULD TAKE A REAL SUN-BATH IN THIS LOVELY GLASS HOUSE, OR THEY COULD ALL BE CLOSED WHEN THE DEAR HEAD ACHED OR THE DEAR EYES WERE TIRED. LOVE-BIRDS AND CANARIES HUNG IN THEIR GOLDEN HOUSES IN THE WINDOWS, AND THEY, POOR CAGED THINGS, COULD HOP AS FAR FROM THEIR WOODEN PERCHES AS CAROL COULD VENTURE FROM HER LITTLE WHITE BED.

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MESSAGES

To suffer, to w i t h d r a w , to give; these w e r e girls' verbs. M y b r a i n h a s a n indelible m e m o r y of one illustration in The Birds' Christmas Carol A n a k e d b a b y , g o l d e n as a n angel, s t a n d s o n h e r m o t h e r ' s lap. O n e h a n d clings to the m o t h e r ' s neck, w h i l e the other offers a cookie to a startled brother. The caption r e a d s , " H e r tiny h a n d s forever outstretched in g i v i n g . " SUCH A GENEROUS LITTLE CREATURE YOU NEVER SAW! A SPOONFUL OF BREAD AND MILK HAD ALWAYS TO BE TAKEN BY MAMMA OR NURSE BEFORE CAROL COULD ENJOY HER SUPPER; WHATEVER SWEETMEAT FOUND ITS WAY INTO HER PRETTY FINGERS WAS STRAIGHTWAY BROKEN IN HALF TO BE SHARED WITH DONALD, PAUL, OR HUGH; AND WHEN THEY MADE BELIEVE NIBBLE THE MORSEL WITH AFFECTED ENJOYMENT, SHE WOULD CLAP HER HANDS AND CROW WITH DELIGHT. "WHY DOES SHE DO IT?" ASKED DONALD THOUGHTFULLY. "NONE OF US BOYS EVER DID." V i r t u o u s as she w a s as a b a b y , Carol b e c a m e m o r e saintly as her illness set in. F r o m her b e d she a r r a n g e d to s e n d b o o k s from her o w n collection every w e e k to the C h i l d r e n ' s Hospital, w i t h a little n o t e in each. A s her eleventh b i r t h d a y (Christmas Day, of course) a p p r o a c h e d , she asked her family to w i t h h o l d their u s u a l presents a n d d o n a t e the m o n e y instead to a celebration for the p o o r Irish family in the back alley. "I SHALL GIVE THE NINE RUGGLESES A GRAND CHRISTMAS DINNER HERE IN THIS VERY ROOM. AND AFTERWARDS A BEAUTIFUL CHRISTMAS TREE, FAIRLY BLOOMING WITH PRESENTS. AFTER WE'VE HAD A MERRY TIME WITH THE TREE WE CAN OPEN MY WINDOW AND ALL LISTEN TOGETHER TO THE MUSIC AT THE EVENING CHURCH-SERVICE." That C h r i s t m a s night, after the n i n e overjoyed Ruggleses w e n t h o m e , Carol's " l o v i n g h e a r t quietly ceased to b e a t . " This m a k e s m e sob e v e n n o w , m i d d l e - a g e d a n d ironic. I u s e d to r e a d a n d reread Kate D o u g l a s W i g g i n ' s story a b o u t Carol. I loved the l u x u r y — h o w easy a n d graceful it w a s to b e g e n e r o u s — a n d especially t h e g o r g e o u s immobility of the heroine. In m y childhood stories the best girls w e r e passive, still. It w a s u n d e r stood that n o t every girl c a m e naturally to this exalted state b u t the rebellious ones w e r e u r g e d to e m u l a t e the saintly ones, a n d they usually gave in b y the e n d of the b o o k or at least the e n d of t h e series.

Horizontal Heroines

13

For several years I have been re-reading m y childhood books from a fiftyish perspective—re-reading them with delight and with horror. I also talked to friends and relations about their favorite childhood books. They had much to say and their responses tended to echo m y o w n conclusions about the books I read as a mid-century girl. So did the books and articles I read about children and children's literature. In these chapters I will be looking at the books themselves and the messages they sent their y o u n g readers. W o m e n of m y age remember a passionate devotion to their girlhood reading. They claim, as I do, to have been profoundly influenced by it; the question is, what kind of influence? Some say they were inspired by heroines w h o were "plucky" and independent—I k n o w a w o m a n w h o claims that she got her detective's license because of Nancy Drew. Even if this is true, I am convinced that many girls were damaged by characters, plots, and themes in the books they read and loved. Good Girl Messages: How Young Women Were Misled by Their Favorite Books will present some opinions that are not particularly controversial: most of us w o u l d agree that invalidism and early death are not the ideal goals for a y o u n g girl. Other issues are more complex. First, some readers and researchers maintain that if girls d o not encounter strong female models in their reading, they can and will identify with the male models. I a m skeptical about this. Surely many girl readers learned from their reading that females are the bystanders and the comforters and the sufferers, not the adventurers. A second question concerns the "cop-out" plot pattern: In the many books where a y o u n g girl starts out lively and active but ends u p ladylike and docile, were girl readers more strengthened by her early independence or weakened b y her ultimate passivity? Another issue involves the relation of females to authority and aggression, of girls to their elders. I found a popular plot pattern in which a girl is faced with a harsh, grim, powerful adult but manages to disarm him or her through the strength of her o w n passive, girlish virtue. Does this plot demonstrate the power of the unaggressive, loving maiden—or does it encourage a tendency to deny hostility and avoid confrontation at all costs?

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G O O D GIRL M E S S A G E S

The fourth question is about the mixed messages sent by groups of characters in which only one of the females has characteristics which are not traditionally feminine—must she be the exception and they the normal context, the default? The final question asks what qualities are desirable in a girl or w o m a n . The favorite girls' books of m y generation proclaimed that certain qualities were valuable. Some, like sensitivity and helpfulness, w e still consider positive, but others which w e consider negative today, like submissiveness and self-denial, are portrayed in these books as inevitably interwoven with the positive qualities. My next chapters will talk about these issues, and will illustrate in various w a y s m y belief that girls' fiction told its readers to be permanently girlish. Chapter 2 will set girls' reading in the context of books read by boys or by children of both genders. Chapters 3, 4, 5, and 6 will tell in lurid detail what m y mid-century books said about h o w girls should behave and h o w they should relate to elders and to contemporaries. A final chapter will examine some of the books read by girls since 1950, showing that amazing, heartening changes are taking place in girls' fiction.

Lying in Bed—Invalids or Dolls Carol Bird's life-and-death in her little white bed among the maidenhead ferns w a s especially uplifting, but m y childhood w a s populated by hundreds of other fictional girls w h o were also sweet and sacrificing, w h o were often presented in images of stillness, paralysis. In Carol withdrawal from life revealed sanctity. Other girls in fiction revealed that withdrawal could bring comfort and protection. Heidi's little hay-bed under the roof w a s a terrific retreat, for instance—like a warm, soft coffin with a good v i e w of the Alps. Even Jane Moffat, not a weak girl normally, spent a whole day sitting still in a bread bin outside a store, because she thought the police wanted her for making faces at the superintendent-of-schools. My enjoyment of Carol Bird's death w a s echoed by A n n Douglas in The Feminization of American Culture (1977): "As a child I read with formative intensity in a collection of Victorian senti-

Horizontal Heroines

15

mental fiction, a legacy from m y grandmother's girlhood I foll o w e d the timid exploits of innumerable pale and pious heroines. But what I remember best, what w a s for m e as for so many others the archetypically satisfying scene in this domestic genre, w a s the death of little Eva in Uncle Tom's Cabin. A pure and beautiful child in a wealthy Southern family, little Eva dies a lingering and sainted death of consumption. Her adoring papa and a group of equally adoring slaves cluster in unspeakable grief around her bedside while she dispenses Christian w i s d o m and her o w n golden locks with profuse generosity." A n even more morbid book is one I discovered recently and did not k n o w as a child (fortunately for m y mental health). In the Closed Room (1904) b y Frances H o d g s o n Burnett (author also of the less psychotic Secret Garden) boasts not just one dead girl but three, in just 130 very small pages—a record, I believe. Sevenyear-old Judith w a s fascinated b y tales of her Aunt Hester, w h o had the same white skin and big eyes Judith had and w h o died suddenly at fifteen. When Judith's parents became caretakers in an empty mansion, another dead girl appeared to her: the beautiful child w h o recently died in the locked room o n the fourth floor. That little girl with burnished hair welcomed her into the bedroom of death, saying "YOU HAVE COME TO PLAY WITH ME." Ju-

dith w a s delighted—she had always had A VAGUE BELIEF THAT SHE

HERSELF WAS N O T QUITE REAL. The t w o children played w i t h their

dolls for some days, then walked happily over the roof terrace Onto a BROAD, GREEN PATHWAY COVERED WITH TREMBLING BELL-LIKE FLOWERS, where Aunt Hester w a s waiting to greet them. If y o u are confined or paralyzed, in a bed or a box, the chances are that your behavior will be blameless, your decisions simple, your emotions placid. If y o u are unreal to boot, inanimate, y o u are even safer. A s a tot, m y favorite Beatrix Potter book w a s not Peter Rabbit or Benjamin Bunny, with their virile raids o n the vegetable garden, but The Tale of Two Bad Mice (1904). The heroines were mistress and servant in a doll's house, rr BELONGED TO TWO DOLLS CALLED LUCINDA AND JANE; AT LEAST IT BELONGED TO LUCINDA, BUT SHE NEVER ORDERED MEALS. JANE WAS THE COOK; BUT SHE NEVER DID ANY COOKING, BECAUSE THE DINNER HAD BEEN BOUGHT

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G O O D GIRL M E S S A G E S

READY-MADE, IN A BOX FULL OF SHAVINGS. THERE WERE TWO RED LOBSTERS, AND A HAM, A FISH, A PUDDING, AND SOME PEARS AND ORANGES. THEY WOULD NOT COME OFF THE PLATES, BUT THEY WERE EXTREMELY BEAUTIFUL. A gross animal principle intruded one day into this delightfully static, nonthreatening world. T w o warm, hairy, sensual mice vandalized the doll's house and stole its contents. They smashed the shiny, artificial paint-and-plaster food, WHAT A SIGHT MET THE EYES

OF JANE A N D LUCINDA, w h e n they came back in their perambulator. LUCINDA SAT UPON THE UPSET KITCHEN STOVE AND STARED, AND JANE LEANED AGAINST THE KITCHEN DRESSER AND SMILED; BUT NEITHER OF THEM MADE A N Y REMARK. Later, the mice left them a shilling for damages and swept u p the mess. The dolls seemed untouched b y the incident. The last illustration s h o w s them lying rigid, in a little bed piled high with comforters, a sight most comforting to timorous girl readers. In What Katy Did (1872), Susan Coolidge created both a horizontal heroine and a cop-out pattern. Katy w a s a tomboy until an accident immobilized her for several years. Inspired b y her permanently crippled and therefore saintly aunt, Katy lay in bed a long time, became virtuous, and w a s finally cured. She w a s n o longer independent and sassy. Another girl dramatically though temporarily immobilized w a s Wendy in Peter Pan (1904). Jealous Tinker Bell incited the Lost Boys to shoot at Wendy as she flew near their island, pretending that Peter wanted them to. The hapless Tootles hit her with an arrow. A juicy scene ensued in which all the boys stood around aghast at what they had done in killing the beautiful girl brought to them as a friend and mother. She recovered, but only after the boys and the readers had experienced the usual frisson of painful delight at the sight of an innocent, pretty maiden, dead. One type of static image especially intrigued me. Girls at one time apparently enjoyed putting on s h o w s that involved not actions but scenes without movement, tableaux vivants. These heroines, already cozily confined in their feminine clothes and customs, reached an apotheosis w h e n they stood frozen before admiring audiences as sacrificial Pocahontases or, best of all, lay

Horizontal Heroines

17

dead on a barge like the Little Colonel playing the Lily Maid of Astolat. The stiffest, most passive heroine of all w a s not acting, or dead or sick or under a spell; she w a s w o o d e n . Hitty, Her First Hundred Years (1929) tells of a doll w h o w a s carved in the early 19th century in Maine. We hear, in Hitty's o w n voice, a story which peculiarly combines total paralysis with dangerous adventure. The doll traveled on a whaling ship to the South Seas, in the care of the captain's little daughter; she w a s shipwrecked, worshipped by natives, exhibited in a snake charmer's act, and so on. Whatever happened, her prim little face retained the same ladylike smile; her posture remained rigid. She w a s conscious but unable to speak or act. I SAY I WAS UNABLE TO LIFT A FINGER. I MUST CONFESS THAT THE OLD PEDDLER HAD SEEN FIT TO GIVE ME ONLY ONE ON EITHER HAND, AND THAT A THUMB, WITH ALL THE REST LEFT IN ONE SOLID PIECE LIKE A MITTEN. Compare Hitty with another w o o d e n character—Pinocchio, a boy. When Pinocchio w a s made he started leaping about, causing trouble, making mistakes—always moving, learning, doing. His career w a s a dynamic movement toward a moral self; Hitty's w a s static. She w a s fingerless, pure, and unchanging, incapable of error, incapable also of moral growth. Hitty, the ultimate victim, realized that there were drawbacks to her sort of life but she w a s grateful for its advantages: PHOEBE HAD A SMALL BASKET, IN WHICH I WAS ALLOWED TO RIDE. SHE HAD LINED IT NEATLY WITH LEAVES THAT FELT PLEASANTLY COOL AND SMOOTH. IT WAS A HOT AFTERNOON IN LATE JULY, AND I WAS THANKFUL TO BE OUT OF THE DUST AND GLARE OF THE ROAD. IT SEEMED TO ME THAT THIS WAS ONE OF THE MANY TIMES WHEN IT WAS NICE TO BE A DOLL. A s a child I enjoyed reading about Hitty and learning h o w nice it w a s to be a doll but she made m e uneasy. I sensed that her paralysis w a s less comfortable and less sentimental than, say, Carol Bird's. The illustrations in Hitty are, in fact, most unnerving. Her author, Rachel Field, consciously or unconsciously had found a perfect image for passivity menaced by more vital forces. The doll is pictured floating stiffly under the water while sea plants

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G O O D GIRL M E S S A G E S

and creatures coil about her; she is s h o w n standing at attention in her proper N e w England garb while a cobra points its phallic self at her midriff. She could not help herself out of a predicament, but she could endure and maintain her composure. She realized it w a s peculiar w h e n the natives worshipped her as an idol, WHEN THEY MADE THEIR QUEER GRUNTINGS BEFORE MY TEMPLE. BUT THEY NEVER KNEW IF I FELT BORED OR FRIGHTENED. I CONTINUED TO SMILE DOWN UPON THEM AS SERENELY AS IF I HAD BEEN BACK ON A STATE OF MAINE MANTELPIECE. I HAD BEEN MADE WITH A PLEASANT EXPRESSION, s o rr WAS REALLY N O CREDIT TO ME. The passive heroine in

m y children's books managed to stay calm and still, even w h e n faced with lascivious m e n and their queer sexual gruntings. It is possible that such models helped teach girls h o w to respond to abuse or harassment: with a Hitty-like, glazed passivity. The Doll's House b y Rumer Godden s h o w e d some insight into the plight of a doll and, metaphorically, of a girl: IT IS A N ANXIOUS, SOMETIMES A DANGEROUS THING TO BE A DOLL. DOLLS CANNOT CHOOSE; THEY CAN ONLY BE CHOSEN; THEY CAN'T "DO"; THEY CAN ONLY BE DONE BY; CHILDREN WHO DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS OFTEN DO WRONG THINGS, AND THEN THE DOLLS ARE HURT AND ABUSED AND LOST; AND WHEN THIS HAPPENS DOLLS CANNOT SPEAK, NOR DO ANYTHING EXCEPT BE HURT AND ABUSED AND LOST. In addition, dolls NEVER HAVE TO ALTER, THEY NEVER HAVE TO GROW. When the doll family w a s threatened, all they could d o w a s w i s h very hard; sometimes their wishing seemed to affect the behavior of people around them, but only slightly, in a mild, indirect w a y . The other important fact about these doll people w a s that they yearned to be played with. That is what made them alive; that is what they were for. I find it interesting that this book appeared in 1947, at the end of the period I am examining. When Godden describes so explicitly the dolls 7 state of powerlessness and pain, maybe she is heralding an era of increasing awareness. The Doll's House contains a familiar female plot pattern as well as a set of familiarly victimized characters. The dolls could not be heard b y humans and they could d o practically nothing to affect their fates, but b y a superhuman—or rather superdoll—effort one of them sacrificed her life to save her little boy. Birdie the wife, mother, and housekeeper is a touching character; like many other

Horizontal Heroines

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w o m e n she W A S N O T QUITE RIGHT I N THE HEAD, THERE W A S SOME-

THING IN HER HEAD THAT RATTLED. SHE WAS ALTOGETHER GAY AND LIGHT, BEING MADE OF CHEAP CELLULOID, BUT ALL THE SAME, NICELY MOLDED A N D JOINED A N D PAINTED. This pretty, shallow doll-

w o m a n , timid and confused, s a w her child about to be burned and managed to fall onto the candle, knocking h i m away. The little girl owner exclaimed, "WASN'T BIRDIE BEAUTIFUL W H E N SHE

WENT UP IN THAT FLAME? LIKE A FAIRY, LIKE A BEAUTIFUL KIND OF SILVER FIREWORK." The only significant action a doll-woman is capable of is self-immolation. Folk tales gave us the Sleeping Beauty (she made herself vulnerable b y pricking her finger), and Snow White in her glass coffin (she erred in accepting the poisoned apple). It is clear in such cases that a hostile person hurt the heroine, yet s o m e h o w the heroine w a s guilty too, had "brought it o n herself/ 7 and needed to atone in a purgatorial paralysis. Adult books also s h o w situations like this, where the w o m a n at once innocent and guilty is disposed of by being immobilized. Eighteenth-century Clarissa, after being violated while drugged, could only waste away and die. When her death w a s imminent she cheerfully ordered an exquisitely etched coffin and kept it in her bedroom. "She writes and reads u p o n it, as others w o u l d u p o n a desk." The image persists, in many versions, of a w o m a n w h o s e action consists of decreasing action, increasing stillness. In Hemingway's "An Alpine Idyll," a peasant's wife dies in their mountain hut in December. H e couldn't bring her out to be buried until May, and w h e n he did so the priest made h i m explain the battered appearance of the corpse's face. " 'When she died I made the report and I put her in the shed across the big w o o d . When I started to use the big w o o d she w a s stiff and I put her u p against the wall. Her mouth w a s open and w h e n I came into the shed at night to cut u p the big w o o d , I w o u l d hang the lantern from it.' Tt w a s very wrong,' said the priest. 'Did y o u love your wife?' 'Ja, I loved her,' Olz said. 1 loved her fine.' " From m y present perspective, I appreciate this version of the frozen princess legend—the horror of what w a s done to her, what she turned into, what her husband failed to feel. I can see that

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female helplessness is destructive and offers n o defense against aggression. But mature perspective is easily shoved aside; m y buried conviction about frozen princesses is that those Rapunzels, locked in their snazzy towers waiting to be rescued, were not to be pitied. The version found in children's books is hard to erase, the notion that inanition is beautiful and virtuous. Poe had the same idea, with his theory that n o topic is more poetic than the death of a beautiful y o u n g w o m a n .

H o w Girl Readers Responded In recent years I have found myself brooding about this childhood reading. N o one is unaware n o w of the problems, blatant and insidious, caused by the traditional v i e w of w o m e n as passive and powerless. The influence of childhood reading outside of school, however, has not been discussed in much detail. I want to s h o w h o w most stories read by girls in m y generation presented female characters as more or less obedient, fearful, and helpless. I hope especially to illustrate: to dramatize for a n e w generation traditional female images they m a y have encountered more theoretically than forcefully; to confront m y o w n generation with some images that may still be lurking behind their confident facades producing conflict and distress; to remind us all h o w pervasive and powerful were these models which, w e believe, have faded into a stale joke. I will not claim that girls 7 fiction had certain clear effects on their readers, good, bad, or mixed. It is possible that the girls' books available in m y era contributed to a pattern of dependency and subservience, but they were certainly not the only or primary factor in such behavior, and surely some girls were helped to a wider, freer perspective by children's books. The traditional "feminine" qualities in our books influenced m e and others like me, but w e read them partly because w e were already in sympathy with those qualities. Such immersion in reading can be an instance of passive, escapist, "feminine" behavior as much as it is a spur to such behavior. But I also believe that our girlhood reading did

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more than reflect oxir particular personalities—that they both helped us and harmed us in complicated ways. In this book I will be acknowledging the help while emphasizing the harm. If hundreds of stories told girls that aggression must be denied or endured or placated, never challenged, if countless heroines were praised for subjugating their o w n needs in order to serve others, it is hard to believe that these messages had n o effect. A s Bob Dixon reasonably points out in Catching Them Young: Sex, Race and Class in Children's Fiction (1977), "Anyone interested in h o w ideas—political ideas in the broadest and most important sense—are fostered and grow u p in a society cannot afford to neglect what children read There are people w h o , apparently, feel a desperate need to believe that nothing children read has any effect on them at all. It seems to m e much more reasonable to believe that everything that happens to us, including literature, has some kind of effect which will vary with the individual/ 7 One male friend recalled the influence of Howard Pease, " w h o wrote adventure stories about ships that always seemed to be in peasoup fogs and w h o probably caused me to join the N a v y . " I have heard in various forms a "doctor" anecdote about the w a y children learn from the culture around them rather than from direct experience. Maccoby and Jacklin report one version in The Psychology of Sex Differences (1974): they describe "the case of a 4-year-old girl w h o insisted that girls could become nurses but only boys could become doctors. She held to this belief tenaciously even though her o w n mother w a s a doctor. A child gradually develops concepts of 'masculinity' and 'femininity' and w h e n he has understood what his o w n sex is, he attempts to match his behavior to his conception. The generalizations he constructs do not represent acts of imitation, but are organizations of information distilled from a w i d e variety of sources." A n d one of these sources, of course, is "his"—or her—reading. I find myself wondering about the childhood reading of a w o m a n mentioned in the New York Times in 1982. Her behavior reveals traditional "feminine" qualities m a n y w o m e n fear they still have—the inability to think straight and the inability to act decisively.

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Ozark, Mo., April 4 (UPI): Betty Tennis has resigned as city clerk after the town council discovered she had bought 87 gross, or 12,528, ballpoint pens for $7000. City Attorney Jim Eiffert said Mrs. Tennis had explained that a salesman had offered her "a good deal on some ballpoint pens/' and she ordered six gross. When more pens arrived, she kept paying, he said. The clerk thought she had no choice but to accept the additional pens. "She thought she ordered them all," Mr. Eiffert said. It's not clear what caused the confusion of Betty Tennis, but her ineptitude feels familiar and so does her method of solving a problem by doing nothing. Her behavior seems like the sort of thing one might expect from a w o m a n raised on tales of Carol Bird and Elsie Dinsmore and Hitty. The books I want to discuss, all published before 1950 and some long before that time, cover a broad spectrum. Some portrayed female life in w a y s that seem grossly, even pathologically limited to us today. Others sent a more complicated message, often through the "cop-out pattern/' where heroines ultimately gave u p their independent vision and subsided into traditional behavior. I am certainly not arguing that girls should have been pointed toward the pole opposite to submissiveness, traditionally male qualities which are just as harmful—selfishness, rigidity, aggression, and the need to dominate. Some of m y childhood books s h o w e d the positive side of "female" qualities—sympathy, cooperation, flexibility—along with the negative, and I w o u l d not claim that their influence w a s entirely baleful. But most of this mid-century reading did assume that being submissive w a s part of being cooperative, that being sympathetic required denigrating yourself. The good girl always let the b o y w i n the prize and if a girl w a s not naturally inclined to d o so, b y the end of the book she had learned to be more submissive. Alison Lurie, in her 1990 book Don't Tell the Grown-ups, strikes an encouraging note about traditional children's stories. While admitting that many children's books do p u s h a conventional v i e w point, Lurie describes classic children's books as wonderfully anarchic, freeing y o u n g readers through their "subversive" viewpoints even though adults think the children are being conservatively socialized. I w o u l d not deny that some of the classic stories

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are indeed subversive—but many are not. Lurie's analysis does not consider the conservative thrust of so many fictional messages that told girls to follow traditional patterns and reinforced their desire to d o so. In addition, many of the "greatest" children's books are not necessarily the favorite reading of children; often they prefer the less complex, less great works, stories which make them feel comfortable and reinforce rather than subvert the status quo. Since many well-loved books did offer cop-out plots and only token strong females, if any, I cannot agree that—before the late twentieth century—most children's fiction tended to subvert a repressive status quo. Whether children's books merely represented feminine values and stereotypes or whether they also successfully inculcated them, these books were an enormous presence in the lives of many girls in the pre-television and early-television era. Anyone w h o has been or has k n o w n a child devoted to reading understands that certain books get re-read so often they are almost memorized. Other books that d o not strike an important chord at the moment get forgotten, but the crucial ones are mauled and battered, stained with Hershey bars, and remembered forever, viscerally. A child can tell y o u the details of her favorite story, even the position on the page of certain passages. A w o m a n friend said: "My sisters to this day complain about h o w they were dragged to the library whenever I had to babysit for them. One of them swears she remembers crying in her stroller while waiting for m e at the library." Pre-1950 children's fiction did not, of course, constitute a uniform mass of propaganda. Only a few books ignored gender stereotypes (in The Peterkin Papers all family members, male and female, exhibited equal, sublime foolishness) or contradicted them (in The Secret Garden, Mary w a s neither weak nor dependent nor sweet). Many books exhibited simple-minded sexism in a form easy to resist, making "female" behavior seem unappealing and ridiculous even to a mid-century good-girl type. In Peter Rabbit, the female bunnies smugly ate bread and milk and blackberries in their claustrophobic cave while brother Peter slept off his masculine adventures; they got the blackberries, but he got all the fun.

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The really extreme Victorian books, like Elsie Dinstnore with its murky masochism, repelled m y generation and couldn't be taken seriously: "DEAR PAPA, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH/' ELSIE REPLIED, TWINING HER ARMS AROUND HIS NECK, "I LOVE YOU ALL THE BETTER FOR NEVER LETTING ME HAVE MY OWN WAY, BUT ALWAYS MAKING ME OBEY AND KEEP TO RULES." But another large group of books presented the constructive qualities of the traditional image of w o m e n (cooperation, sympathy, flexibility) as bound together with the destructive (helplessness, subservience), so that the w h o l e package w a s hard to separate or reject. In The Five Little Peppers, for instance, Polly's struggles to feed and cheer her brothers and sisters in spite of poverty made her touching as well as saccharine. It may have been salutory to read about the love and sociability of the March sisters in Little Women but unhealthy to realize that the achievement of Beth, in wasting away and dying, w a s more purely, radiantly female than that of Jo, in merely living and growing and writing. The more interesting girls' books were not gross and singleminded; they did not present bizarre little saints like Elsie Dinsmore. But they were not what w e , today, w o u l d call liberating. They were full of haunting images of girls with tear-stained faces gazing worshipfully at the boys w h o saved them from disaster; images of girls swooning pitifully on beds of pain; images of cheerful girls rolling pastry into tiny tarts, of earnest girls plumping pillows for their invalid uncles; images of girls on a quiet river, smiling but demure, holding parasols, drifting, sitting still—while being rowed downstream by muscular y o u n g m e n w h o were in charge of all the significant action. When I try to imagine an ideal life for a little girl, I think, against m y better judgment, of The Beautiful Story of Doris and Julie. This w a s a book from m y mother's childhood that enchanted m e w h e n I w a s about five, filling m y incipient soul with ribbons and ringlets, with fluffy girls in small boats on small, safe ponds. All I can remember of the plot is a benevolent aunt, tears, hugs, picnics and treats, possibly a furry dog; but it w a s the ringlets and the dolls' tea-set that really got to me. If I could find a copy of

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Doris and Julie today, I w o u l d be disgusted but enthralled. In Good Boys and Dead Girls (1991), Mary Gordon points out that, "The image of the moving boy has been central in American writing. Men have freedom, autonomy, movement. W o m e n prevent movement/ 7 Discussing male novelists, she remarks on "a habit of association that connects females with stasis and death; males with movement and life/' Recently, a sizable number of writers and researchers have analyzed certain types of stories read by y o u n g girls, notably fairy tales, school readers, and picture books. The free-time reading of school-aged girls has been discussed in less detail, though some attention has been paid to girls 7 series fiction. The books to be considered here are the books that surrounded m e between 1943 w h e n I w a s four and started to read, and 1953 w h e n I turned fourteen, graduated from ninth grade and left the only school I had so far attended. Most of the stories were American but many were English. Almost all presented characters w h o were white, middle-class, and Anglo-Saxon, because that w a s the kind of book being published. This distressing limitation did not bother m e as a child, as I myself w a s white, middle-class, and Anglo-Saxon. Children w h o were not, however, may have been upset to find that, according to the best authority of fiction, they did not exist. These were heinous omissions, but they are not m y subject here, which is middle-class girls at mid-century reading whatever fiction w a s available about girls. Notice the overlapping of the generations. I did read books that appeared in the 1940s, but many of m y favorites were from the 1920s, the turn of the century, or earlier—not just transcendent classics, but also delightful junk books that celebrated the stereotypes of their times. When I n o w consider the strong heroines in recent children's fiction I am encouraged; but w h e n I remember m y o w n obsession with the Little Colonel, a winsome girl w h o flowered in Kentucky in the 1890s but still h u n g around in Connecticut in the 1940s, I am not so confident that our children will avoid contact with destructive models w e think w e have destroyed. I learned from the current Books in Print that The Birds' Christmas Carol has recently been reprinted in three editions—a book I had thought safely buried in the archives of morbid sexism.

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Girls as a group were always more involved than boys were in reading, an activity that is girlish in that it earns approval from one's elders and requires sitting still for long periods of time. Reading habits were so firmly split by gender that m e n in their fifties apologized to me, with embarrassment still intense, for once having read a girls' book. One told me, "I read one Nancy Drew mystery and enjoyed it but never read another because it w a s for girls/' But girls w h o liked boys' books, instead of or in addition to books considered proper for themselves, always read them with n o apology. Boys' stories were higher in the hierarchy of seriousness and girls could read them without shame. In m y day, books most popular with boys included Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, Treasure Island, Kipling's Jungle Books, and maybe the Hardy Boys. Favorite books of girls included Alcott's Little Women, the Nancy Drew books, Heidi, and The Secret Garden. Realistic, family-and-friends-and-school stories were read primarily by girls. A majority of the books I will discuss in later chapters—books beloved by girls at least u p to the midtwentieth century—are stories of children in a real world. It may be a contemporary, familiar world; or the fiction may be set in a time or place that is different but nonetheless realistic, possible. From the Moffats to the Saturdays, in the books of Alcott and of Wilder and hundreds of others, stories of family and community life appealed to girls. The adventure stories preferred by boys involve journeys, quests, battles, struggles to survive and win. When y o u compare the Little Women type of book with the Robinson Crusoe type y o u can see the essential difference: To say that boys liked action stories is to say that they were interested in whether the hero achieved his personal goals. To say that girls liked character stories is to say that they cared most about social interaction, about achieving a relationship or a reconciliation. I think boys liked adventure stories because the focus w a s individual, the values heroic, while girls liked family-and-friends stories because the focus w a s social; the qualities they most admired were sensitivity, cooperation and sacrifice. I must state this clearly: I believe these differences in boy and girl perspective and behavior were caused by culture rather than

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biology. With time, w e may eradicate or at least reduce them. But girls in this period loved books that encouraged them to be girlish and boys relished books that told them h o w to be boyish; these messages still resonate decades later. Surely I am not the only middle-aged person surrounded by juvenile, fictional ghosts. I will be looking at some extreme cases—storybook girls w h o spent their lives beautifully lying d o w n — a l o n g with girls w h o were not bedridden but w h o s e main activities were obeying and fearing, housekeeping and comforting, enduring and above all sacrificing. Most of these female actions could be done sitting d o w n , without much physical exertion. Even housekeeping w a s partly sedentary, involving as it does shelling peas and mending. Many years later, m y friends and I seem to have grown beyond the wilting, sedentary female ideal of our childhood. M y generation has changed greatly since our youth, that blessed time w h e n princesses sat on top of glass hills, withholding the favor of their golden apples. We have m o v e d beyond the domestic realm and have w o n some battles. But some of our external actions and internal conflicts suggest that w e are not rid of the passive princess, of the old attitudes so eloquently described b y Susan Brownmiller in her 1983 book Femininity. Fear, evasion, self-pity, self-contempt—these are not always visible. Some w o m e n w h o seem to function well may be undermined by the secret belief that they must remain permanently subordinate and that they can meet aggression only with politeness and a glazed, doll-like smile. Confidence can be weakened by too many old messages: "Gentlemen first/ 7 "Always be tactful." "Don't fidget; sit still." It's hard to replace them with newer messages: "Don't be apologetic." "Win a point even if another person has to lose." "Let someone else clean u p the vomit." Gloria Steinem begins Revolution From Within (1992) with the following passage: "The idea for this book began a decade ago w h e n even I, w h o had spent the previous dozen years working on external barriers to women's equality, had to admit there were internal ones, too. Wherever I traveled, I saw w o m e n w h o were smart, courageous, and valuable, w h o didn't think they were smart, courageous, or v a l u a b l e . . . . It w a s as if the female spirit were a garden that had grown beneath the shadows of barriers for so long

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that it kept growing in the same pattern, even after some of the barriers were gone." A w o m a n I k n o w said that childhood reading "left m e with vastly overblown romantic notions, and ill-prepared for the realities I w a s to encounter." Decades after the Girl Scout campfires and the girls' storybooks, many female hearts are still made of S'mores, those repellent and irresistible objects that Girl Scouts made by squashing blobs of melted chocolate and marshmallow between damp graham crackers. Soft as a S'more, w e may still rely on acquiescence to solve problems, rather than initiative. So to me, and perhaps other girls of m y time, a w o m a n sitting still or permanently horizontal w a s not pitiful but comfortable or saintly. Staying h o m e sick w a s a treat for me, especially since I w a s not sick often or seriously. The long, still day in bed gave life a most desirable drifting quality. When I w a s sick-in-bed m y mother w o u l d bring out the ceremonial objects the occasion called for. One w a s a w o o d e n tray with legs, pale blue and decorated appropriately with a white narcissus. The other w a s a large squashy backrest. Its triangular bulk leaned at such a comfortable angle that y o u could never get tired of resting; its fat arms stuck out just far enough to envelop and nurture. Bed m a y have been the place where I had nightmares or shuddered at shadows outside, but it w a s also the sanctuary where I could listen to the radio soap opera "Hilltop H o u s e " in between chapters of An OldFashioned Girl and drink cocoa from the narcissus tray. M y earliest memory is of a w o m a n lying in bed. We had a livein sitter for a while, and Sally slept in m y bedroom. The image is vivid: I w o k e and s a w this y o u n g w o m a n with a thin face and dark hair lying in a bed across the room, reading and eating grapes. She looked safe, and beautiful, and right, and I went back to sleep. Here is a genuine school report on a good, meek little girl, preserved by m y mother. "Beginners class, January 1944: Early in the year, Debby w a s very shy and almost painfully self-conscious with adults." M y weaknesses were in the tradition of maidenly timidity so no one minded. And, I'm gratified to note, they recognized m y potential for heroine status: as they said on the report card, "She is completely relaxed at rest period/' I k n e w already that

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a girl is most herself in a reclining position, though I didn't understand some implications of that notion. The plane has just taken off from Kennedy and won't come d o w n again till San Francisco, in the dark. A m I exhilarated because I a m on vacation and have n o large or small responsibilities for t w o weeks? Because I will be meeting interesting people? I am exhilarated, to speak honestly, because I will be confined leaning back in a small seat for five hours with a blanket o n m y knees, and I will read t w o simple-minded mystery books, and a lady will bring m e small, bland things to eat in tidy little dishes. While m y husband makes assertive gestures w a v i n g his hands to help the pilot fly properly, I sit quite still, content. It's disgusting but true: I am like Hitty, relishing m y w o o d e n passivity; glad to be moving, but through n o motion of m y o w n .

•2F l u t t e r y B o y s :

G i r l s ,

W h e r e

B l o o d y -

G i r l s

M i n d e d

F i t

I n

A m a n I k n o w said t h a t h e g r e w u p o n " g o o d , old-fashioned b l o o d - a n d - g u t s cowboys, Indians, soldiers a n d baseball h e r o e s . " A n o t h e r told m e wistfully, " I d e v o u r e d j u n k y w o n d e r f u l b o y s ' fiction a b o u t h o w o u r h e r o p e r s e v e r e d to w i n The Big G a m e a n d Get the Girl." " T h e m e s s a g e of these b o o k s w a s a l w a y s clear," another former b o y p o i n t e d out: " t h e celebration of fair play, h o n esty, s p o r t s m a n s h i p , b r a v e r y a n d m o d e s t y . In retrospect those virtues c o u n t e d for little in a w o r l d r u s h i n g t o w a r d s w a r a n d m a s s destruction." Those b o o k s sent unrealistic m e s s a g e s to b o y s , just as Elsie a n d Hitty a n d Carol Bird g a v e lessons in submissiveness to girls. Boys m a y h a v e faced expectations that w e r e impossibly h i g h a n d heroic b u t at least t h e y learned from their r e a d i n g that life w a s a n a d v e n t u r e a n d all r o a d s w e r e o p e n to them. Just as " w o m a n " h a s traditionally b e e n s u b s u m e d u n d e r the b r o a d e r h e a d i n g of " m a n , " girls' b o o k s h a v e constituted a limited sub-category of children's fiction. Boys' b o o k s w e r e the n o r m , n o t just a separate genre. A m a n I h a p p e n to b e m a r r i e d to confesses to s o m e t h i n g t h a t h e n o w considers dreadful b u t n o t surprising. A s a b o y h e conceived a p l a n of r e a d i n g alphabetically all the b o o k s in the children's r o o m of the library, b u t the p l a n b r o k e d o w n . A l o n g a b o u t " C " h e w a s enjoying a b o o k o n Eskimos, b u t s u d d e n l y noticed t h e a u t h o r ' s n a m e : it w a s a w o m a n .

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Of course he had to stop reading the book. It couldn't possibly be any good. In Jill Came Tumbling After (1974), Elaine Showalter claims that the reading of girls tells them that "the masculine viewpoint is considered normative and the feminine viewpoint divergent. W o m e n are expected to identify as readers with a masculine experience and perspective, which is presented as the h u m a n one." The question is whether girls can identify with Jim Hawkins or Huck Finn, strengthening their y o u n g selves without paying some terrible price. Carolyn Heilbrun, in Reinventing Womanhood (1979), is more optimistic than Showalter: "If w o m e n can take as their o w n the creative possibilities, the h u m a n aspirations once the property of m e n only, can they not also adopt male role models in their struggle for achievement? I believe that w o m e n must learn to appropriate for their o w n use the examples of human autono m y and self-fulfillment displayed to us by the male world." Heilbrun believes that females must "choose male literary models and reinterpret them to address w o m e n . Ultimately, there are n o male models, there are only models of selfhood from which w o m a n chooses to learn. "From fairy tales onward, w o m e n ' s fantasies have been of themselves as the sleeping figure a man will awaken. Yet in stories, as in life, even w o m e n can learn to identify with the protagonist, to be the quester, not 'she w h o is s o u g h t / In stories, as in life, it is the male figure w h o m society has hitherto allowed to be the protagonist, w h o must, therefore, for a time, be the model." The British writer Susan Cooper agrees with Heilbrun. In the New York Times in 1975, she questioned the usefulness of deliberately presenting adventurous heroines instead of heroes, so that "Little Jane can identify with them; little John can admire. It's a false premise: an adult neurosis foisted u p o n children. I don't believe little Jane gives a damn that Jack the Giant Killer is a boy. Lost in the story, she identifies with him as a character, just as little John shares Red Riding Hood's terror of the wolf without reflecting that, of course, she's only a girl. Response to fairy tale, as to all myth, is subconscious, unrelated to such superficial elements. We are all mixtures of male and female; reading stories isn't going to change that."

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This position cannot be dismissed. Some girls enjoyed writers like Rudyard Kipling, Jack London, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Daniel Defoe. Identifying with the male protagonists, they may have undergone the liberating experience Heilbrun describes. On the other hand, they may have noted that in these adventures females were absent or insignificant or passive, and they may have learned to value themselves accordingly—such an outcome is equally plausible. A n d even if some benefited from reading a "boys 7 " author, other girls turned away. I k n o w h o w I felt about those authors: They had nothing to offer; their choices and concerns were not mine, on either a realistic or a fantasy level. Those w h o did identify with male protagonists must surely have been aware to some extent that, being girls, they were not the real thing; they must always have k n o w n that they were the Other sex— making the best of it, only pretending to be the essential, human One, the male. Those girls w h o enjoyed boys 7 books in the period w h e n I w a s y o u n g were probably the ones w h o already tended to be active and independent. The ones w h o could have profited most from identifying with a strong male model w o u l d have been the milder ones like myself, w h o wouldn't have dared make that leap. Even today girls continue to play a lesser role in children's p o p ular culture. In the New York Times of April 7, 1991, Katha Pollitt offered a complaint as a mother of young daughters. "Somehow or other, only boys get to go On Beyond Zebra or see marvels on Mulberry Street. Frog and Toad, Lowly Worm, Lyle the Crocodile, all could have been female. But they're not. D o kids pick u p on the sexism in children's culture? You bet. Preschoolers are like medieval philosophers: the text—a book, a movie, a TV s h o w — i s more authoritative than the evidence of their o w n eyes. The sexism in preschool culture deforms both boys and girls. Little girls learn to split their consciousness, filtering dreams and ambitions through boy characters while admiring the clothes of the princess. The privileged and daring can dream of becoming exceptional w o m e n in a man's world—token Smurfettes. The others are taught to accept the more usual fate, which is to be a [female] passenger car drawn through life by a masculine train engine." In discussing boy characters as models for girl readers, I fear that

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Pollitt describes the situation more realistically than Heilbrun and Cooper. The situation is definitely changing, as parents try to lessen the damage to daughters and media people start to see market potential in girls. But at best the change is slow, uneven. Who Read What THEY ALL WENT OFF TO DISCOVER THE POLE, OWL AND PIGLET AND RABBIT AND ALL; IT'S A THING YOU DISCOVER, AS FVE BEEN TOLE BY OWL AND PIGLET AND RABBIT AND ALL. EEYORE, CHRISTOPHER ROBIN AND POOH AND RABBIT'S RELATIONS ALL WENT TOO— AND WHERE THE POLE WAS NONE OF THEM KNEW.... SING HEY! FOR OWL AND RABBIT AND ALL! For A. A. Milne's characters, the exciting outside world w a s less appealing than their o w n comfortable world, the inner circle of friends and friendly places. You might lose your tail or get lost on an expedition or fall in a pit, but y o u were always surrounded by The People w h o helped y o u in practical w a y s and gave y o u good things to eat and made sure y o u didn't get your feelings hurt. Winnie the Pooh's forest society had a neat hierarchy, with Rabbit's Friends and Relations at the bottom and Christopher Robin at the top, pointing upward to the even wiser storyteller. While this society w a s hierarchical, it w a s also supportive and harmonious, delightfully cozy. A child reader w a s on the inside, with The People though pleasantly wiser than they; the rest of the world w a s excluded. The trip to the North Pole w a s a typical communal adventure in Pooh land. Pooh's rhyme immortalized the occasion with its epic list of participants. Children reading the story probably did not notice that, according to Pooh's list, The People of the forest were all male. Kanga, the only female character in the stories, w a s not mentioned in the poem's list, even though she did g o on the expedition. Kanga's entire role w a s to be Mother, dispensing medicine and urging caution to her baby and to others. She w a s essential but never important. She w a s not what Milne w o u l d call One of U s (rather, she w a s what Simone de Beauvoir w o u l d call the Other) and apparently she did not deserve listing in Pooh's

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catalogue. The list condescended to mention Rabbit's relations at the bottom but nobody w o u l d SING HEY! for Kanga. The Pooh books were among m y early favorites and I don't think I wondered w h y all the characters except one were "he." Depending on m y m o o d , I w o u l d identify with Piglet, meek and snivelling but sweet, or with Eeyore, w h o w a s grouchy and gloomy but interesting, so I w a s in fact identifying with male characters. At an older stage m y friends and I w o u l d give each other nicknames out of Winnie the Pooh. One fall day in m y sophomore year in college, three friends and I bicycled into a w o o d s y glade and sat around reading (self-consciously) from Winnie the Pooh. These animals were less conspicuously male than boy characters in realistic fiction, but they were still males. I cannot perceive the female-free world of Winnie the Pooh as being in itself a major trauma for girls, but it is a typical pattern and the effect of such books is perhaps cumulative. A fantasy world offers children life in its essence, a complex image that is enormously forceful and evocative. Other stories repeat Milne's almost-all-male pattern; some fantasy stories include both male and female. Are there any popular fantasy worlds before 1950 that are almost entirely female? I can't think of any. The Alice and Oz books have female protagonists and other strong female characters, but even they d o not offer a community that is all or mostly female, which w o u l d be a counterpart to the male Milne world. In a revealing book called Communities of Women (1978), Nina Auerbach documents a long tradition of attitudes toward female groups: They were considered ludicrous or else dangerous and corrupting, because w o m e n together were felt to "ignite each other's grossness." Another male idyll like the one in Winnie the Pooh (1926) w a s created in Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows (1908). When Toad, the one character w h o didn't appreciate the animals' perfect world, went out into the imperfect human world, a few females played small roles in the story. But the central society of the animals contained no female members—only a father, Otter, and no mothers. Perhaps that's w h y all the animals seemed so free. W o m e n belonged with the alien humans, not with the warm, comfortable animals.

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Like Winnie the P o o h ' s w o r l d , the society of Rat a n d Mole h a d limits, specific ones: w h e n Mole first c a m e to t h e river b a n k , Rat p o i n t e d o u t the d a n g e r o u s Wild W o o d a n d b e y o n d it the W i d e W o r l d t h a t n o respectable a n i m a l h a d a n y t h i n g to d o w i t h . A s long as the little b a n d of m a l e animals stuck together, t h e y could k e e p o u t t h e outside w o r l d . So, w h e n Rat a n d Mole escaped from the s n o w s t o r m into Badger's h o m e a n d Otter followed t h e m there, the g a n g rejoiced in their safe h a v e n , their m a l e solidarity. IN THE EMBRACING LIGHT AND WARMTH, WARM AND DRY AT LAST, WITH WEARY LEGS PROPPED UP IN FRONT OF THEM, AND A SUGGESTIVE CLINK OF PLATES BEING ARRANGED ON THE TABLE BEHIND, IT SEEMED TO THE STORM-DRIVEN ANIMALS THAT THE COLD AND TRACKLESS WILD WOOD JUST LEFT OUTSIDE WAS MILES AND MILES AWAY. WHEN SUPPER WAS FINISHED AT LAST, AND EACH ANIMAL FELT THAT HIS SKIN WAS NOW AS TIGHT AS WAS DECENTLY SAFE, AND THAT BY THIS TIME HE DIDNT CARE A HANG FOR ANYBODY OR ANYTHING, THEY GATHERED ROUND THE GLOWING EMBERS OF THE GREAT WOOD FIRE, AND THOUGHT HOW JOLLY IT WAS TO BE SITTING UP SO LATE, AND SO INDEPENDENT, AND SO FULL. This society, of course, w a s still hierarchical: Badger the gruff c o u n t r y g e n t l e m a n w a s at the t o p , w i t h his u n p r e t e n t i o u s b u t w e a l t h y estate; the b o t t o m here contained the y o u n g (Mole's fieldm o u s e C h r i s t m a s carolers a n d Badger's h e d g e h o g visitors) a n d the miscellaneous residents of the river b a n k . Each w a s comfortable in his h o m e a n d h a p p y in his role. Again, Badger's d e n w a s vividly d r a w n : IT SEEMED A PLACE WHERE HEROES COULD FITLY FEAST AFTER VICTORY, WHERE WEARY HARVESTERS COULD LINE UP ALONG THE TABLE AND KEEP THEIR HARVEST HOME WITH MIRTH AND SONG, OR WHERE TWO OR THREE FRIENDS OF SIMPLE TASTES COULD SIT ABOUT AS THEY PLEASED AND EAT AND SMOKE AND TALK IN COMFORT AND CONTENTMENT. I a d o r e d Wind in the Willows, n o t noticing consciously the m e n ' s club or s w e a t y locker r o o m aspect. This w o r l d w a s astonishingly real; d i d girls therefore feel less real, diminished? Winnie the Pooh a n d The Wind in the Willows w e r e usually r e a d in the early years of childhood. Their m a l e e m p h a s i s set a p a t t e r n t h a t w a s followed t h r o u g h o u t t h e fiction r e a d b y older b o y s a n d

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some girls—through stories of adventure, history, animals, m y s tery, and fantasy. More boys than girls liked adventure books and sports stories; more girls liked fantasies and mysteries and especially realistic fiction—stories about family and friends and community. Some boys liked fantasies and animal stories and mysteries too—but only w h e n they offered high energy plot and action. Boys' science fiction resembled heroic adventure (Jules Verne, the Tom Swift series); they were less taken with broad fantasy societies like those of Oz or Pinocchio. Boys' animal stories were the kind closest to adventure tales (Call of the Wild, Silver Chief), while girls read the domestic horse books of Mary O'Hara (My Friend Flicka), and Marguerite Henry (Misty), stressing character more than plot. Boys admired the animal as individual hero being tested in the wild (with triumphant or tragic results), while girls loved the animal as victim of society or as socialized friend. A s for mysteries, boys read the Hardy Boys and Sherlock Holmes series, while girls were devoted to Nancy Drew and, to a lesser extent, Cherry A m e s and Sue Barton (two other girls 7 m y s tery series). A mystery is an adventure of a social kind, an adventure with a solution rather than just an outcome. A crime has torn the social fabric, which must be restored. I suspect that girls appreciated the moral, social element in mysteries more than boys did. Girls' mysteries like Cherry Ames, even w h e n thin and superficial, present a texture of social relations. Sherlock Holmes is practically an adventure hero: the crimes he solves are challenges to his o w n problem-solving brilliance and his ability to vanquish opponents, more than they are immoral attacks on a society. A n d Holmes's relation to Watson is on the simplest level, that of warrior to worthy subordinate, Crusoe to Friday. Even in mysteries, boys preferred to see a hero testing himself, reaching for a goal— not a person working out problems with other people. Is it fanciful to conclude that boys admired the triumph of ego, and girls the comforting reassertion of superego?

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Boys' Reading Before turning to female favorites, I want to look at some books that probably haunt the memories of middle-aged and elderly men, the books that were read b y boys—or b y many boys and some girls. Some were not written for but were read by children. It is worth considering the themes and values boys encountered in their favorite adventure stories. Males typically s h o w e d themselves to be brave (facing danger and hardship, taking risks), d o m inant and ambitious (fighting to w i n and beat others and achieve a goal), resourceful (solving problems, making plans), and independent (escaping restrictions, acting without help or with only the help of subordinates). These were qualities most characteristic of the male characters, most alien to the female. Robinson Crusoe (1719) w a s the master of these virile qualities. His w a s the most extreme male adventure story: one m a n testing himself against human and non-human enemies, aided only b y a sidekick who's clearly presented as an inferior. H e arrived on his desert island in a heroic manner, unlike the passive w a y a heroine w o u l d b e floated ashore. Enormous w a v e s threatened to drown him or dash him on the rocks. Five times, as a w a v e swept wildly over him, h e held his breath and struggled toward shore; h e w o u l d not stop fighting. Crusoe's ingenuity is legendary: I H A D NEVER HANDLED A TOOL IN MY LIFE, AND YET IN TIME BY LABOR, APPLICATION, AND CONTRIVANCE, I MADE AN ABUNDANCE OF THINGS, EVEN WITHOUT PROPER TOOLS, AND SOME WITH NO MORE TOOLS THAN AN ADZ AND A HATCHET. Crusoe w a s stalwart in carrying out his plans and defending his turf, but mostly he spared u s the bloody-minded competitiveness s o popular in other boys' stories. That quality is especially prized in The Three Musketeers (1844). Dumas described a time of political intrigue w h e n the French Queen's partisans were violently at odds with supporters of the King and Cardinal. The book's energy lies in the witless, boastful aggressiveness of the Musketeers: LOOSE I N THEIR WAYS, BATTLE-SCARRED, THE MUSKE-

TEERS ROAMED THE CITY, LOUNGING IN THE TAVERNS OR STROLLING IN THE PUBLIC WALKS, SHOUTING, TWIRLING THEIR MUSTACHES AND RATTLING THEIR SWORDS. THEY TOOK IMMENSE PLEASURE IN JOSTLING

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MESSAGES

THE GUARDS OF MONSEIGNEUR CARDINAL WHEN THEY MET. THEN THEY WOULD DRAW THEIR SWORDS IN THE OPEN STREET, AMID A THOUSAND JESTS, AS THOUGH IT WERE ALL THE GREATEST SPORT IN THE WORLD. SOMETIMES THEY WERE KILLED, OFTEN THEY DID THE KILLING. I h a v e a l w a y s b e e n baffled as to w h y a n y b o d y finds these antics interesting. Simplistic m a l e images are just as s t u p i d as simplistic female images, a n d a lot m o r e violent. Probably t h e bloodiest of heroes w a s T a r z a n (1912). TO KILL WAS THE LAW OF THE WILD WORLD HE KNEW. FEW WERE HIS PRIMITIVE PLEASURES, BUT THE GREATEST OF THESE WAS TO HUNT AND KILL. After battling a n e n o r m o u s boar, t h e y o u n g Tarzan feasted: THE APEM A N HAD NO KNIFE, BUT NATURE HAD EQUIPPED HIM WITH THE MEANS OF TEARING HIS FOOD FROM THE QUIVERING FLANK OF HIS PREY, AND GLEAMING TEETH SANK INTO THE SUCCULENT FLESH. AH, BUT IT HAD BEEN DELICIOUS! NEVER HAD HE QUITE ACCUSTOMED HIMSELF TO THE RUINED FLESH THAT CIVILIZED MEN HAD SERVED HIM, AND IN THE BOTTOM OF HIS SAVAGE HEART THERE HAD CONSTANTLY BEEN THE CRAVING FOR THE WARM MEAT OF THE FRESH KILL, AND THE RICH, RED BLOOD. (At least h e ate only those slain enemies w h o w e r e n o t h u m a n . ) "i A M T A R Z A N / ' H E CRIED, "i A M A GREAT KILLER.

THERE BE NONE AMONG YOU AS MIGHTY AS TARZAN. LET HIS ENEMIES BEWARE." THE YOUNG LORD GREYSTOKE BEAT UPON HIS MIGHTY BREAST AND SCREAMED OUT ONCE MORE HIS SHRILL CRY OF DEFIANCE. T a r z a n h a d t h e strength a n d s p e e d of a w i l d beast, b u t w a s also ludicrously rational a n d noble. H e saved t h e w e a k a n d injured, protected w o m e n a n d peaceable natives, a d a p t e d to t h e m o r e s of Paris, a n d sacrificed h i s inheritance as Lord Greystoke for t h e sake of t h e w o m a n h e loved. B u r r o u g h s called h i m godlike, a n d e n joyed describing h i s s i n u o u s , rippling muscles along w i t h his less tangible virtues. H i s creator s a w Tarzan as t h e finest t y p e of u n spoiled gentleman; A m e r i c a n b o y s agreed. H i s habit of c h e w i n g the necks of w i l d beasts a n d sucking their blood a p p a r e n t l y w a s considered a lovable male foible. Favorite b o y b o o k s certainly included Treasure Island a n d Huckleberry Finn. Some of Jim H a w k i n s ' s a d v e n t u r e s h a p p e n e d b y chance, like h i s overhearing t h e pirates 7 p l a n s w h i l e s u b m e r g e d in a n a p p l e barrel, b u t Jim w a s still a major actor in t h e battles a n d schemes of Treasure Island (1883). T h o u g h a m e r e

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lad, h e r e c a p t u r e d t h e ship b y shooting t h e grisly pirate left o n b o a r d a s a g u a r d , " W E L L , " SAID I, " I ' V E C O M E ABOARD T O TAKE POS-

SESSION OF THIS SHIP, MR. HANDS; AND YOU'LL PLEASE REGARD ME AS YOUR C A P T A I N UNTIL FURTHER N O T I C E . " C a p t u r e d b y t h e p i r a t e s

again, h e s w a g g e r e d i n t h e heroic m a n n e r : "HERE Y O U ARE, I N A BAD WAY: SHIP LOST, TREASURE LOST, MEN LOST; AND IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO DID IT—IT WAS I! I WAS IN THE APPLE BARREL THE NIGHT WE SIGHTED LAND, AND I HEARD YOU. AND AS FOR THE SCHOONER, IT WAS I WHO CUT HER CABLE, AND IT WAS I THAT KILLED THE MEN YOU HAD ABOARD OF HER. THE LAUGH'S ON MY SIDE; I'VE HAD THE TOP OF THIS BUSINESS FROM THE FIRST; I NO MORE FEAR YOU THAN I FEAR A FLY. KILL ME, IF Y O U PLEASE, O R SPARE M E . " For a h e r o , m o d e s t y is

n o t required. Y o u n g D a v i d Balfour i n Stevenson's Kidnapped (1886) carried o n m u c h like Jim: i H A D NEVER FIRED W I T H A PISTOL I N MY LIFE, BUT

IT WAS NOW OR NEVER; I CRIED OUT, "TAKE THAT!" AND SHOT INTO THEIR MIDST. I MUST HAVE HIT ONE OF THEM. THE WHOLE PLACE WAS FULL OF THE SMOKE OF MY OWN FIRING. THERE WAS ALAN, STANDING AS BEFORE ONLY NOW HIS SWORD WAS RUNNING BLOOD TO THE HILT, AND HIMSELF SO SWELLED WITH TRIUMPH AND FALLEN INTO SO FINE AN ATTITUDE, THAT HE LOOKED TO BE INVINCIBLE. RIGHT BEFORE HIM ON THE FLOOR WAS MR. SHUAN, ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES; THE BLOOD WAS POURING FROM HIS MOUTH. The scene s e e m s endless, w i t h t h e s h o u t i n g a n d leaping a n d s l a s h i n g : T H E R O U N D - H O U S E W A S LIKE A SHAMBLES; THREE WERE

DEAD INSIDE, ANOTHER LAY IN HIS DEATH AGONY ACROSS THE THRESHOLD; AND THERE WERE ALAN AND I VICTORIOUS AND UNHURT. HE TURNED TO THE FOUR ENEMIES, PASSED HIS SWORD CLEAN THROUGH EACH OF THEM, AND TUMBLED THEM OUT OF DOORS ONE AFTER THE OTHER. AS HE DID SO HE KEPT HUMMING AND SINGING AND WHISTLING TO HIMSELF. HIS EYES WERE AS BRIGHT AS A FIVE-YEAR OLD CHILD'S WITH A N E W TOY. There m a y b e irony i n Stevenson's voice as h e presents these p r o u d , b l o o d y scenes, b u t t h e child reader is n o t interested i n s u c h subtleties. Imagine t h e m u l t i t u d e of b o y s w h o h a v e b r a n d i s h e d shiny pistols a n d s w o r d s over t h e last century, each of t h e m b e c o m i n g D a v i d Balfour a s h e cries o u t " T a k e that!" t o t h e villains. ** *

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These observations about the boldness and cleverness of the male hero are unoriginal—only too familiar—but as I will offer many instances of the girlish messages of girls' books, it seems fitting to include also specific examples of behavior that w a s considered admirably boyish in boys' fiction. Kidnapped and Treasure Island stressed the warlike side of the male image, then, and Robinson Crusoe the resourcefulness; the most important quality in Tom Sawyer (1876) and Huckleberry Finn (1884) w a s independence. Tom struggled to escape one constricting force after another— punishments, schooling, chores, bedtime, clothes, all the expectations of his benign world, HE LOOKED EXCEEDINGLY IMPROVED A N D

UNCOMFORTABLE. THERE WAS A RESTRAINT ABOUT WHOLE CLOTHES A N D CLEANLINESS THAT GALLED HIM. H e escaped this civilizing

physically in outrageous escapades and mentally in outrageous tales and fantasies. If a girl character of that era had climbed out the w i n d o w at night or run away to an island leaving everyone to think she w a s dead, she w o u l d have incurred something worse than the head-shaking "Land sakes!" that Tom earned. At the end of Tom Sawyer Tom urged wild Huck to stay in t o w n and live with the W i d o w Douglas, but not in the cop-out spirit of a girls 7 story; he simply wanted his friend nearby, to join in n e w adventures. Tom did not end u p with his spirit broken like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and Anne of Green Gables. Huck Finn, of course, is the ultimate emblem of male independence. HUCKLEBERRY CAME AND WENT, AT HIS OWN FREE WILL. HE SLEPT ON DOORSTEPS IN FINE WEATHER AND IN EMPTY HOGSHEADS IN WET; HE DID NOT HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL OR TO CHURCH, OR OBEY ANYBODY; HE COULD GO FISHING OR SWIMMING WHEN AND WHERE HE CHOSE; NOBODY FORBADE HIM TO FIGHT; HE COULD SIT UP AS LATE AS HE PLEASED; HE NEVER HAD TO WASH, NOR PUT ON CLEAN CLOTHES; HE COULD SWEAR WONDERFULLY. IN A WORD, EVERYTHING THAT GOES TO MAKE LIFE PRECIOUS THAT BOY HAD. From this first appearance,

through adventures o n the island and raft, to his final v o w to avoid being "sivilized" b y lighting out for the territory ahead of the rest, Huck Finn never compromised his freedom. Besides courage, ambition, resourcefulness, and independence, t w o other male characteristics were traditionally important: Loyalty to something beyond yourself and insight into other people's

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true nature appear in both male and female characters, but in significantly different forms. From their books, boys learned to be loyal to a team, an ideal, as members of the team or sometimes as leaders. A male protagonist could be intensely loyal to an abstract code or to a superior—king or captain—but his subordinate position, usually, w a s freely chosen, dignified, and important to the superior. In Ivarihoe, Richard the Lion-Hearted w a s involved in the plot as the hero's revered king and mentor, but the king kept his identity hidden and behaved more like a comrade to Ivanhoe than a sovereign. A character might be a junior member of his team, like Ivanhoe or Jim Hawkins, but his distance below the senior members is not great, and his behavior is never subservient. The role of apprentice is appropriate to a boy, as he is younger and less experienced than the elders. H e knows that this junior position is temporary; he will become leader himself one day. Girls s h o w their loyalty from a position permanently secondary; they are locked into a hierarchy where w o m e n are leaders to the children and the weak—but followers to their husbands and other m e n in authority. The nurse will always be below the doctor and the little sister below her brother. In girls' books y o u see cheerful obedience more often than proud loyalty; the female character stands at a greater distance from the object of her loyalty than does a male character. Themes of male loyalty were important in a number of the boys' best adventure stories. Some solitary heroes, like Tarzan and Cooper's Natty Bumppo, were loyal to a code of behavior, a moral or religious conviction, rather than a specific person or group. Natty Bumppo, called Deerslayer and Hawkeye, w a s strong and clever like Tarzan, and brave enough to endure Indian torture without flinching. His most notable quality, though, w a s the forthright honesty that caused him frequently to halt the action and pontificate about his moral code. In The Deerslayer (1841) he announced: "I HOLD IT TO BE ONLAWFUL TO TAKE THE LIFE OF MAN, EXCEPT IN OPEN AND GENEROUS WARFARE" and "A WHITE MAN'S GIFTS ARE CHRISTIANIZED, WHILE A REDSKIN'S ARE MORE FOR THE WILDERNESS. THUS, IT WOULD BE A GREAT OFFENSE FOR A WHITE MAN TO SCALP THE DEAD; WHEREAS IT'S A SIGNAL VARTUE IN AN INDIAN. THEN AG'IN, A

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MESSAGES

WHITE MAN CANNOT AMBOOSH WOMEN AND CHILDREN IN WAR, WHILE A REDSKIN MAY." T h e Deerslayer k e p t h i s w o r d loyally, b u t h e followed n o m a s t e r — o n l y h i s conscience. Kipling's stories a r e always a b o u t allegiance to a virile code. H e s h o w e d a boy-hero training for life u n d e r t h e ruthless L a w of t h e Jungle i n The Jungle Books (1894), another learning t o follow t h e rules of t h e great espionage G a m e i n Kim (1901). Clearly, each b o y w a s destined to b e c o m e a leader w h e n h i s training w a s complete. M o w g l i learned t o obey t h e l a w s of justice a n d cruel revenge: "WHAT IS THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE? STRIKE FIRST AND THEN GIVE T O N G U E / ' Kipling a n d t h e animals t a u g h t M o w g l i a xenophobic d e v o t i o n t o h i s o w n t e a m — t h e Master W o r d s w e r e "WE BE OF O N E BLOOD, THOU AND I," AND A FAVORITE SAYING WAS "NORTH ARE THE VERMIN; SOUTH ARE THE LICE. WE ARE THE JUNGLE." Even as a little boy, M o w g l i loved "killing right a n d left/ 7 p r o v i n g h i s b o l d n e s s a n d p o w e r o v e r e n e m i e s , THERE W A S N O T H I N G M O W G L I LIKED BET-

TER THAN TO PULL THE WHISKERS OF DEATH AND MAKE THE JUNGLE FEEL T H A T H E W A S THEIR OVERLORD. H i s affection t o w a r d h i s t e a m -

m a t e s h a d a n exalted a n d erotic tone; leaning u p o n h i s friend t h e s n a k e after a battle, H E FELT K A A G R O W BIGGER A N D BROADER BELOW

HIM AS THE HUGE PYTHON PUFFED HIMSELF OUT, HISSING WITH THE NOISE OF A SWORD DRAWN FROM A STEEL SCABBARD. Loyalty t o t h e L a w a n d those w i t h i n t h e L a w w a s t h e basis for all civilization, a n d those w h o lacked t h e L a w w e r e , like t h e M o n k e y People, detestable a n d w r e t c h e d . A m e r i c a n b o y s a p p a r e n t l y loved this m u r d e r o u s colonial, racist stuff. Kim, a m o r e sophisticated tale, also concerns t h e d e v e l o p m e n t of a b o y w h o m u s t c o m b i n e t h e primitive strengths of a lower society (Indians in Kim equalling jungle animals in The Jungle Books) w i t h t h e godlike virtues of t h e colonial male. T h e b o o k ' s excitement lay in t h e s p y a d v e n t u r e , t h e d e a d l y G a m e that tested y o u n g K i m ' s loyalties. O n e adviser t a u g h t h i m : "is N O T THE LITTLE GUN A DELIGHT? IT IS BORNE IN THE BOSOM NEXT THE SKIN, WHICH, AS IT WERE, KEEPS IT OILED. NEVER PUT IT ELSEWHERE, AND PLEASE GOD, T H O U SHALT SOME DAY KILL A M A N W I T H IT." T h i s is a n o d d w a y of

pleasing G o d , b u t inspiring to m a l e y o u t h in Kipling's era and mine.

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Insight into people's character is the other quality besides loyalty that takes a different form in girls' and boys 7 books. Girls' stories stress empathy and sympathy and include few characters w h o are really bad. Some are difficult or unhappy but can be cajoled by an understanding female person; others seem bad but turn out to be good inside or reformable through the power of feminine goodness. Boys' stories, on the other hand, delight in grossly wicked characters and morally ambiguous characters. Boy protagonists defeat or escape bad people w h o challenge them; and they figure out the truth about the ambiguous characters. What interests m e particularly is that a male hero does not expect people to change. H e tries to understand them so he can define them as friend or enemy, superior or inferior, and deal with them successfully; but he does not hope to reform the bad or improve the flawed. While the heroine's world cannot tolerate the existence of real, implacable villains, the hero's world needs them. Boys must win, so they need somebody to beat; girls must create harmony, so they need somebody to help. Each has an insight into character that is appropriate to his or her purpose, the males wanting to get on with the achieving of their personal goals and the females wanting to understand and advance the goals of people around them. So in Treasure Island Long John Silver could be Jim's treacherous enemy and his fascinating mentor, without the inconsistency being resolved. Kidnapped w a s a murky mixture of right and wrong action and allegiance. In the Tarzan books John Clayton w a s an appealing y o u n g man even though reprehensible w h e n he claimed the title, knowing that Tarzan w a s the real Lord Greystoke. Mark Twain had mixed characters like Muff Potter, w h o w a s a no-account low-life but did not deserve to be convicted of a crime he didn't commit. It is safe to generalize that boys' stories told boys to be realistic, keen in judging others, fair but skeptical; girls' stories told girls to be idealistic, keen in understanding others, generally trusting and making allowances. While trust and empathy are fine things (I prefer books that teach children h o w to understand an outcast rather than h o w to unmask and torture a traitor), it w o u l d probably improve these girls' lives if they could

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learn to identify the traitors too, and not always deny that hostility exists. These traditional male characteristics found in earlier fiction did not disappear in twentieth-century children's books. For example, the sea stories of Howard Pease written in the 1940s follow the old patterns. Pease's teenage protagonists usually acted alone. One rescued a comrade w h o w a s tied u p at a v o o d o o ceremony in a Caribbean jungle; one lived broke in N e w York b y sleeping in Central Park and working as a furnace-tender; one escaped bandits in Mexico b y zooming d o w n a dangerous mountain road in a defective car. A typical hero, Tod Moran in his Mexican adventure had an annoying habit of exhorting himself to d o better in a crisis: HOW FAR, TOD WONDERED, WOULD A CAR FALL BEFORE IT HIT THE RIVER? HUNDREDS OF FEET, PROBABLY THOUSANDS. DRIVE STEADY, TOD MORAN— DRIVE STEADY! Another time, THERE WAS N O HELP AT H A N D , N O T EVEN

AN AX OR A SHOVEL. BUT THERE WERE NUMBERLESS DEAD PALM FRONDS IN THAT TROPICAL GROWTH AND PLENTY OF GRAVEL. FURTHERMORE, HE HAD TWO HANDS. TIME TO GET TO WORK, TOD MORAN! The most absurd twentieth-century examples of brave, clever, independent b o y heroes appeared in a 1928 book I found recently in a secondhand store, Mystery and Adventure Stories for Boys, Four Complete Books. It interested m e because its cover resembled the cover of a book I liked as a child, and it w a s obviously a companion volume. The girls in Mystery Stories for Girls, Four Complete Books (just called mysteries in the female book, not adventures) were fairly well characterized and their escapades were fairly plausible. The boys 7 stories were different; they had w o o d e n characters with n o motivation, and impossible events with n o connecting plot, presented in a dreary, stale style. Transitions were effected with this degree of sophistication: "WE ARE ADRIFT O N THE ICE!" CRIED

ANDY. "WE ONLY ESCAPED FROM ONE DANGER TO FALL INTO ANOTHER!" What these boys 7 stories did have w a s all the stereotypes of b o y heroes. One lad lived o n a Naval Air Station, THE CALL OF THE OPEN SPACES SEEMED INBORN IN THE SMITH FAMILY. ANY BOY WHO HAS RED BLOOD IN HIM, AND BILLY WAS NO ALICE-SIT-BY-THE-FIRE, IS BOUND TO BECOME INFECTED BY SUCH ENVIRONMENT. Later in the

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y o u n g career of "Billy Smith—Exploring A c e , " h e w a s b e i n g att a c k e d in a j u n g l e : WHILE T W O O F THE LITTLE M E N ATTACKED H I M I N

FRONT, THE OTHER SPRANG UPON HIS BACK. QUICK AS THOUGHT, BILL CAUGHT AT THE ARM ENCIRCLING HIS THROAT AND CATAPULTED THE SAVAGE OVER HIS HEAD. IN THE INSTANT'S RESPITE THE LAD MANAGED TO DRAW HIS REVOLVER AND, AS THE THIRD NATIVE RAISED HIS STONETIPPED CLUB T O STRIKE, BILL PISTOLED HIM. T h e " B o y R a n c h e r s " h a d just as m u c h fun: W I T H DISTINCT FEELINGS O F JOY, A N D N O ALARM WHATEVER, N O R T A N D DICK W A T C H E D T H E H A N D S O F SLIM A N D BABE SLIDE T O W A R D THEIR HOLSTERS, W H E R E NESTLED THEIR .45 G U N S . . . . BUD A N D H I S C O U S I N S S A W A SIGHT W H I C H THRILLED T H E M T H R O U G H A N D T H R O U G H . I N T H E MIDST O F A N E N C A M P M E N T O F TENTS, SEVERAL M E N WERE KNEELING, USING PACKS A N D BAGGAGE A S A BARRICADE, THEY WERE FIRING OVER THIS LINE O F DEFENSE A T OBJECTS UNSEEN, BUT W H I C H WERE EASILY GUESSED T O BE H U M A N S , W I T H MORE O R LESS SINISTER MOTIVES.

The p l u c k y o r p h a n b o y s in " T h r o u g h the Air to t h e N o r t h P o l e " s h o w e d their ingenuity in h a n d l i n g a peculiar airship that w a s electric a n d involved b o t h a propeller a n d a n i m m e n s e phallic g a s b a g SHAPED LIKE A CIGAR, BIG IN THE MIDDLE AND TAPERING AT BOTH ENDS. W h e n t h e airship w a s disabled, the b o y s s h o w e d its inventor how

to r e p a i r it. " H A V E Y O U A N Y T H I N G T O M E N D T H E SILK BAG

WITH?" WENT ON THE BOY—"IF YOU'LL LET ME I'LL CLIMB UP AND MEND THE HOLE THE EAGLE MADE." "DARE YOU DO IT?" CRIED THE OLD PROFESSOR, HOPE SHINING IN HIS FACE. THE ANSWER, NATURALLY, WAS, "TRY ME A N D SEE!" The b o y s in these " F o u r C o m p l e t e B o o k s " w e r e invariably bold a n d smart, a n d they s h a r e d t h e s e n s u o u s joys of b e i n g loyal m e m b e r s of t h e team, " o n e of u s " : T H O U G H THE BOYS PROTESTED AT BEING MADE TO REMAIN IN BED, THE OLD MAN INSISTED. HE MADE THEM TAKE OFF MOST OF THEIR CLOTHES, AND THEN BROUGHT OUT SOME LINIMENT. UNDER HIS DIRECTION JACK AND MARK RUBBED THEMSELVES WELL, AND EXPERIENCED ALMOST IMMEDIATE RELIEF. This m a y b e a traditional k i n d of m a l e experience, b u t I personally w o u l d n o t b e pleased if I learned m y o w n sons h a d taken off their clothes a n d experienced almost i m m e d i a t e relief s u p e r v i s e d b y this old m a n a n d h i s w o n d e r f u l r u b b i n g technique.

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Girls in Boys' Books In looking at the messages b o y s received from their o w n r e a d i n g , I d o n ' t w a n t to neglect the female characters. They w e r e mostly absent or insignificant; w h e n p r e s e n t they w e r e w e a k , suffering, a n d saintly. Girl a n d w o m e n characters in b o y s ' stories fall into four types. Some are unreliable, frivolous, vain. Some are sweet, appealing, a n d w e a k . Some are n u r t u r i n g . A v e r y few are strong a n d resourceful—to s o m e degree. These few w o m e n w h o try to take action in a crisis almost a l w a y s fail; their little efforts fizzle a n d t h e y are rescued b y m e n . Robinson Crusoe ignored w o m e n . Treasure Island noticed Jim's m o t h e r briefly b u t s h o w e d h e r to b e incompetent: early in t h e book, her m u d d l e d behavior almost got herself a n d Jim c a u g h t b y the pirates. Kipling m e n t i o n e d only a few w o m e n characters perfunctorily, usually of the m a t e r n a l type. The one w o m a n in Kipling's Captains Courageous w a s H a r v e y ' s rich m o t h e r , w h o h a d spoiled h i m so a b o m i n a b l y that the entire b o o k w a s d e v o t e d to t u r n i n g h i m into a b r a v e y o u n g m a n instead of a m a m a ' s boy. N o girl characters in Kipling's b o o k s s h a r e d in the b o y s ' a d v e n t u r e s , e v e n in a s u b o r d i n a t e position. Lorna Doone (1869) presents a l u s h array of female stereotypes. John Ridd, the s h r e w d a n d forthright h e r o , h a d a m o t h e r w h o w a s s t u p i d a n d fluttery; o n e sister w h o w a s clever a n d s h a r p t o n g u e d a n d physically deformed (since intelligence in females traditionally a p p e a r e d along w i t h s o m e abnormality); a n d another sister w h o w a s sweet a n d feminine. Sister ANNIE W A S OF A PLEASING FACE AND VERY GENTLE MANNER, WITHOUT ANY AIRS, ONLY TRYING TO GIVE SATISFACTION. IF SHE FAILED, SHE WOULD GO AND WEEP, BELIEVING THE FAULT TO BE ALL HER OWN, WHEN MOSTLY IT WAS OF OTHERS. BUT IF SHE SUCCEEDED IN PLEASING YOU, IT WAS BEAUTIFUL TO SEE HER SMILE, TAKING NOTE HOW TO DO THE RIGHT THING AGAIN FOR YOU. Alas, submissiveness in " l i t t l e " A n n i e w a s n o t a c c o m p a n i e d b y g o o d j u d g m e n t . She w a s so easily s w a y e d that she fell for a n obv i o u s trick a n d t u r n e d over to a n e n e m y a priceless d i a m o n d necklace. The family chastised h e r b u t w e r e n o t s u p r i s e d at h e r

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witlessness and soon became reconciled to the loss. Other conventional females were the crude but loyal "little" maidservant Gwenny and John's long-suffering "little" cousin Ruth, w h o hid her unrequited love for John and dedicated herself to saving the life of his w o u n d e d bride Lorna after the doctor declared her officially dead. Ruth proved herself almost of heroine quality not just by sacrificial actions but b y fainting several times. The champion fainter and head heroine w a s Lorna Doone herself. Lorna w a s not presented as an unusually timid girl. She occasionally spoke u p for herself, gently. Once she actually helped her lover b y waking him w h e n he fell asleep while standing guard against an expected attack. Nonetheless, her most notable qualities were confusion and a tendency to faint. At one point, Lorna w a s living o n the Ridds' farm, having been rescued b y John from her relatives the Doones, a cruel robber band. She sensed that she could be doing something useful around the farm but, in the words of her beloved John, IT WAS QUITE I N V A I N TO TELL HER THAT SHE WAS EXPECTED TO D O NOTHING, A N D FAR WORSE T H A N V A I N (FOR IT M A D E HER CRY SADLY) IF A N Y O N E ASSURED HER THAT SHE COULD D O N O G O O D A T ALL. SHE EVEN BEGAN U P O N MOTHER'S GARDEN, BEFORE THE S N O W WAS CLEAN GONE FROM IT, A N D SOWED A BEAUTIFUL ROW OF PEAS, EVERY O N E OF WHICH THE

MICE ATE. This Dora syndrome (which I name after David Copperfield's feeble child-bride) presents the most lovable maiden as the one w h o is physically weak and mentally vacant. A s for physical weakness, Lorna Doone w a s perfectly healthy but had a sensitivity that manifested itself through swooning, an activity that her suitor John found titillating. At their first childhood meeting, in John's words, SHE SHRANK TO ME, A N D LOOKED UP AT ME, WITH SUCH A POWER OF WEAKNESS, THAT I AT ONCE MADE UP MY MIND TO SAVE HER, OR TO DIE WITH HER. A TINGLE WENT THROUGH ALL MY BONES, AND I ONLY LONGED FOR MY CARBINE. Years later, w h e n John sneaked into the robbers' d e n to rescue her, she w a s weak and ill because her cousin Carver w a s trying to starve her into submission: SHE H A D FAINTED AWAY, A N D LAY BACK O N A

CHAIR, AS WHITE AS THE SNOW AROUND US. Then, THE TENDER HUE FLOWED BACK AGAIN INTO HER FAMISHED CHEEKS AND LIPS. SHE GAVE

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ME ONE LITTLE SHRUNKEN HAND. LATER, LORNA WAS SO FAR OPPRESSED WITH ALL THE TROUBLES OF THE EVENING THAT SHE LAY QUITE MOTIONLESS, LIKE FAIREST WAX IN THE MOONLIGHT. W h e n Lorna a n d John spoke u p t o the evil uncle a n d defied his p o w e r over her, s h e naturally fainted once m o r e : SHE FELL INTO MY ARMS; AND THERE SHE LAY WITH NO OTHER SOUND, EXCEPT A GURGLING I N HER THROAT. A n d o n another occasion, after learning g o o d n e w s a b o u t h e r uncertain p a r e n t a g e , Lorna LAY BACK O N THE GARDEN BENCH, WHILE HER COLOUR WENT AND CAME; AND ONLY BY THAT, AND HER QUIVERING BREAST, COULD ANYONE SAY THAT SHE LIVED A N D THOUGHT. Most frightening, lustful cousin Carver D o o n e c a m e after h e r once w i t h " h i s long g u n " w h e n s h e w a s a l o n e o u t s i d e , T H E M A I D E N , A L T H O U G H S O U S E D T O TERROR, LOST A L L

PRESENCE OF MIND, AND COULD NEITHER SHRIEK NOR FLY, BUT ONLY GAZE, AS IF BEWITCHED. FRIGHT HAD STRICKEN HER STIFF AS STONE. To t o r m e n t her, Carver fired right at h e r feet, WITH N O SIGN O F PITY IN HIS FACE, BUT A WELL-PLEASED GRIN AT ALL THE CHARMING PALSY OF HIS VICTIM. I a m m u l t i p l y i n g examples of Lorna's wilting t e n d e n c y t o s h o w that it is n o m i n o r , incidental element i n the story. The v e r y core of Lorna Doone w a s John's love for Lorna, a n d the core of that love w a s h i s noble strength a n d h e r miserable w e a k n e s s , w h i c h t h e a u t h o r himself w o r s h i p p e d a n d described i n endless detail. Blackm o r e a n d his h e r o found n o t h i n g unattractive a b o u t L o r n a ' s "little shrunken hand," "gurgling throat," "quivering breast," a n d " c h a r m i n g p a l s y . " They found it n a t u r a l t h a t the h e r o i n e ' s m o s t c o m m o n p o s t u r e w a s "stiff a s s t o n e , " "like fairest w a x . " After all this, the w e d d i n g scene w a s inevitable: AFTER THE PARS O N HAD BLESSED US, LORNA TURNED TO LOOK AT ME, WITH A SUBDUED GLANCE. HER EYES TOLD ME SUCH A DEPTH OF COMFORT THAT I WAS ALMOST AMAZED. DARLING EYES, MOST LOVING EYES—THE SOUND OF A SHOT RANG THROUGH THE CHURCH, AND THOSE EYES WERE FILLED WITH DEATH. LORNA FELL ACROSS MY KNEES, A FLOOD OF BLOOD CAME OUT UPON THE WOOD OF THE ALTAR STEPS; AND AT MY FEET LAY LORNA, TRYING TO TELL ME SOME LAST MESSAGE OUT OF HER FAITHFUL EYES. C o u s i n Carver h a d struck again. I t r y n o t t o m a r this t o u c h i n g scene b y noticing that Lorna's eyes w e r e described in t e r m s suitable t o a cocker spaniel. Lorna s u r v i v e d t o live h a p -

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pily with John and their brood. A strong, honorable man w i n s his prize, and the best prize in an adventure is the golden treasure or, more likely, the golden lady w h o out-languishes all the others. Or often both. W o m e n in the Tarzan books were like Lorna Doone: they were basically feeble, in spite of slight differences in courage and competence. A servant accompanied the white travelers shipwrecked o n the African shore (in order to amuse the author b y being fat and a "Negress"). This Esmerelda w a s even more confused and terrified than her mistress Jane. Once w h e n the t w o w o m e n were besieged b y a lion while waiting in their hut, Jane tried to protect herself and Esmerelda, her inferior (as the superior m e n w o u l d try to protect Jane). Predictably the effort came to naught. Jane shot at the lion, only grazing it though she shot at close range, and then fainted. She w a s saved b y the arrival of Tarzan, w h o could d o with his bare hands what Jane could not d o with a loaded rifle. In another story Jane escaped from her captors in a jungle camp, stole a gun, and made her w a y back to the river and the ship of her friends. The reader starts to hope that this time she may accomplish something useful, but foolish mistakes caused her downfall, AFTER ALL HER PAINS, HER HEROIC STRUGGLE FOR FREE-

DOM HAD FAILED. WITH A STIFLED SOB SHE GAVE UP THE UNEQUAL BATTLE. Jane appeared more often and more appropriately in a horizontal position, as w h e n w e see her floating unconscious in a small boat: While Tarzan D A N C E D A M O N G HIS N A K E D FELLOW SAVAGES,

THE FIRELIGHT GLEAMING AGAINST HIS GREAT, ROLLING MUSCLES, THE PERSONIFICATION OF PHYSICAL PERFECTION AND STRENGTH, THE WOMAN WHO LOVED HIM LAY THIN AND EMACIATED IN THE LAST COMA THAT PRECEDES DEATH BY THIRST AND STARVATION. Later Jane w a s tied u p o n the stone altar of savages preparing for sacrifice. SHE TREMBLED IN AN AGONY OF FRIGHT. DURING THE GROTESQUE DANCE OF THE VOTARIES, SHE LAY FROZEN IN HORROR, NOR DID SHE REQUIRE THE SIGHT OF THE THIN BLADE AS IT ROSE SLOWLY ABOVE HER TO ENLIGHTEN HER AS TO HER DOOM. AS THE HAND BEGAN ITS DESCENT, JANE PORTER CLOSED HER EYES AND SENT UP A SILENT PRAYER—THEN SHE SUCCUMBED TO THE STRAIN UPON HER TIRED NERVES, AND SWOONED.

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A w o m a n w h o faces too great a trial will simply give u p and absent herself, like Jane and like Tarzan's mother, Alice, in the first book. When Alice and her husband were shipwrecked alone at the jungle's edge, Greystoke declared that "WORK MUST BE OUR SALVATION. WE MUST FACE WHATEVER COMES, BRAVELY" and he got right to work. The lady bemoaned her fate for a while and then quietly w e n t mad. Until she died, Lady Greystoke thought she w a s back in England with her servants and her furniture. In truth, while these w o m e n did not exactly enjoy their torments and captivities, in the eyes of their male author they did long to be abducted by the right kind of strong, overpowering savage. When Tarzan first carried off Jane he had not yet learned human speech and she had no idea what this apelike creature w a s u p to; nonetheless, after a token struggle, SHE GAVE UP THE FUTILE EFFORT AND LAY QUIETLY. A FEELING OF DREAMY PEACEFULNESS STOLE OVER JANE AS SHE SANK DOWN UPON THE GRASS WHERE TARZAN HAD PLACED HER, AND AS SHE LOOKED UP AT HIS GREAT FIGURE TOWERING ABOVE HER, THERE WAS ADDED A STRANGE SENSE OF PERFECT SECURITY. Despite his savage training Tarzan k n e w by instinct that a human lady is to be protected and so the perfect match came about, the godlike primitive man and the passive lady. A n d y o u n g readers were told once again that the traditional advice to maidens being raped is reasonable: "Give u p the futile effort and lie quietly/' in a state of "dreamy peacefulness." The best-known novelists of historical adventure, Walter Scott and James Fenimore Cooper, created rousing but stereotypical heroines. They both liked to provide a strong w o m a n as contrast to a weak heroine. The strong w o m a n w a s often a sympathetic character, but she never w o n out in the end. Cora, the strong sister in The Last of the Mohicans (1826), died nobly trying to save her honor and her sister Alice. A n d even she w a s often lumped with Alice in the category of feeble females: THE TREMBLING SISTERS WERE COWERING IN THE FAR CORNER OF THE BUILDING. When the allies took a large cache of weapons, everybody got one except the sisters. Similarly, Scott's strong and intelligent w o m e n could be admired but must be punished. Rebecca, the beautiful and virtuous "Jewess" in Ivanhoe (1820), w a s exiled while blonde Rowena, dim and dreary, w e d the hero.

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In Tom Sawyer a n d Huckleberry Finn, M a r k T w a i n g a v e u s a n a m b i g u o u s v i e w of feminine stereotypes. H e b o t h s u p p o r t e d t h e conventional picture of w o m a n a n d u n d e r c u t it w i t h his satire. T o m eloquently explained to his friends t h e n a t u r e of w o m e n : First y o u k i d n a p t h e m a n d t h e n " Y O U SHUT U P THE W O M E N , BUT YOU DONT KILL THEM. THEY'RE ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL AND RICH, AND AWFULLY SCARED. YOU TAKE THEIR WATCHES AND THINGS, BUT YOU ALWAYS TAKE YOUR HAT OFF AND TALK POLITE. WELL, THE WOMEN GET TO LOVING YOU, AND AFTER THEY'VE BEEN IN THE CAVE A WEEK OR TWO WEEKS THEY STOP CRYING AND AFTER THAT YOU COULDN'T GET THEM TO LEAVE. IF YOU DROVE THEM OUT THEY'D TURN RIGHT AROUND AND COME BACK. IT'S SO IN ALL THE BOOKS." A n d H u c k learned that w o m e n enjoy d y i n g as well as b e i n g k i d n a p p e d . Staying at t h e Grangerford family's h o u s e , h e w o n d e r e d at t h e g l o o m y d r a w i n g s o n a b e d r o o m wall depicting y o u n g ladies w e e p i n g over a d e a d bird, leaping off a b r i d g e in t h e moonlight, a n d " l e a n i n g p e n s i v e o n a t o m b s t o n e . " T h e late E m m e l i n e G r a n gerford h a d p r o d u c e d these d r a w i n g s along w i t h m o u r n f u l poetic tributes to a n y o n e w h o died, until s h e herself p i n e d a w a y a n d d i e d at t h e age of 14. The r e a d e r realized that these m o r b i d females w e r e ludicrous a n d unrealistic, satirically described i m a g e s from romantic fiction. But T o m S a w y e r ' s o w n real a d v e n t u r e s — a s distinguished from his play-acting fantasies—involved a real m a i d e n w h o w a s equally pitiful a n d s w o o n i n g . W h e n T o m a n d Becky got lost in the cave they b e h a v e d v e r y m u c h like traditional strong h e r o a n d w e a k heroine. They b o t h b e c a m e terrified a n d d e s p e r a t e b u t T o m took o n t w o virile tasks—to find a n escape r o u t e a n d to protect Becky. H e r s w a s a totally female role: AT LAST BECKY'S FRAIL LIMBS

REFUSED TO CARRY HER FURTHER. FATIGUE BORE SO HEAVILY UPON BECKY THAT SHE DROWSED OFF TO SLEEP.... BECKY GAVE LOOSE TO TEARS AND WAILINGS. HE PROPOSED TO EXPLORE ANOTHER PASSAGE. BUT BECKY WAS VERY WEAK. SHE HAD SUNK INTO A DREARY APATHY AND WOULD NOT BE ROUSED. SHE SAID SHE WOULD WAIT, NOW, WHERE SHE WAS, A N D DIE—IT W O U L D N O T BE LONG. T o m ' s d o g g e d exploring

s a v e d t h e t w o of t h e m . Afterwards they n e e d e d a few d a y s to recover: T O M G O T ABOUT, A LITTLE, O N THURSDAY, A N D W A S NEARLY

AS WHOLE AS EVER SATURDAY; BUT BECKY DID NOT LEAVE HER ROOM

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UNTIL SUNDAY, AND THEN SHE LOOKED AS IF SHE HAD PASSED THROUGH A WASTING ILLNESS. For all the Mark Twain humor, Tom

and Becky are n o different from Tarzan and Jane or John Ridd and Lorna Doone. They d o not shatter the gender stereotypes or even make them quiver. I myself knew nothing that w o u l d challenge gender stereotypes— I didn't even know any boys or men, to talk to and listen to. M y father w a s loving but elderly and a bit remote. I had n o brothers or male playmates. At school I never thought of boys as real people w h o might consider m e a real person. The split between b o y and girl worlds w a s absolute, and the b o y world w a s clearly the more serious, taking u p more physical and mental space. I went to movies a lot (we had n o TV)—cowboy and World War II movies as well as musicals where Doris D a y sang in a sleigh or kissed West Point cadets. These cheerful musicals starred boy-next-door actors like Mickey Rooney and Van Johnson. They were likable, but not fascinating like the virile Western-and-War actors: William Holden, Gregory Peck, John Wayne, Henry Fonda, Robert Taylor. Real m e n were inscrutable and strong, almost o m nipotent; not funny, or fun. I greatly admired m y o w n much older, handsome half-brother, a submarine officer. Fred looked a bit like William Holden, and since I s a w h i m seldom, m y brain got the t w o of them jumbled together o n the same plane of reality. A neighbor family had a girl m y sister's age and a b o y one year older than I. The t w o older girls were great friends. When they graduated from ninth grade, Paul and I were left to wait at the schoolbus stop together for t w o more years. H e w a s a quiet, pleasant lad, I believe. In that time w e didn't exchange a single word, except once w h e n the b u s didn't s h o w up. I w a s terrified he might talk, and glad that he didn't. We never looked each other in the eye.

Animal Stories In m y youth all children, girls and boys, were encouraged to enjoy stories about real (as distinguished from fantasy) animals. Teachers and parents liked the conservative values taught in these

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books; children liked the adventures and the noble beasts. School reading lists offered Lassie and Black Beauty and Call of the Wild as enthusiastically as David Copperfield and Huckleberry Finn. Animal stories m a y not seem aimed at one sex more than the other, but male and female reactions to animal books differed. Boys of m y generation liked books of the animal-as-hero type (such as Call of the Wild), while girls liked animal-as-partner-and-friend-to-ayoung-human books (like Misty). Again, girls chose stories about relationships; boys chose stories about an individual—a hero's struggle to prove himself, to succeed triumphantly or fail tragically. Examining various animal books, those read b y girls and those read b y boys, y o u see the patterns found in other genres—males dominate and thrive, take risks and find adventures; only a few females are present and they are weak, incompetent, or insignificant. In addition to the animal hero present in all these books, the animal-as-partner authors also provided a y o u n g human protagonist, w h o o w n e d or tamed the animal hero. H o w many of these y o u n g people were girls? Only one—Velvet Brown, w h o had to dress as a b o y so she could race the horse herself and w h o w a s m u c h weaker and more vulnerable than the b o y protagonists in other animal stories. In animal books children learned about a hierarchical, usually harsh world, much like that of Kidnapped or Kim, and they learned the right w a y to live in it—with strength, courage, cleverness, and loyalty. In the boys 7 animal-as-hero books, ruthlessness, even brutality, were also essential. Life in the wild w a s a violent struggle against the cruel natural world: Wolves' MENACING GROWLS, SAVAGE YELPS, AND BRITTLE CRUNCHING AND RIPPING TELL THE STORY OF THE FEAST, in the opening scene of Silver Chief (by Jack O'Brien, 1933) and in countless grim descriptions b y Jack London, Albert Payson Terhune, and Ernest Seton Thompson. The hero of Jack London's White Fang (1906) KNEW THE LAW WELL—TO OPPRESS THE

WEAK AND OBEY THE STRONG. HE ALSO KNEW THAT THE LAW WAS: EAT, OR BE EATEN. This is meant literally; the book described a famine in which dogs ate dogs and m e n ate dogs. Our memories of one wild animal book, Felix Salten's Bambi (1929), are softened b y images from the Disney movie, but in fact the book contained n o singing skunks or flitting butterflies—in-

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stead, a b r u t a l sequence of killings, battles, a n d n a t u r a l disasters. BAMBI HURLED HIMSELF ON RONNO WITH REDOUBLED FURY. A PRONG BROKE FROM RONNO'S ANTLERS WITH A LOUD SNAP. RONNO THOUGHT HIS FOREHEAD WAS SHATTERED. THE NEXT MOMENT A TERRIFIC BLOW TORE O P E N H I S SHOULDER. This w a s t h e r i g h t b e h a v i o r t o w i n t h e

h e a r t of a doe: After R o n n o s l u n k a w a y bleeding, Faline came o u t of t h e thicket, " T H A T W A S W O N D E R F U L , " SHE SAID L A U G H I N G L Y t o

Bambi. "I LOVE Y O U . "

These struggling a n i m a l heroes w e r e male a n d s t u p e n d o u s l y h e roic, e v e n w h e n t h e y w e r e d e s t r o y e d b y n a t u r e or society. "HE'S NO ORDINARY HORSE.... HE'S BEAUTIFUL, SAVAGE, AND NOBLE," w a s said of Satan, s o n of t h e Black Stallion (1947). H E WAS MONSTROUS, AND HIS BLACK BODY GLISTENED IN THE SUN. IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL BUT UNEARTHLY SIGHT A N D HENRY W A S AFRAID. Heroic Buck, at t h e e n d

of Call of the Wild, w a s r u n n i n g w i t h t h e w o l v e s , LEAPING GIGANTIC ABOVE HIS FELLOWS. These beasts w e r e all noble a n d wonderful, a n d except for Lassie a n d Misty a n d Flicka every o n e I k n o w of w a s male. Their p o w e r lay i n their maleness, so that K e n i n Thunderhead (1943) w a s terrified that h i s beautiful stallion, if gelded, w o u l d lose h i s strength a n d spirit. N o w , w i t h h i s h o r m o n e s intact, t h e horse's

LEGS WERE L O N G A N D POWERFULLY MUSCLED, H I S N E C K

MASSIVE AND ARCHED. STRENGTH, POWER AND WILFULNESS WERE STILL HIS OUTSTANDING CHARACTERISTICS. KEN HAD SEEN THE COLTS BEFORE GELDING, THE POWER THAT FLOWED THROUGH THEM LIKE HOT LAVA, MAKING THEM REAR AND PLAY AND FIGHT AND WRESTLE; MAKING THEIR TAILS AND MANES LIFT LIKE FLYING BANNERS. AND HE HAD SEEN THEM AFTER. SEEN THE CHANGE IN THE CARRIAGE OF THE HEAD, THE LOOK OF THE EYE, THE GENERAL BEHAVIOR. It's that p o w e r flowing like h o t lava that i m p r e s s e d a pre-adolescent h u m a n reader. Reading t h e animal-as-hero b o o k s , y o u m i g h t feel p i t y a n d terror, b u t n o t outrage: y o u c o u l d n ' t a r g u e w i t h t h e n a t u r a l order of things. T h e girls' animal-as-victim b o o k s , o n t h e other h a n d , called for indignation because it w a s h u m a n society that h u r t a n d d e stroyed t h e animals. Black Beauty (1877) w a s especially loved b y girls. I n this classic story, t h e horses e n c o u n t e r e d a series of b a d

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or good owners. They worshipped and obeyed the good masters; with the bad ones they could suffer bravely or just give up, but like girl characters in other kinds of childhood stories these victimanimals must be passive. Horse characters in Black Beauty were brave or snivelling; human characters were kind and empathetic or else cruel. Silver Chief and Buck and White Fang bored m e silly, but I reread many times Black Beauty and also more comfortable books where animal characters have devoted y o u n g human owners. In animal-as-partner books liked by many girls, the youthful hero tamed or trained an animal (horses, dogs, a fawn) and developed an intense relationship with it. Cooperation and empathy were valued but nature and the social order were still stern and youthful characters had to be tough and mature. Often they made terrible sacrifices because of some kind of loyalty: Joe in Eric Knight's Lassie Come-Home (1940) saw his d o g sold because the family w a s poor. At least he got Lassie back in the end, while Jody in The Yearling (1939) and Travis in Old Yeller (1956) had to shoot their beloved pets themselves, to save the family. (Jody's fawn could not be stopped from eating all the crops, and Travis's hound had been bitten by a rabid wolf while defending the farm.) These are stories of growth and initiation in a menacing world. Fourteen-year-old Travis took charge of his family's remote and primitive farm for months while Papa w a s away. Paul in Misty w a s allowed to join the m e n in a dangerous rescue mission after a flood ravaged an island full of wild ponies. You got fearsome bloody scenes here (bear attacks, pig castrations and calf deliveries that went wrong), as violent as the scenes in the animal-as-hero books. You also got a lot of warmth and affection between human and animal and among humans as well, and girl readers seemed to like this. In all these animal tales (except for National Velvet where the heroine and her mother are central but both are in some w a y freakish) the female presence is minimal, marginal, and dull. The boy may have had a younger sister or admiring girl neighbor, but his relations with her were stereotyped. Misty (1947) w a s typical: THE BOY WAS TALLER THAN THE GIRL AND LED THE WAY. "QUIT ACT-

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ING LIKE A GIRL, MAUREEN!" and s o on, little touches repeated in-

sidiously often. National Velvet (1935) w a s the most interesting girl character but also the saddest, because she w a s depicted as not really u p to the challenge she set herself. I remember as a child being bothered that Velvet kept vomiting under the slightest stress and that she fainted at the end of her triumphant race. She w a s both bold and timorous, determined and feeble. The o d d combination seems to reflect undigested ambivalence rather than the psychological complexity Enid Bagnold probably intended. Velvet and her trainer Mi were both committed to her secret plan that she should ride The Piebald in the Grand National race disguised as a boy, but Velvet's role in the planning w a s passive. She had never seen the racecourse, and the night before the race Mi tried to coach her o n the details of various jumps, SHE SAID AT ONCE, "DON'T TELL ME A

THING MORE. I WANT JUST TO SLIDE ALONG TILL IT'S TIME, THINKING OF NOTHING AT ALL." Velvet's boy-counterparts in other horse books k n e w exactly what they were doing; Alec and Ken and the others insisted o n being masters of their fate. They wouldn't dream of "just sliding along." Mothers were visible in the animal-as-partner books, helpful or strict. Either w a y , they were out of touch with the y o u n g hero's problems. The mother in Lassie meant well but just didn't understand.

("OH, MY HEAVENS! SHALL I NEVER HAVE A N Y PEACE

A N D QUIET I N MY HOME?") Jody, the b o y in The Yearling, conc l u d e d that, W O M E N WERE ALL RIGHT W H E N THEY COOKED G O O D

THINGS TO EAT. THE REST OF THE TIME THEY DID NOTHING BUT MAKE TROUBLE. H i s v i e w w a s not presented ironically. For o n e thing, Jody's attitude w a s shared b y his father: HE WINKED AT JODY A N D JODY WINKED BACK. THERE WAS NO USE IN TRYING TO EXPLAIN TO HER. SHE WAS OUTSIDE THE GOOD MALE UNDERSTANDING. A n d Jody w a s going to b e initiated into this proper role: HE LIKED TO LIE FLAT ON HIS BELLY ON THE EARTH BEFORE THE CAMP-FIRE, WHILE MEN TALKED. THEY HAD SEEN MARVELS. HE FELT HIMSELF MOVING INTO A MYSTIC COMPANY. THE HUNTING TALK OF MEN WAS THE FINEST TALK I N THE WORLD. It is disconcerting to find this "good male understanding," which sounds like bad Hemingway, in a 1939 novel that is in other w a y s sensitive and intelligent.

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In victim books like Black Beauty, w o m e n characters were more remote and even more thinly developed. They appeared in predictable nurturing roles, as angels trying to help the suffering animals. Females were even less visible in the animal-hero books. Albert Payson Terhune's stories about collies featured The Mistress, w h o w a s lovable and not stupid: she s h o w e d a certain l o w cunning and spunk in getting what she wanted for her dogs. Even she w a s weak and sickly, though, and needed to be protected b y her devoted dogs from an array of dangers and mishaps. Female dogs in Terhune were less noble than males—fickle or unreliable or incompetent, causing trouble for patient, protective, male dogs. Other animal-hero books had virtually n o female characters. One appeared in Call of the Wild (1903). She and her husband and brother bought Buck's d o g team to travel through the Yukon, with n o skill or experience. Meeting serious difficulties, they reacted to hardship in different w a y s . MERCEDES NURSED A SPECIAL GRIEV-

ANCE—THE GRIEVANCE OF SEX. SHE WAS PRETTY AND SOFT, AND HAD BEEN CHIVALROUSLY TREATED ALL HER DAYS. BUT THE PRESENT TREATMENT BY HER HUSBAND AND BROTHER WAS EVERYTHING SAVE CHIVALROUS. IT WAS HER CUSTOM TO BE HELPLESS. THEY COMPLAINED. SHE MADE THEIR LIVES UNENDURABLE. SHE NO LONGER CONSIDERED THE DOGS AND SHE PERSISTED IN RIDING ON THE SLED. SHE WAS PRETTY AND SOFT, BUT SHE WEIGHED ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY POUNDS— A LUSTY LAST STRAW TO THE LOAD DRAGGED BY THE WEAK AND STARVING ANIMALS. The m e n b e g g e d her to get u p and walk, and

at one point forcibly removed her from the sled, THEY NEVER DID IT AGAIN. SHE LET HER LEGS GO LIMP LIKE A SPOILED CHILD, AND SAT D O W N O N THE TRAIL until they gave in and slung her back o n the sled. In these heroic stories animals were very noble and m e n were almost as noble, like stalwart John Thornton, the good master of Call of the Wild, and Jim Thorne, the equally brave Mountie of Silver Chief But w o m e n did not share in the general nobility; they were represented b y pretty, soft Mercedes, whining and sulking in the snow. * ** Whether characters were human or just beasts, whether settings were savage or civilized, the c o m m o n denominator in animal

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books w a s that the universe is hierarchical. The perspective w a s less democratic and more elitist than in many other children's genres. It's true that the power structure in families and peer groups w a s important in most children's fiction; but animal tales seemed to allow their authors to talk freely about the strong vs. the weak, the best vs. the lowest, in terms that supposedly classfree Americans traditionally find disturbing. A thirst for power is more palatable w h e n seen as an inevitable part of the natural order and embodied in animals rather than in people. Characters in these books were firmly positioned in one or more systems of power—a town, a society, or some sort of team or band. Boys like Black Stallion's Alec and Flicka's Ken and Old Yellefs Travis had problems with parents and teachers w h o had power over them; the parents in turn had problems with money and powerful employers and officials. The creatures in the wild animal books respected whatever inexorable pecking order surrounded them, even while they fought to rise higher within it. These books were rife with rules and codes to follow or break, horseraces and d o g s h o w s and savage battles to w i n or lose, with superiors and inferiors. They h a d a rousing martial spirit. Some of the authority figures were in fact military, as in several of Terhune's books and in O'Hara's Flicka books, where Ken's father w a s an austere West Point-trained officer. The author of Silver Chief gloried in this mystique: THE CODE OF THE MOUNTED IS STERN.

THE MEN WHO WEAR THE UNIFORM ARE CAREFULLY CHOSEN, AND ONCE IN THE SERVICE THEY REALIZE THAT THE WORD "FAILURE" IS UNKNOWN. THEY ARE GIVEN ASSIGNMENTS, OFTEN DESPERATE AND FILLED WITH DANGERS AND HARDSHIPS, BUT GENERALLY THEY ARE LEFT TO THEIR OWN RESOURCES AS HOW BEST TO CARRY THROUGH THESE TASKS. EXCUSES ARE NOT ACCEPTED. In girls' stories goals and rewards were usually less measurable—a picnic with a n e w friend, not a Best of Breed ribbon; a reconciliation with a grim old uncle, not a promotion to the front of the dog-team; a solution to some household problem, not the slaughter of one's rival. Male-oriented animal stories acknowledged strict natural and social hierarchies, and they offered t w o routes to the top.

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Some p e o p l e a n d animals w e r e hopeless, of course, a n d could n e v e r m o v e u p w a r d . Casual racism a n d x e n o p h o b i a w e r e comm o n p l a c e in these books: T e r h u n e u s e d expressions like " H e w e n t at it like a w h i t e m a n / ' a n d so d i d Will James i n Smoky. T e r h u n e also p r e s e n t e d stereotyped Italians a n d G e r m a n s a n d Mexicans, a n d in Lad: A Dog (1919) there w a s a revolting scene in w h i c h t h e collie defended his h o u s e from a burglar: BEFORE THE W I N D O W H A D RISEN AN INCH, LAD KNEW THE TRESPASSER WAS A NEGRO. ALSO THAT IT WAS NO ONE WITH WHOSE SCENT HE WAS FAMILIAR. A SET OF HOTBREATHING JAWS FLASHED FOR HIS JUGULAR, AND THE GRAZE LEFT A RED-HOT SEARING PAIN ALONG THE NEGRO'S THROAT. T h e a u t h o r s e e m e d delighted w i t h his vision of t h e b u r g l a r slashed viciously, s p r a w l e d senseless, a n d trussed u p b y t h e police. H e n e v e r referred t o t h e m a n as a n y t h i n g b u t " t h e N e g r o / 7 A l m o s t all these stories included s o m e s u c h figures w h o w e r e considered h u m a n or animal garbage, b e l o w t h e lowest e n d of t h e p o w e r hierarchy. Those w h o w e r e n o t b e y o n d h o p e m i g h t succeed t h r o u g h personal excellence or t h r o u g h s o m e t h i n g these a u t h o r s like to call " b l o o d . " Storybook animals w e r e described as g o o d soldiers a n d loyal k n i g h t s . ( T e r h u n e ' s Buff w a s ' T I K E THOSE KNIGHT-ERRANT

FOLKS WHO USED TO GO THROUGH THE COUNTRY RESCUING FOLKS IN DISTRESS.") They defeated rivals a n d rescued loved ones w i t h courage, stamina, a n d intelligence, like a n y fictional h u m a n hero. A n d their bloodlines w e r e p u r e . M a n y fights in these b o o k s w e r e b e t w e e n a t h o r o u g h b r e d h o r s e or d o g a n d a surly, m i s s h a p e n e n e m y of ignoble birth. Writers in t h e first half of this century could still get a w a y w i t h glorifying t h e v a l u e of u n d i l u t e d genes. LASSIE HAD SOMETHING THAT THE OTHERS HAD NOT. SHE HAD BLOOD. SHE WAS A PURE-BRED DOG, AND BEHIND HER WERE LONG GENERATIONS OF THE PROUDEST AND BEST OF HER KIND. THIS THEORY OF BLOOD LINES IN ANIMALS IS NOT AN EMPTY ONE. WHERE THE MONGREL DOG WILL WHINE AND SLINK AWAY, THE PURE-BRED WILL STILL STAND W I T H U N C O M P L A I N I N G FEARLESSNESS. In The Island Stallion

(1948),

Steve w o u l d d o a n y t h i n g to p r e v e n t a h i d e o u s disaster c o m i n g to the island w h e r e h e w a s c a m p i n g : If h e d i d n ' t h e l p t h e beautiful r e d stallion get over his w o u n d s , a grotesque m u t a n t rival stallion w o u l d take over t h e h e r d of m a r e s a n d c o r r u p t t h e bloodlines

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forever. But in these books, the mongrel races always lost; Steve went h o m e happy in the knowledge that his beloved Flame w a s busy impregnating all the wild mares. A hierarchy must be constantly defended against l o w enemies, but genes and gallantry will w i n out. It is rather touching to think of the children w h o read these books and followed the struggles of the growing stag or stallion or p u p fighting against his peers and preparing to challenge the old leader of the pack: this boys 7 reading w a s part of the boys 7 o w n preparation. If y o u are going to tell your y o u n g m e n that winning is the most important goal, the animal world—red in tooth and claw—is a good place to illustrate that goal. Some y o u n g w o m e n also m a y have read these stories about brutal competition in a harsh hierarchy, but they learned to recognize their o w n role in the competition: as adjuncts to the principal competing males—they could be nurse to the warriors, or perhaps the prize being fought over. They could appreciate the adventures of Buck and Buff and Bambi, and Ken and Alec and the others, but only as cheerleaders. Girls were bystanders at the eroticized encounters of m a n and his male subordinate, the slightly inferior but always loyal beast. SILVER CHIEF GLIDED TOWARD THAT HAND. AS IT CLOSED OVER HIS MUZZLE, THE REALIZATION CAME OVER HIM THAT HE HAD FOUND HIS MASTER AGAIN, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS LIFE HIS BIG TAIL STIRRED SWIFTLY. THE DELIGHT OF THE REUNION SEEMED TO SURGE MORE AND MORE DEEPLY UPON THE DOG, AND HIS HAPPINESS MOUNTED. HE BECAME FRANTIC WITH JOY. HE PLUNGED UPWARD, PRESSING CLOSE TO HIS BELOVED MASTER'S SIDE, AND AS THORNE CAUGHT HIM AROUND HIS SHOULDERS IN THE OLD LOVE HUG, HE BROKE INTO WILD BARKS OF DELIGHT. There are s o m e places where

girls don't fit in at all, in the old love hug. It's not surprising that boys in m y day didn't read girls' books. It is also not surprising that some girls did read boys' books in addition to their own: what they learned about the male world and its hierarchies did not challenge their traditional female world. Girls' and boys' systems of values and power did not conflict; they were interdependent. The lives of all the Carol Birds— frail saintly heroines—implicitly gave meaning to the strenuous

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exploits of their male relatives, friends, and pets. But even though heroes did accept responsibility for protecting their w o m e n , these animal books revealed that the highest, most intense, most satisfying interaction w a s that of the hero and the other males o n his team (animal or human), those w h o followed the same code and shared the "good male understanding/'

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L o s i n g

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w i t h o u t

G i r l i s h n e s s

O u t d o o r Stuff lXOD'S VOICE CAME FROM THE BARN DOOR. "GO UP EASY, AND YOU'LL BE ABLE TO CATCH HIM/' TERRY MOVED SLOWLY FORWARD. HER HEART BEAT FASTER, AND HER KNEES FELT SUDDENLY QUEER. SHE WASN'T USED TO HORSES JUST LOOSE IN A FIELD. SPECIALLY NOT FARM HORSES WITH UGLY, CLUMSY FEET. IF SHE TOOK JUST ONE STEP NEARER, SHE WOULD REACH ITS HALTER. BUT IT MIGHT KICK OUT AT HER, IT MIGHT BITE. TERRY STEPPED FORWARD AND REACHED THE HALTER. SHE HAD THE COLT! IT MOVED BACK SUDDENLY, EYES ROLLING, EARS FORWARD. TERRY LET GO AS THOUGH SHE HAD BEEN BITTEN. "SISSY!" JOHNNY CALLED. TERRY FELT THE THICK, FRIGHTENED BEATING OF HER HEART. SHE WASN'T USED TO COLTS. THEY HAD NO RIGHT TO EXPECT HER TO CATCH IT. Hobby Horse Hill, b y Lavinia Davis, w a s p u b l i s h e d in 1939, as I w a s b e i n g born. Some eight years later I w a s delighted to r e a d a b o u t Terry. I u n d e r s t o o d this heroine, quivering w i t h physical a n d social fears. By the e n d of the story she h a d d e v e l o p e d e n o u g h confidence to h e a d off a r u n a w a y at a h o r s e s h o w . H e r n e w courage w a s a d m i r a b l e because it d i d n o t exceed p r o p e r feminine limits. H e r a d v e n t u r e w a s d a n g e r o u s b u t n o t very. She still k n e w h e r place in this horsey w o r l d : W h e n her father b o u g h t her the m a g -

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nificent hunter that w a s adored by her cousin Rod, Terry traded the hunter to Rod for his comfortable, d u m p y pony. Everybody w a s pleased, SHE THOUGHT OF THE LONG, HAPPY DAYS NEXT SUMMER

WITH ROD ON CASSANDRA; AND FROSTY—NICE, FUNNY-LOOKING LITTLE FROSTY, WHO WAS MORE FUN THAN ANY HUNTER THAT HAD EVER LIVED—ALL HER OWN. It w a s all right to be heroic in a minor way, as long as y o u didn't d o it too far from civilized support services; as long as y o u stayed humble and chose the funny-looking insignificant horse for your o w n . Physical activity used to worry a lot of girls. I admire friends w h o play tennis and work out, but IVe always felt about sports the w a y Terry did w h e n she couldn't catch the colt: envious, ashamed, resentful; inferior and s o m e h o w morally superior—an unattractive mixture of emotions. Here is where girls' books fit in. Plenty of boys in m y childhood days were just as fearful or incompetent as girls, and plenty of girls were active and resourceful. But by and large, children's books then reinforced in girls any tendency to be w h i n y and wimpy; in boys they sternly discouraged fears or failures, any sense of limitations. This perhaps w a s harder on sensitive or uncoordinated b o y readers; they must have hated the scorn heaped on fictional boys w h o didn't make the grade. I recently read a remark by Mary Pipher that makes good sense, in her foreword to a book about raising boys (William Pollack's Real Boys, 1998). Noting that some people argue about whether, these days, girls or boys face more difficulties in their development, Pipher says, "I don't like 'suffering contests.'" Both girls and boys need to deal with stereotyped gender expectations, and they all deserve help from adults. It's not a competition. What girls read in m y day w a s perhaps less immediately threatening than what boys read, but perhaps more insidious: Everybody knows that a girl is naturally scared and muddled. She need only learn to handle unpleasant situations without panic. She is not expected to act, in any serious and independent way, but she should know h o w to react properly—with minimal c o m m o n sense and judgment. In housekeeping and child-rearing she should be efficient; in other activities she will be forgiven for incompetence and praised for modesty, humble ambitions, achievements of a

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conventional and conservative sort. Understandably, heroines kept aims and expectations low. Terry's idea of a real nightmare happened at a fancy-dress horse drill. SUDDENLY PIGEON PUT HER HEAD DOWN! THE NEXT MINUTE SHE TROTTED TO THE CENTER OF THE RING. TERRY COULD HEAR LAUGHTER ABOVE THE SOUND OF THE BAND. IT WAS AWFUL. WORSE THAN A NIGHTMARE. SHE COULD DO NOTHING! IN ANOTHER MINUTE SHE WOULD BE THROWN OFF AND IT WOULD BE ALL OVER. TERRY PRAYED THAT THE GROUND MIGHT OPEN UP AND SWALLOW HER. A n d what does a b o y rider consider a nightmare? Being dragged over an empty beach by the w i l d stallion he w a s tied to, like Alec in The Black Stallion; or riding a crazed colt through a forest fire as he did in a later book. Or putting iodine o n another savage stallion w h o w a s w o u n d e d in a remote valley, like Steve in The Island Stallion. In Mary O'Hara's books about Flicka, Ken faced challenges like spending the night in an icy river to cure his fevered horse; cutting d o w n a c o w w h o s e stomach and udder were torn and impaled o n barbed wire; camping alone in the mountains for six w e e k s just before blizzard season, in order to hunt for his lost stallion and pack of mares. Terry's most dangerous moment came w h e n she tumbled off the beautiful hunter o n a soft trail in Connecticut—and her real fear w a s of disapproval, not of failure. Her terrain w a s not a desert island or mountain ranch, but only "Hobby Horse Hill/ 7 an exurban estate. A hobby horse is a toy, not real life. Horse books are especially revealing. They offer a world that is not supernatural but is closer to fantasy than is the world of pedestrian children's books. Most children cannot o w n horses. Their ordinary lives m a y include a household pet, a team sport, a little excursion; but a horse represents something extraordinary, impractical but conceivable. Devotion to horse books is not limited to owners or riders of horses. It can appear in any child w h o likes to imagine controlling a beast lovable but bigger and stronger than himself or herself. But look at the horsey girl in fiction, as distinguished from the horsey boy. One of m y favorite y o u n g riders, Connie in the 1939 book Silver Birch (by Dorothy Lyons), w a s the type called spunky. Like Ken in the Flicka books and Alec in the Black Stallion books,

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she tamed horses that strong m e n had given u p as hopeless. But the background of her adventures w a s a settled, protective society, with Girl Scout chums and dancing class—no uncouth racetracks or desert islands, only local horse s h o w s in Minnesota like the ones Terry rode in in Connecticut. Connie tamed Silver Birch until she felt the horse w a s ready for a trial ride. When she mounted, she had to g o through a few minutes of frantic galloping, but nothing like Ken's wild ride in the mountains, w h e n he stuck o n the back of Thunderhead while the twisting, biting, racing stallion rounded u p his mares. A n d w h e n Connie in the sequel, Midnight Moon, made a desperate bet with a sadistic horseman that she w o u l d tame that man's mistreated horse or else give h i m her o w n mare, Silver Birch, she really took n o risk. U n k n o w n to her, Aunt Lou checked to make sure the bet w a s not legally binding—Connie w o u l d not have lost Silver Birch to h i m even if she had failed with the other horse. A girl must have a safety net. This is Connie's injury: ONE AFTERNOON SHE RETURNED LATER THAN USUAL WITH A PAINFUL LIMP. "CONNIE, WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOURSELF?" "JUST TURNED MY ANKLE, MOM. DONT FRET," SHE ANSWERED GAILY, THINKING, "IF MOTHER HAD EVER SEEN THAT SPILL!" "COME RIGHT IN THE KITCHEN THIS MINUTE AND SOAK IT IN HOT AND COLD WATER BEFORE I BANDAGE IT." N o w Ken's injury: SUDDENLY THE EAGLE LOOSED HIS HOLD A N D

ROSE VERTICALLY IN THE AIR. KEN'S SHIRT WAS SOAKED WITH BLOOD ACROSS HIS MIDDLE. BLOOD WAS RUNNING DOWN HIS CHIN FROM HIS CUT LIP. ALL DOWN THE RIGHT SIDE OF HIS HIP HE WAS MINUS PANTS AND THE FLESH WAS RAW. HIS CLOTHES WERE IN RIBBONS AND HIS RIGHT WRIST LAMED. THE HEEL OF THE HAND WAS COVERED WITH TINY CUTS AND ABRASIONS INTO WHICH GRAVEL AND DIRT WAS GROUND. BUT WHAT BOY KNOWS WHEN HE HAS HAD ENOUGH? BEFORE KEN WASHED AND BOUND UP HIS WOUNDS, PLASTERING THEM WITH ADHESIVE CARRIED IN HIS FIRST-AID KIT, HE DID A LITTLE MORE INVESTIGATING, DETERMINED TO FIND OUT WHERE THE ENTRANCE TO THE VALLEY WAS. When Connie upset her mother b y turning her ankle, she w a s the same age as Ken of the blood-soaked shirt. Green Grass of Wyoming (1946), the third book about Ken the riding hero, introduced also a riding heroine. Carey is described

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as a tough and sensible girl (she did not panic w h e n lost in a blizzard), but her main ordeal w a s standing u p to a domineering grandmother. Ken's life even as a child included doctoring and training valuable, dangerous animals. His father considered him dreamy and impractical but Ken s h o w e d himself capable of very practical action: he rescued his mother from a raging bull; he dynamited the exit from a mountain valley to save his stallion from being killed or gelded. Carey, o n the other hand, spent most of her childhood changing clothes. Her finest triu m p h came one summer at Ken's ranch w h e n she defied her grandmother and announced her daring ambition: she w a s determined to go to Vassar. I have not mentioned one of the most famous of horse stories, a book I read many times. A good book can deal with stereotyped roles and transcend them; National Velvet gave us a weird and loving world where males and females alike teemed with quirks and sensitivities. The characters were unique, not defined by gender stereotypes. A child reading this book learned about dreams and fears and obsessions. (One sister thought only of mating canaries; the groom w a s terrified of the sea; the little brother kept his spit in a bottle and fiddled with his food till he threw up.) The child reader w a s stretched by this, but she learned once again that girls were more vulnerable than boys. Girls could d o astonishing things, like Velvet's mother Araminty w h o s w a m the English Channel in a storm years before, and like Velvet w h o w o n the Grand National on her piebald, disguised as a boy jockey. A w o m a n , it seemed, could rise above her liabilities, but only with a male mentor. (Velvet's friend and trainer w a s the son of her mother's old s w i m m i n g coach.) A n d her unique ability must be marred by some physical cross to bear—punishment, or a sign of her election. Araminty in middle age w a s awesomely obese. Velvet herself had buckteeth and painful braces; she had a habit of vomiting practically everything she ate; and she fainted after crossing the finish line, in her moment of triumph. A girl may dream and achieve her dream, but only through incredible nerve, because she is not really made for such efforts. After her triumph her spark is forever smothered, as Araminty's w a s by her mountain of flesh. Is that what Velvet's creator is saying?

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Velvet's m o t i v e w a s to p u t h e r horse in the history b o o k s a n d above all to m a k e h i m h a p p y . All the stories I k n o w a b o u t girls a n d horses s h a r e d this e m p h a s i s o n service a n d society. W h e n C o n n i e t a m e d Silver Birch a n d M i d n i g h t M o o n , she h a d to u n d o the h a r m d o n e earlier b y m a l e o w n e r s . She g a v e a n d ultimately received love a n d trust. H e r goal w a s to b r i n g the horses gently into her peaceful, small w o r l d of Memorial D a y p a r a d e s . Boys 7 horses w e r e described in a different spirit. A b o y rider d i d n o t invite his horse to join in a life of social h a r m o n y ; h e w a n t e d rather to m o v e , himself, o u t of the e v e r y d a y w o r l d a n d p a r t a k e of t h e h o r s e ' s savage p o w e r . Ken, Steve, a n d Alec w e n t in for wild, u n t a m e d stallions. (Ken loved his m a r e Flicka protectively, b u t n o t w i t h the a w e h e reserved for the stallion T h u n d e r head.) They a d m i r e d their stallions as sexual creatures. The stallion w a s big a n d i n d e p e n d e n t a n d violent; h e fought rival stallions, bit a n d b o s s e d his foolish p a c k of m a r e s . The b o y rider, exhilarated, a s s u m e d s o m e of the strength of his galloping stallion. Ken actually r o d e T h u n d e r h e a d as h e r o u n d e d u p his m a r e s . THE HEAD WAS THAT OF THE WILDEST OF ALL WILD CREATURES—A STALLION BORN WILD—AND IT WAS BEAUTIFUL, SAVAGE, SPLENDID, A STALLION WITH A WONDERFUL PHYSICAL PERFECTION THAT MATCHED HIS SAVAGE, RUTHLESS SPIRIT. ONCE AGAIN ALEC FELT HIS BODY GROW WARM WITH EXCITEMENT.... HE KNEW FULL WELL THE DANGER THAT WAS HIS WHEN HE LET HIM LOOSE ON THE TRACK. ONCE HE GOT HIS HEAD HE WAS NO MORE THE BLACK THAT ALEC KNEW—BUT ONCE AGAIN A WILD STALLION THAT HAD NEVER BEEN CLEARLY BROKEN, AND NEVER WOULD BE! A stallion w a s a b o v e o r d i n a r y restraints. But Velvet's piebald w a s only a gelding. C o n n i e a n d Terry r o d e m a r e s , a n d their m o m e n t s of h i g h delight w e r e m o m e n t s of social solidarity, of civilization. FROSTY WHINNIED, A GAY, EXCITED WHINNY, AND TWO OTHER HORSES ANSWERED FROM BELOW. SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE SOMEONE WAS BURNING LEAVES. TERRY SNIFFED THE SHARP, DELICIOUS SMELL, AND LOOKED DOWN AT THE HORSES AND HOUNDS. Riding h a s always b e e n considered a n a p p r o p r i a t e sport for girls. W h e n I took riding lessons as a child, I enjoyed trotting d o w n a w o o d s y p a t h o n a n old fat horse, b u t j u m p i n g w a s torture a n d d o i n g tricks s t a n d i n g o n a h o r s e ' s back w a s w o r s e . After all,

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I had v o w e d to spend m y life sitting d o w n . There, I think, is the secret of riding as a girls' sport. They d o it sitting d o w n . In riding as in swimming, the girl is supported b y a power not her o w n . She must s h o w good form and discipline, she must provide direction and control speed—but she does not put forth the type of crude energy needed in running sports. So, for this one girl of the 1940s and perhaps others, riding and swimming were pleasant w h e n not too stressful. At a slow canter, m y favorite gait, I could float over the fields. In a quiet lake (the sea w a s too forceful), I could drift along in a reverie. But playing-fields and courts were detestable. Since I dreaded active sports so intensely, I thought that losing the use of one's legs, the w a y Carol Bird did, sounded appealing— as long as it didn't hurt. Hands and eyes were a different matter; y o u have to be able to eat and read. The Birds' Christmas Carol confirmed the idea that physical activity is incompatible with the highest kind of female virtue: IT WAS WITH A PANG OF TERROR HER

MOTHER AND FATHER NOTICED, SOON AFTER SHE WAS FIVE YEARS OLD, THAT SHE BEGAN TO LIMP, EVER SO SLIGHTLY; TO COMPLAIN TOO OFTEN OF WEARINESS, AND TO NESTLE CLOSE TO HER MOTHER, SAYING SHE "WOULD RATHER NOT GO OUT TO PLAY, PLEASE/' The thing w o u l d be to find a disease with genteel symptoms like weakness and weariness, nothing disgusting. Then y o u wouldn't have to g o outside to play. Summer camp w a s more benign than school, for m e , and I did not hate team sports there quite so much. But they were still a heavy burden. M y pleasantest athletic experience happened one summer w h e n I w a s hit in the head b y a baseball bat. That day I w a s playing catcher. When a batter nicked the side of m y temple, blood gushed forth and I w a s taken to an emergency room— whence I returned with a tiny amount of pain and an enormous gauze turban. For a week I got to rest and eat and read. I milked the awe-struck sympathy and attention of the camp community, until the unimpressed head counselor made m e take off the filthy bandage and stop acting pitiful. This hatred of sports distressed m e in t w o ways: I disliked having to take part in them, and I disliked knowing that some girls liked them. M y books helped m e here. They s h o w e d that it

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w a s natural for a girl to enjoy injuries more than effort, withdrawal more than competition. This fictional pattern seemed to authorize avoiding basketball, hockey, and anything else that required running. I w a s relieved w h e n m y 13-girl seventh grade class formed its 11-member field hockey team and I w a s one of the t w o left out; scorer and timer were intellectual jobs, I decided. Years later in college I joined a band of like-minded girls w h o studied the avoidance of those blue g y m suits—straight tunics with very thick, itchy, matching cotton underpants. (You wore the underpants so that a w i n d y bike ride d o w n the hill by Paradise Pond w o u l d not expose your maidenly crotch.) We got out of wearing g y m suits entirely, by signing u p for bowling, hiking, or archery each term. For those pseudo-sports w e could stay in our discreet Bermuda shorts and skip the exertion of changing. We could signal our scorn for the sweaty athletes, and our allegiance to Sleeping Beauty and the sedentary ideal. Even Heidi, the great outdoor heroine, really spent her time strolling a short distance u p mountain paths to the pasture and then sitting all day, picking wildflowers and watching the goats frisk.

Indoor Stuff "IT'S FUN TO TAKE CARE OF THESE DARLING ROOMS/' ROSIE DECLARED AGAIN AND AGAIN. "THEY'RE SO LITTLE I FEEL WE OUGHT TO BUY A DOLL'S BROOM AND A DOLL'S CARPET-SWEEPER AND A DOLL'S DUSTPAN AND BRUSH. I NEVER SAW SUCH SWEET FURNITURE IN ALL MY LIFE, AND HOW I LOVE THE ROOF SLANTING DOWN LIKE THAT!" "I FEEL THAT WAY TOO—EXACTLY AS THOUGH I WERE PUTTING A DOLL'S HOUSE IN ORDER," LAURA COINCIDED HAPPILY. Maida's Little House, by Inez Haynes Irwin, w a s published in 1921. Maida and her friends charmed me; they were learning the housekeeping secrets of adult females but they had little responsibility and less work. Maida's father, a very rich Bostonian, scooped u p eleven y o u n g friends of his daughter's and deposited them at his seaside place for the summer. Mr. Westabrook stayed in the mansion, but the y o u n g people were alone in the Little House, a charming old farmhouse on the estate—alone, that is,

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except for t w o m o t h e r l y souls t o t e n d t h e six smaller children, a n d Zeke a n d Floribel t o d o t h e cooking a n d cleaning. This s u m m e r w a s t o b e educational for t h e bigger six. The three b o y s h a d t o care for t h e vegetable g a r d e n a n d tennis court, w h i l e the three girls d i d t h e flowers daily a n d t h e cooking o n T h u r s d a y s . All six h a d t o k e e p their r o o m s tidy. This staggering w o r k l o a d almost p r o v e d t o o m u c h for t h e m , b u t b y t h e e n d of t h e s u m m e r they w e r e proclaimed excellent a n d experienced w o r k e r s . This s e e m e d t h e right w a y t o look at h o u s e w o r k . I loved t h e idea of k e e p i n g a h o m e cozy a n d colorful, b u t t h e reality w a s t o o m u c h w o r k . Except for a n occasional forced b o u t of v a c u u m i n g , m y contribution t o h o u s e w o r k w a s d r a w i n g faces o n o u r d u s t y furniture. IMMEDIATELY AFTER BREAKFAST, ROOMS WERE MADE SPECKLESS. WITH THE GIRLS, THIS CONTINUED TO BE A KIND OF GAME. THEY NOT ONLY PRIDED THEMSELVES ON KEEPING THEIR CHAMBERS CLEAN, BUT THEY ACTUALLY TRIED TO MATCH THE FLOWERS THEY PLACED THERE TO THE CHINTZES AND WALLPAPERS. It w a s t h e stability, t h e settled pattern, that s e e m e d valuable. Girls learned t o d o set things at set times; so d i d boys. T h e p i geonhole quality w a s a delight. N o s q u a r e p e g s in sight, only t h e right s h a p e p e g s for t h e right s h a p e holes. A n y detail o r incident s e e m e d w o n d e r f u l w h e n it reinforced traditional p a t t e r n s or definitions of p r o p e r behavior: T H E H O U N D S BURST I N T O A R U N ,

LEAPED UP AND LICKED HER FACE. MAIDA STAGGERED UNDER THE ONSLAUGHT (of c o u r s e ) , BUT A R T H U R EXPERTLY SEIZED THEIR COLLARS,

HELD THEM. O n e k i n d of description w a s especially thrilling: t h e m a t c h i n g of specific objects or colors t o specific people. This w a s fitting, satisfying, like a n a r t form that encourages small, h a r m l e s s variations w i t h i n a tight, formal p a t t e r n , THE THREE LITTLE GIRLS TUM-

BLED PELL-MELL INTO THE FRONT ROOM. IT DID NOT DIFFER MUCH FROM MAIDA'S OR FROM LAURA'S ACROSS THE WAY—EXCEPT WHERE THE KEY-NOTE OF MAIDA'S WALLPAPER AND CHINTZES WERE YELLOW, THAT OF ROSIE'S WAS CRIMSON AND LAURA'S BLUE. IN EACH THERE WAS A DOUBLE CANOPIED BED; A LITTLE OLD-FASHIONED CRICKET; TWO QUAINT LITTLE OLD-FASHIONED CHAIRS. BUT ALL THESE THINGS DIFFERED IN DETAIL AND ALTHOUGH THE ROOMS SHOWED A SIMILARITY, THEY ALSO SHOWED AN INDIVIDUALITY.

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It must have been comforting for fictional girls and their readers to feel they were exactly like each other but with some small, picturesque difference to make them special. Maida's author may have read of the Little Colonel's delightful house party, or may simply have used the same convention: Each girl at that houseparty stayed in a room of a different color, suiting her personality. The girls received four identical puppies, named them all Bob, and distinguished them only by collar ribbons of blue, green, yellow, and pink. There may be similar books in which boys confirm their unique personalities mainly by the colors of their bedspreads, but it doesn't seem likely. I am not into housework, as they say. My floors need waxing; the dark, beamed dining room benefits from its dim light. My closets contain filthy, unidentifiable objects that could be animal, vegetable, or mineral. I refuse to spend time o n obsessive cleaning. But the ghost of Nancy hovers near, filling m e with guilt. When Nancy Keeps House by Helene Laird came out in 1947, it bore for m e the authority of the Bible, and greater readability. The book is written as a narrative but each chapter ends with Nancy's list of instructions for a certain chore. Her mother w a s preparing twelve-year-old Nancy to keep house, while she w a s off producing a n e w baby. "WHEN I GO TO THE HOSPITAL YOUR FATHER WILL HAVE TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. HE'LL NEED SOMEONE TO GET HIS MEALS AND MAKE THE BEDS AND PUT HIS LAUNDRY AWAY AND—OH—DO THE THINGS I DO FOR HIM NOW." It never seemed o d d that a callow kid could be taught all this but not the able-bodied husband. Leaving him aside, it's a reasonable idea to train a girl this age, or a boy, to run things efficiently. The creepy part w a s the attitude. Housework w a s not seen here as something useful that can be handled smoothly; it w a s something cute and jolly, light as meringue. Here is Nancy considering the lessons that are about to begin: SOME OF THE KIDS HAVE TO DO HOUSEWORK AND DON'T SEEM TO MIND IT, SO IT MUSTN'T BE SO BAD. MOTHER NEVER ACTS LIKE SHE HATES IT. IN FACT, NANCY THOUGHT WITH SURPRISE, SHE ACTS AS THOUGH SHE LIKES IT USUALLY; SHE HUMS AND WHISTLES, SOMETIMES SHE RECITES POETRY; OR SHE LISTENS TO THE NEWS OR A CONCERT ON THE RADIO. MAYBE I'LL LIKE IT TOO.

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A n d this is Nancy's mother on dishwashing: " W H E N I'M ALONE I PROP UP A BOOK OF POETRY ON THE WINDOW SILL AND MEMORIZE A POEM OUT LOUD WHILE I'M WASHING DISHES. IT REALLY IS FUN." Nancy, having learned beds, cobwebs, and toilets, prepared for laundry day:

HER MOTHER DOWNSTAIRS IN THE KITCHEN COULD

HEAR HER SINGING. TODAY'S WASHDAY, TODAY'S WASHDAY, MONDAY'S WASHDAY, THE SUN IS BRIGHT AND SHINING, AND THE WIND IS BLOWING TOO. MRS. LELAND LAUGHED BECAUSE IT SOUNDED SO FUNNY, BUT SHE WAS GLAD THAT NANCY WAS IN A GOOD HUMOR AND SEEMED TO BE LOOKING ON WASHDAY AS A BIG ADVENTURE. H o w relieved I w a s as a child in the 1940s—knowing m y future w o u l d hold housekeeping and child tending—to read that such work is easy and joyous and that washday is an adventure. "THAT'S ONE OF THE SATISFYING THINGS ABOUT DOING HOUSEWORK, NANCY. YOUR RESULTS ARE SO PLAIN TO BE SEEN. AND WAIT TILL THE BABY COMES; THEN YOU'LL FIND OUT WHAT'S REALLY FUN—TO PICK UP A CRYING, WET, HUNGRY BABY AND BATHE HIM, AND DRESS HIM, AND FEED HIM, AND THEN SEE HIM SMILE OR FALL ASLEEP FROM SHEER COMFORT." Nancy's mother's babies apparently didn't cry for hours or throw u p on her clothes. Nancy w a s a thinly conceived character, flimsy enough that a reader with gumption might withstand her influence. But Rebecca Rowena Randall of Sunnybrook Farm (1903, by Kate Douglas Wiggin) w a s a person to reckon with. A voluble and volatile child, she shocked her maiden aunts with her impetuous antics. Over the years she lived with them, though, they came to appreciate her virtues. They did take pride in her school honors, but the scene of her graduation is perfunctory compared to a high moment earlier in the book. Rebecca had gone to a church meeting in place of her aunts, w h o were sick. She had been forced to invite the visiting missionary family back for the night. The aunts despaired at the news; they were unaccustomed to guests, and too weak with their

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colds t o p r e p a r e properly. T h e n Rebecca revealed h e r truly femin i n e n a t u r e a n d abilities, REBECCA D A S H E D UPSTAIRS LIKE A WHIRL-

WIND. SHE HAD ONLY TO PULL UP THE SHADES, GO OVER THE FLOORS WITH A WHISK BROOM, AND DUST THE FURNITURE. THE AUNTS COULD HEAR HER SCURRYING TO AND FRO, BEATING UP PILLOWS AND FEATHERBEDS, FLAPPING TOWELS, JINGLING CROCKERY. SHE HAD GROWN TO BE A HANDY LITTLE CREATURE. SO THAT WHEN SHE CALLED HER AUNTS AT FIVE O'CLOCK TO PASS JUDGMENT, SHE HAD ACCOMPLISHED WONDERS. N e x t m o r n i n g , w h e n A u n t M i r a n d a crawled d o w n s t a i r s from h e r sickbed t o start breakfast, s h e w a s astonished, T H E SHADES WERE UP AND THERE WAS A ROARING FIRE IN THE STOVE; THE TEAKETTLE WAS SINGING AND BUBBLING. AND PUSHED OVER ITS CAPACIOUS NOSE WAS A HALF SHEET OF NOTE PAPER WITH "COMPLIMENTS OF REBECCA" SCRAWLED ON IT. THE COFFEEPOT WAS SCALDING, THE COFFEE WAS MEASURED OUT IN A BOWL. THE COLD POTATOES AND CORNED BEEF WERE IN THE WOODEN TRAY, AND "REGARDS OF REBECCA" STUCK ON THE CHOPPING KNIFE. THE BROWN LOAF WAS OUT, THE WHITE LOAF WAS OUT, DOUGHNUTS WERE OUT, THE MILK WAS SKIMMED, THE BUTTER HAD BEEN BROUGHT FROM THE DAIRY. N e v e r m i n d that Rebecca w r o t e g o o d p o e m s a n d l e d h e r class in school, s h e could also d o t h e i m p o r t a n t things like getting o u t the cold potatoes. H e r identity w a s d e p e n d e n t o n t h e b u b b l i n g teakettle, as s h e m a d e clear b y affixing h e r n a m e t a g t o it. All p r o p e r girls in these storybooks could d o h o u s e h o l d w o r k neatly a n d h a p p i l y , w h e t h e r rich like M a i d a , r a m b u n c t i o u s like Rebecca, or destitute like Polly in The Five Little Peppers—who m a d e delectable cakes for h e r siblings e v e n t h o u g h h e r stove d i d n ' t w o r k right. The domestic girl child w i t h t h e m o s t a d m i r e r s h a d t o b e W e n d y i n J. M . Barrie's Peter Pan (1904), m o t h e r a n d h o u s e k e e p e r to a w h o l e island full of Lost Boys, IT W A S ALL ESPECIALLY ENTRANCING TO WENDY, BECAUSE THOSE RAMPAGIOUS BOYS OF HERS GAVE HER SO MUCH TO DO. REALLY THERE WERE WHOLE WEEKS WHEN, EXCEPT PERHAPS WITH A STOCKING IN THE EVENING, SHE WAS NEVER ABOVE GROUND. THE COOKING, I CAN TELL YOU, KEPT HER NOSE TO THE POT. A lot of real h o u s e w i v e s could u n d e r s t a n d that state of n e v e r getting a b o v e g r o u n d , t h o u g h t h e y m i g h t n o t find it quite

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so entrancing. In Little Men (1871) also, make-believe housewifely activities were described as totally delightful: Meg's small daughter Daisy reached a peak of transcendent happiness w h e n she w a s given a tiny fake kitchen with a stove and a sink that really worked. What did I d o to emulate these y o u n g ladies? N o t the housework, since I didn't have the fun with it that m y heroines did. Cooking came closer to m y ideal of graceful dabbling. One Christmas brought a marvelous cookbook for children, with pink and white squares on the cover, chocolate cornstarch pudding on one lefthand page, and buttery caramel cornflake ring on the facing page. M y favorite foods were sweet, soothing, or slimy. I probably learned to cook a few protein or vegetable items, but what I remember is pie and cake and brownies and cookies and fudge. It sounds sticky and unhealthy n o w , especially w h e n I remember the exploding pudding can. One recipe simply said to steam an unopened can of sweetened condensed milk for several hours. By magic the contents turned into an o o z y caramel pudding of unspeakable, orgasmic sweetness. I made this p u d ding from time to time until once I let the water around the can boil away. The explosion left caramel spots on the wall and ceiling that could never be removed. I w a s embarrassed at such public evidence of m y sweet tooth, but knew it w a s expected in a little girl. A few other activities filled m y childhood, beside reading and drinking cocoa from rose china cups by the fire. I d o not count the deeds that I w a s prodded to do, like playing football with m y sister and learning to ride a bike (that took t w o years). Houses fascinated me, in the form of floorplans—an image of a h o m e without the grubby details. I w o u l d pore over house plans in the newspaper real-estate section and magazines, then w o u l d draw m y o w n , making tiny rearrangements in a common design. You could change some w i n d o w s and doors and bathrooms and still have your basic familiar House. The smaller the better; a twobedroom house w a s most fun, like a doll's house. It may be that I caught m y house-plan craze in Girl Scouts. One of the badges I earned there w a s for proficiency in "Architecture," and I see from a 1947 Scout Handbook that one of the requirements

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w a s to make a detailed houseplan. Today I marvel that I spent six or seven years in Girl Scouting, earning badges in all kinds of indoor, outdoor, and community activities. The pleasure, I suspect, w a s in the rigid structure of the program. I could even enjoy blazing a trail or sewing a button—if told precisely what to do, accompanied by other girls, and supervised by smiling adults. Girl Scouts learned traditional female values; their "Laws" stressed obedience and helpfulness: A GIRL SCOUT'S HONOR IS TO BE TRUSTED. A GIRL SCOUT IS LOYAL. A GIRL SCOUT'S DUTY IS TO BE USEFUL AND TO HELP OTHERS. A GIRL SCOUT IS A FRIEND TO ALL AND A SISTER TO EVERY OTHER GIRL SCOUT. A GIRL SCOUT IS COURTEOUS. A GIRL SCOUT IS A FRIEND TO ANIMALS. A GIRL SCOUT OBEYS ORDERS. A GIRL SCOUT IS CHEERFUL. A GIRL SCOUT IS THRIFTY. A GIRL SCOUT IS CLEAN IN THOUGHT, WORD, AND DEED. You didn't need initiative to get badges, just an ability to follow instructions and check off lists. For each proficiency badge there w a s a list of requirements and a picture of the badge itself, bearing the symbol for the activity and a caption. These pictures give m e n o w a Proustian shiver of recognition—Home Nurse ("Symbol: Hospital bed"), Cook ("Symbol: Mixing bowl, milk, and cup"), Clerk ("Symbol: Telephone"), One World ("Symbol: Globe"), Hostess ("Symbol: Tea cup and saucer"). These pictures seemed beautiful. In the Scout Handbook, each symbol w a s surrounded by a thick stripey circle, representing the threaded rim of the cloth badge y o u received and sewed on your uniform. This tight circle gave a look of completeness to each symbol; all the proper female activities were rounded off so firmly. Child Care Badge, Landscaper Badge, Photography, Basketry, Farm Safety, Musician, Cat and Dog, Reader, Bird . . . CHECK THE HAZARDS IN YOUR OWN HOUSE . .. MAKE YOUR PATIENT COMFORTABLE ... PRACTICE PACKING A SUITCASE QUICKLY... ONE BOWEL MOVEMENT A DAY IS ESSENTIAL. START THE DAY RIGHT BY TAKING CARE OF THIS EARLY

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Here, surely, were Truth and Beauty. The Girl Scout Handbook told m e all I knew on earth and all I needed to know. A nasty little book turned u p in a secondhand bookstore recently: The Sunbonnet Twins, A Story in Verse and Music for Little Tots, by "Uncle Milton," dated 1907. It consists of seven colorful pictures and a song for each picture. The pictures s h o w a pair of tiny twins engaged in proper housewifely activities for each day of the week: ON MONDAY MORN WITH SLEEVES ROLLED HIGH, WE WASH AND HANG THE CLOTHES TO DRY; WE HELP OUR MAMA ALL THE DAY, WE NEVER SHIRK, NOR THINK OF PLAY: WE ARE THE SUNBONNET TWINS, YOU SEE, AND WE ARE AS GOOD AS WE CAN BE. The twins are identical. These bonneted miniature w o m e n are exactly like each other, and in the entire book of pictures, they have no faces. ON SUNDAY MORN ALL CLEAN AND SWEET, WE GO TO CHURCH JUST DOWN THE STREET; WE NEVER WHISPER NOR DO A THING, 'CEPT HOLD A BOOK AND TRY TO SING: WE ARE THE SUNBONNET TWINS, YOU SEE, AND WE ARE AS GOOD AS WE CAN BE.

Adult Stuff Young girls learned h o w to behave partly from their reading. They also learned what they w o u l d be doing as adults. Serious, paid work outside the home w a s unheard of. Some ambitions were almost respectable—art, literature, teaching—but generally a talented girl w o u l d sacrifice her plans to help someone she loved. When a child heroine s h o w e d a genius for teaching, writing, or such, by the end of the book she w o u l d be renouncing her Big Chance, as sure as the hero got the princess in a fairy tale. This cop-out pattern has been much discussed. "A Feminist Look at Children's Books," by Feminists on Children's Media (1974), describes this kind of plot as possibly the most insidious.

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"The better ones are the most infuriating, for often they are only a step away from being the exact kind of literature w e ' d like to see for girls and boys about girls. The actual cop-out may be only a crucial line, a paragraph, the last chapter. But somewhere a sexist compromise is made, somewhere the book adjusts to the stereotyped role of w o m a n , often for the sake of social pressure and conformity. The compromise brings with it a change, and this change is not only disturbing but often distorts the logical development of the character herself. Suddenly her development is redirected—or, rather, stunted/ 7 The most controversial tomboy-turned-lady w a s Jo March of Little Women. Many former child-readers remember that she w a s wondrously, inspiringly active, determined, and rebellious— while many adult critic-readers notice that she ended u p tamer and more conventional. Elizabeth Janeway is enthusiastic (Only Connect, 1969): "Jo is a unique creation: the one y o u n g w o m a n in nineteenth-century fiction w h o maintains her individual independence, w h o gives u p n o part of her autonomy as payment for being born a w o m a n — a n d w h o gets away with it. Jo is the tomb o y dream come true, the dream of growing u p into full humanity with all its potentialities instead of into limited femininity: of looking after oneself and paying one's w a y and doing effective work in the real world instead of learning h o w to please a man w h o will look after you, as Meg and A m y both d o with pious pleasure." In chapter 6 I will offer evidence that Janeway is partially wrong in her conclusion; Jo does make sacrifices to please a man, and does tame her wild manners, and does end u p treating her writing career as secondary, almost a joke. It is perhaps meaningful that several m e n writing on this subject—who are possibly more objective than former girls about this most loved of girls 7 books—recognize h o w much Jo gave u p and h o w much she changed over the course of her story. Humphrey Carpenter in Secret Gardens (1985) says, "Although Little Women describes Jo's assumption of the masculine role, it is not an account of a battle w o n . The Jo-Louisa character loses out in the end"; he quotes various passages that s h o w Jo's increasing obedience and humility. Bob Dixon also, in Catching Them Young: Sex, Race and Class in Children's Fiction (1977), describes Jo's drift

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into a conventionally limited w o m a n ' s role. Male critics are n o t m o r e insightful t h a n female; p e r h a p s the w o m e n for w h o m Jo w a s t r e m e n d o u s l y i m p o r t a n t continue to e m p h a s i z e the w a y s in w h i c h she w a s a strong role m o d e l because t h e y are glad to a c k n o w l e d g e that she h a s affected t h e m in those w a y s . Does she also r e m a i n s o m e w h e r e in their m e m o r i e s as a w o m a n w h o gave u p a n d comp r o m i s e d ? I cannot b e sure. But her t e n d e n c y to reform started early o n a n d w a s n o t limited to a brief, easily ignored, coda at t h e e n d of the b o o k or the series. H e r e are s o m e of the other b o o k s in w h i c h a strong heroine eventually sold out: • Heidi, free spirit of the Alps, settled d o w n in her second a n d third b o o k s , w r i t t e n n o t b y J o h a n n a Spyri b u t b y one of her translators. In Heidi Grows Up, she s h o w e d herself to b e a brilliant a n d h a p p y teacher, revitalizing the chaotic village school. But she d i d n ' t last long: "YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE," PETER SCOLDED HER. "YOU'VE MADE YOURSELF SO INDISPENSABLE THAT YOU WONT BE ALLOWED TO GIVE UP TEACHING AND WHEN UNCLE GETS TOO FEEBLE TO DO THINGS, HOW IS HE GOING TO MANAGE ALONE?" "THE GRANDFATHER NEEDS ME. NO, PETER, I SHALL NOT TEACH AGAIN IN THE FALL." • Rebecca of S u n n y b r o o k Farm, the y o u n g p o e t a n d scholar, w a s eager to start a challenging job b u t g a v e it u p to t e n d her sick m o t h e r , THERE W A S A M U T I N O U S LEAP O F T H E H E A R T T H E N , SHE FELT

AS IF THE WIND OF DESTINY WERE BLOWING HER FLAME HITHER AND THITHER, BURNING, CONSUMING HER, BUT KINDLING NOTHING. BUT THE CLOUDS BLEW OVER, THE SUN SHONE AGAIN, A RAINBOW STRETCHED ACROSS THE SKY. THREADS OF JOY RAN IN AND OUT OF THE GRAY, TANGLED WEB OF DAILY LIVING. THERE WAS THE SATISFACTION OF BEING MISTRESS OF THE POOR DOMAIN; OF PLANNING, GOVERNING, DECIDING, OF BRINGING ORDER OUT OF CHAOS; OF IMPLANTING GAIETY IN THE PLACE OF INERT RESIGNATION TO THE INEVITABLE. • Rebecca's creator, Kate D o u g l a s Wiggin, at least p e r m i t t e d the girl " a m u t i n o u s leap of the h e a r t , " w h i c h is m o r e t h a n L. M. M o n t g o m e r y allowed to A n n e of Green Gables (1908). W h e n A n n e learned that Marilla—the spinster w h o took her in as a n o r p h a n — m i g h t b e losing h e r sight, she gave u p her university scholarship w i t h o u t a p a n g . In fact, there w e r e several other p e o p l e w h o could

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have been enlisted to care for Marilla so the sacrifice w a s not necessary. Anne's conviction grew even stronger in later life (described in Anne of Ingleside), after six children crushed the writing career she had started: "OCCASIONALLY I DO WRITE A LITTLE STORY/' ADMITTED ANNE. "BUT A BUSY MOTHER HASN'T MUCH TIME FOR THAT. I HAD WONDERFUL DREAMS ONCE BUT NOW I'M AFRAID I'LL NEVER BE IN WHO'S WHO." A former girlfriend of Anne's husband asked, "DO YOU REALLY NEVER FEEL THAT YOU WANT A BROADER LIFE? DIDN'T YOU WRITE SOME RATHER CLEVER LITTLE THINGS WHEN YOU WERE AT REDMOND? AND YOU'VE QUITE GIVEN IT UP?" "NOT ALTOGETHER. BUT I'M WRITING LIVING EPISTLES NOW," SAID ANNE, THINKING OF JEM AND CO. H o w Could girls not revere these confident, s m u g matrons? They turned away from the outer world with no regrets, knowing their true career lay in sacrifice and service. Recently, I have dipped into the current incarnation of Nancy Drew. Her world today has less sexism but also less personality than her original world of 1930. The Ur-Nancy Drew w a s quite lively. In The Hidden Staircase and The Secret of the Old Clock, "Carolyn Keene" (who at first w a s Mildred Wirt Benson) developed characters and situations somewhat more than the current formulaic authors. Because she w a s a fairly energetic character, one fact about Nancy's life is particularly striking. In these books, she w a s finished with school, intelligent, efficient, and enthusiastic. Yet she apparently planned to spend her life "running the house" for her w i d o w e d father. Even though there w a s a live-in housekeeper, it seemed to be a full-time job for Nancy to hang about, having luncheon and doing errands in her roadster. N o wonder she had time to solve other people's mysteries. Carson Drew, eminent lawyer, frequently said to his daughter that she had a brilliant legal mind, and citizens came from miles around to seek her detecting help. But n o one suggested she go to law school or set u p a detective business or even follow a more traditional female career. She seemed content with her amateur status. The Nancy Drew books were second only to the Alcott books in the hearts of girls. A friend told me: "The reading passion of m y youth w a s Nancy Drew books. They were probably the first

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books I encountered in which a girl w a s clever, resourceful, smart, pretty, etc. and didn't need a m a n or anybody to figure things out for her. She w a s independent and 'plucky' and nothing like the other female heroes. I knew that Nancy Drew w a s w h o I wanted to be—a life of excitement, intrigue, with both girls and boys looking u p to y o u . " On the continuum of fictional girls from passive to active, Nancy's position is indeed at the active end, and w o m e n w h o say she w a s a strong model for them must be right. But she did depend on her father for a great deal of help and she did speak slightingly of her adventures and abilities. There w a s something apologetic in her attitude toward herself and something patronizing in the attitudes of others toward her. "IT WAS ONLY A N ACCIDENT THAT

TOOK ME TO THE BUNGALOW AT THE CRITICAL MOMENT/' SHE PROTESTED MODESTLY. "I DONT DESERVE ANY CREDIT FOR THE ROUND-UP." Juicier than Nancy Drew and more sentimental, w a s Betsy Allen's Connie Blair, another girl detective I liked. Perhaps the spunky quality many girls admired in Nancy w a s the reason I preferred Connie Blair. First appearing in the 1940s, Connie worked for an advertising agency. So in these books w o m e n were really allowed out into the world? But n o , here is the kind of thing that happened. Connie and Georgia, her businesslike supervisor, w e n t o n a business trip. NEVER BEFORE HAD CONNIE SEEN GEORGIA'S EYES SO BRIGHT. HER VERY MANNER WAS CHANGED. THE ADVERTISING EXECUTIVE HAD VANISHED COMPLETELY. SHE WAS THE COUNTERPART OF ANY PRETTY, ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED GIRL. When Georgia got engaged, SHE H A D LOST SOME OF HER BRISKNESS. SHE HAD LOST SOMETHING, BUT SHE HAD GAINED SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT. THERE WAS A SWEETNESS AND GENTLENESS ABOUT HER THAT WAS DEFINITELY APPEALING AND NEW. AS MRS. PHILIP TREMONT, SHE WOULD BECOME RELAXED AND GRACIOUS, MORE THE YOUNG MATRON THAN THE BUSINESS EXECUTIVE, BUT STILL INTERESTED ENOUGH TO TAKE A HAND IN TREMONT SHOP'S AFFAIRS, SHOULD OCCASION DEMAND. Occasion will probably not de-

mand, very often. Once I drove a seventeen-year-old niece to Kennedy Airport. She w a s flying alone to Vienna. Her plans were organized but not rigid, her attitude toward strangers friendly but not gullible. It

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w a s in 1960 that I traveled through Europe on a bus with thirtyt w o other girls and t w o chaperones. At the age of 21?—and w e did indeed call ourselves "girls/ 7 1 had some c o m m o n sense, could speak tolerable French, but I w o u l d n o more have dared control m y o w n European trip than I w o u l d have hiked the Himalayas. The travel w a s tedious, with much waiting for luggage and people; the restaurants' group fare w a s humdrum. But I loved the trip and w a s happy to pay the price of turning off m y brain, in order to get total security. After twenty-one years I had n o sense that I could plan and execute complicated maneuvers, and I w a s convinced that modesty w a s more important than self-assertion and self-respect. I knew Connie Blair w a s right: "I'M TRAVELING WITH MISS CAMERON." SHE LOOKED ACROSS THE TABLE IN GEORGIA'S DIRECTION. "WE ARE GOING TO BERMUDA FOR THE ADVERTISING AGENCY WE WORK FOR, TO GET SOME ANGLES ON PROMOTING A NEW ACCOUNT." DAVID WHISTLED SOFTLY. "SOUNDS VERY IMPORTANT." CONNIE'S HAIR RIPPLED ON HER SHOULDERS AS SHE GAVE HER HEAD A FAINT SHAKE. "I'M JUST MISS CAMERON'S HELPER. THERE'S NOTHING IMPORTANT ABOUT ME." A n important study is summarized by M. K. Rudman in Children's Literature: An Issues Approach (1984): "One study b y Broverman et. al. concludes that clinical psychologists have regularly defined anything but conventional gender role behavior as abnormal The study goes o n to demonstrate that the concept of the healthy adult and the healthy male are congruent, while the concept of the healthy female differs from that of the healthy adult. Aggression, independence, objectivity, leadership, sense of adventure, ambition, self-confidence, and logic are among those valued male characteristics that are considered unhealthy for w o m e n to exhibit. The assigned female characteristics of being talkative, tactful, gentle, religious, neat, vain, quiet, and dependent on others for security are considered to be signs of emotional problems in males and in the generalized category of 'adult' w h e n evidenced to any great extent/ 7 A n adult w o m a n , then, is a logical impossibility, a contradiction in terms. School report, Fourth grade, December 1947: "Debby is cooperative and is well liked by the other children. They don't seem to

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resent h e r academic excellence. This is p r o b a b l y d u e t o h e r fortunately casual attitude a b o u t h e r a c h i e v e m e n t s . " A c h i e v e m e n t w a s acceptable in girls as long as they k e p t a fortunately casual attitude a n d d i d n ' t t r y t o o h a r d . Stress w a s n o t b e c o m i n g , n o t graceful. C o n n i e Blair k n e w : " T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g i m p o r t a n t a b o u t me." Did m y childhood r e a d i n g tell m e that girls are finally as comp e t e n t a n d enterprising as boys? Look at H e i d i ' s t w i n s {Heidi's Children, 1939). T H E BABIES H A D FINISHED THEIR N A P A N D WERE DE-

M A N D I N G ATTENTION. ALREADY TOBI REACHED FOR HIS SPOON WHEN HEIDI TRIED TO FEED HIM HIS GRUEL. HE WOULD LEARN TO HELP HIMSELF EARLY. MARTALI, HOWEVER, MADE NO EFFORT TO TAKE THE SPOON, BUT ONLY HELD HER MOUTH OPEN LIKE A FLEDGLING. There's n o d o u b t w h o w o u l d g o t h r o u g h life getting t h e larger share of t h e gruel.

•4• G i r l s L o v i n g

w i t h

G r o w n u p s :

A u t h o r i t y ,

M e l t i n g

H o s t i l i t y

A d u l t s p l a y a larger role in girls' fiction t h a n b o y s ' . Girls' b o o k s idealize adults, w h o represent comfortable stereotypes a n d u r g e conventional behavior. Fictional b o y s d o n o t take g r o w n u p s as seriously as fictional girls d o ; the girls a n d their a u t h o r s exhibit less irony, distance, a n d rebellion. In girls' b o o k s , w h e n a d u l t characters d o n o t conform to stereotypes, their deviations d o n o t seriously challenge convention. Strong w o m e n m u s t also b e feminine or domesticated; w e a k m e n m u s t m a i n t a i n a strong facade, often w i t h t h e connivance of their w o m e n . Girl characters r e s p o n d to a d u l t s b y obeying, e n d u r i n g , sacrificing a n d , m o s t interesting, b y reforming the adults. W h e n a b o y character is o p p o s e d b y difficult or hostile a d u l t s , h e finds w a y s to escape or defeat t h e m ; w h e n a girl is similarly o p p o s e d , she reforms the adults, revealing t h e m as basically g o o d after all. Girls d e n y aggression.

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Motherly W o m e n and Fatherly Men LAURA LAY AWAKE A LITTLE WHILE, LISTENING TO PA'S FIDDLE SOFTLY PLAYING. SHE LOOKED AT PA SITTING ON THE BENCH BY THE HEARTH. SHE LOOKED AT MA, GENTLY ROCKING AND KNITTING. SHE WAS GLAD THAT THE COSY HOUSE, AND PA AND MA AND THE FIRELIGHT AND THE MUSIC, WERE NOW. Adults take care of children, in predictably male and female ways. Much of children's fiction deals in stereotyped characters— presented glaringly in the more superficial books, more subtly in the better books. The books I loved told m e mothers always acted like mothers and fathers like fathers and w h e n they did not, they were representing some deviant role that w a s also familiar and thus bearable, like the stepmother or the unjust father. Incidents ended with the child falling asleep in a safe, familiar place. Laura Ingalls Wilder (from 1932 on) w a s especially g o o d at making readers feel secure, protected from bears and blizzards. I always wished I had a Mary Poppins to dissolve m y fears; m y mother probably wished I had a Mary Poppins too. JANE WATCHED HER, DRYING HER TEAR-STAINED FACE ON THE LARGE BLUE HANDKERCHIEF. SHE GLANCED ROUND THE WELL-KNOWN ROOM. SHE FELT SAFE AND WARM AND COMFORTED. SHE LISTENED TO THE FAMILIAR SOUNDS AS MARY POPPINS WENT ABOUT HER WORK, AND HER TERROR DIED AWAY. (1934) There were t w o stories that hideously overturned these simple adult roles—the adventures of Alice (1865)—but I couldn't abide them. Reading, for me, w a s not expansion but confirmation. Who could enjoy an ugly Duchess both bad and good, bullying and genial? The Duchess's unpredictable behavior w a s disturbing, too much like real, complex people. So w a s the behavior of the Red and White Queens. If consistency and convention were disrupted, Alice might prove really to be bigger than her p a w n s and knights, and grownups—authority—might prove to be "only a pack of cards." So I never re-read Alice, choosing instead female-grownups like Kanga (who liked giving medicine to Baby Roo), and malegrownups like Mr. Crewe in A Little Princess (who liked giving Parisian dolls to his beloved Sara). It w a s greatly satisfying to see

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a formula observed, even perfunctorily. For instance, Helen Wells, author of Cherry Ames's career, reassured her readers at the start that n o surprises were ahead, w h e n she introduced Cherry's parents as typical in appearance and posture, CHERRY'S FATHER WAS WAITING FOR THEM. CHERRY THOUGHT AFFECTIONATELY THAT SHE WOULD RECOGNIZE HIS TALL BUSINESS-LIKE FIGURE ON ANY RAILROAD STATION PLATFORM I N THE WORLD. It w a s natural that he should

bestride the platform like a Colossus, while Cherry's mother w a s equally proper in her reclining posture: HER MOTHER ROSE FROM

THE PORCH SWING. SHE WAS A YOUTHFUL, SWEET-FACED WOMAN, WITH THE MOST UNDERSTANDING EYES IN THE WORLD. Adult characters were more static than children; they were emblematic of forces controlling the child's world, but were not people in the w a y other children were. W o m e n embodied domestic virtues, of course, being w a r m but strict. Mothers w e n t in for moral lectures, which drew v o w s of improvement from remorseful children. Alcott's mothers did these lectures perfectly, as did several mothers in the Little Colonel books. A m y March had to put u p with this from her mother: "YOU ARE GETTING TO BE RATHER CONCEITED, MY DEAR, AND IT IS QUITE TIME YOU SET ABOUT CORRECTING IT. YOU HAVE A GOOD MANY LITTLE GIFTS AND VIRTUES, BUT THERE IS NO NEED OF PARADING THEM, FOR CONCEIT SPOILS THE FINEST GENIUS. THE GREAT CHARM OF ALL POWER IS MODESTY/' Caddie Woodlawn's pioneer mother passed on stories and manners from the civilized world back in Boston. Laura Ingalls's mother corrected grammar as well as manners. Mothers taught and nice teachers mothered, and girls took seriously the exhortations of mothers and teachers. The aunt-type w a s more frivolous, purveying fun rather than rules, but even they gave girls moral and social advice, helping to slide them smoothly into society, and never urged independent thought or action. Miss Allison in the Little Colonel books w a s like this. When I w a s a child, it seemed right that I should be on the receiving end of female exhortation. I enjoyed living u p to expectations and did not fear criticism and punishment so much as I dreaded disappointing m y mother or other mother-type people. Lest I give the impression that m y mother fussed about rules, I should say that her daughter-rearing w a s casual and avoided the

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disturbing e m p h a s i s o n m a n n e r s a n d a p p e a r a n c e m a n y m o t h e r s believed in. Nonetheless, a n y sign of d i s a p p r o v a l or disappointm e n t w o u l d devastate m e , a n y suggestion that I w a s n ' t d o i n g things right. To this d a y m y s t o m a c h c h u r n s w h e n I enter a highw a y a n d see a b i g r e d sign " W R O N G WAY G O BACK": T h e sign cer-

tainly looks to b e directed at other lanes, n o t m y o w n ; b u t I h a v e , always, a strong conviction that at a n y m o m e n t I m a y m a k e a w r o n g m o v e a n d s o m e b o d y will get h u r t or a n g r y o r — h e a v e n forbid—disappointed in m e . While w o m e n in children's fiction a l w a y s r e p r e s e n t e d civilized virtues, girls' a n d b o y s ' stories v i e w e d t h e m differently. Girls' b o o k s described t h e m straight, s e l d o m w i t h irony. C o m p a r e civilizing w o m e n in Little Women a n d Huckleberry Finn—one, t h e u l timate girls' book, t h e other a b o o k that c a m e to b e considered t h e ultimate b o y s ' b o o k t h o u g h n o t w r i t t e n for c h i l d r e n — a n d n o t e t h e reactions of their child characters to t h e civilizing efforts. "I THOUGHT I WOULD SHOW YOU WHAT HAPPENS WHEN EVERYONE THINKS ONLY OF HERSELF. DONT YOU FEEL THAT IT IS PLEASANTER TO HELP ONE ANOTHER, TO HAVE DAILY DUTIES WHICH MAKE LEISURE SWEET WHEN IT COMES, AND TO BEAR AND FORBEAR, THAT HOME MAY BE COMFORTABLE AND LOVELY TO US ALL?" "WE DO, MOTHER!" CRIED THE GIRLS. "WE'LL WORK LIKE BEES, AND LOVE IT TOO, SEE IF WE DONT!" THE WIDOW DOUGLAS SHE TOOK ME FOR HER SON, AND ALLOWED SHE WOULD SIVILIZE ME; BUT IT WAS ROUGH LIVING IN THE HOUSE ALL THE TIME, CONSIDERING HOW DISMAL REGULAR AND DECENT THE WIDOW WAS IN ALL HER WAYS; AND SO WHEN I COULDNT STAND IT NO LONGER I LIT OUT. THE WIDOW SHE CRIED OVER ME, AND CALLED ME A POOR LOST LAMB, BUT SHE NEVER MEANT NO HARM BY IT. A s a little girl, I found H u c k Finn a n n o y i n g a n d I k n e w others w h o could n o t u n d e r s t a n d his y e a r n i n g for freedom. T o m Sawyer w a s better, as T o m ' s " s c r a p e s " w e r e m o r e containable w i t h i n ord i n a r y domestic life, b u t T o m also v i e w e d female teachings w i t h suspicion. This skepticism a p p e a r e d n o t only in a great writer for a d u l t s like M a r k Twain, w h o s e v i e w of life w a s inevitably complex, b u t in t h e m o s t superficial b o y s ' fiction as well.

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Fictional boys did share with girls a taste for warm, loving care: They were tucked in bed at night, fed hot soup w h e n they were sick, soothed w h e n they were in trouble. But boys 7 books also insisted on distance from the mother; they declared independence even as they acknowledged a degree of dependence. Girls identified with the nurturing mother and did not question her position. They knew they w o u l d become mothers and they practiced being mothers now. They also knew that they w o u l d continue to be dependent girls even w h e n they were mothers. Their lives were seamless, without rebellion. Girls d o not make the break that boys do, w h e n they leave the w o m e n ' s house and go into the men's lodge. "DON'T FEEL THAT I AM SEPARATED FROM YOU, MARMEE DEAR, OR THAT I LOVE YOU ANY THE LESS FOR LOVING JOHN SO MUCH," SHE SAID, CLINGING TO HER MOTHER, WITH FULL EYES. "I SHALL COME EVERY DAY, FATHER, AND EXPECT TO KEEP MY OLD PLACE IN ALL YOUR HEARTS, THOUGH I AM MARRIED. THANK YOU ALL FOR MY HAPPY WEDDING DAY." A fictional daughter (like Meg from Little Women, in this passage) never felt separate from her mother, never w a s an independent individual even w h e n adult; while the son never felt totally tied to the mother even w h e n a child. There w a s the nineteenth-century Henry Esmond tradition, in which a b o y worshipped his mother as a saint, but that tradition weakened in boys 7 books, leaving only the girls to take their mothers seriously. In books where the boy character's v i e w predominated, the mother w a s generally seen as trivial and irrelevant. Another boy in the Huck Finn tradition w a s Booth Tarkington's Penrod (1914). For him, coping with a mother involved hiding, ignoring, defying. Penrod's father inspired fear, his mother, only irritation. In one scene Penrod and his mother enacted a travesty of the sanctified custom of ministrations to the sick. Mrs. Scofield decided that Penrod—a distressingly healthy y o u t h — w a s wasting away and needed motherly attention. THAT NIGHT PENROD AWOKE FROM A SWEET-CONSCIENCELESS SLUMBER—OR, RATHER, HE WAS AWAKENED. A WRAPPERED FORM LURKED OVER HIM IN THE GLOOM. "UFF—OW—" HE MUTTERED. HE SIGHED AND SOUGHT THE DEPTHS OF SLEEP AGAIN. "GAWN LEA'ME

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'LONE/' HE MUTTERED. "IT'S JUST A NICE LITTLE PILL, PENROD. COME, DEAR, IT'S GOING TO DO YOU LOTS OF GOOD." SOME HOURS LATER HE BEGAN TO DREAM THAT HIS FEET AND LEGS WERE BECOMING UNCOMFORTABLE. "YOU QUIT THAT!" HE SAID ALOUD, AND AWOKE INDIGNANTLY. AGAIN A DARK, WRAPPERED FIGURE HOVERED OVER THE BED. "IT'S ONLY A HOT-WATER BAG, DEAR," MRS. SCHOFIELD SAID. "PUT YOUR FEET DOWN ON IT." "OW, MURDER!" HE EXCLAIMED CONVULSIVELY, "WHAT YOU TRYIN' TO DO? SCALD ME TO DEATH?" You w o u l d n e v e r talk t h a t w a y t o M a r m e e . This scene u n d e r cuts all those scenes i n other b o o k s i n w h i c h a m o t h e r l y form n e a r the sickbed r e p r e s e n t e d the height of love a n d care a n d unselfishness. Readers of girls 7 b o o k s felt a w e a n d respect a t t h e " w r a p p e r e d " figure, the cool h a n d o n a fevered b r o w , the s a d yet b r a v e lullaby. But r e a d e r s of Penrod, m o s t l y boys, m i g h t modify w i t h a corner of skepticism their d e v o t i o n t o s h a d o w y , comforting mother-figures. Fathers w e r e stereotypes too. I n The Railway Children (1906), FATHER WAS MOST WONDERFULLY CLEVER WITH HIS FINGERS. FATHER MENDED THE DOLL'S CRADLE WHEN NO ONE ELSE COULD, AND WITH A LITTLE GLUE AND SOME BITS OF WOOD AND A PEN-KNIFE MADE ALL THE NOAH'S ARK BEASTS AS STRONG ON THEIR PINS AS EVER THEY WERE. The difference w a s hierarchical: fathers w e r e t o m o t h e r s a s m o t h e r s w e r e t o children. In J. D. W y s s ' s The Swiss Family Robinson (1813), a l t h o u g h the m o t h e r w a s a s clever a s h e r h u s b a n d i n m a k ing contrivances for their island life, she w a s frightened a n d s u b servient. She d r e a d e d h e r h u s b a n d ' s foraging trips t o the w r e c k e d s h i p i n t h e b a y : "OH DEAR!" SHE EXCLAIMED, " T H A T DREADFUL SHIP!

I AM IN AGONIES ALL THE WHILE YOU AND THE BOYS ARE AWAY." "BUT MY DEAR," I REPLIED, "THERE IS NO NECESSITY FOR SUCH EXCESSIVE FEAR." A s long a s Frau Robinson stuck t o h e r o w n s p h e r e she w a s a b l e t o c o p e , VERY S O O N M Y WIFE CALLED U S T O DINNER, W E TRULY

ENJOYED THE EXCELLENT SOUP, AND THE FLESH OF THE PORCUPINE SHE H A D BOILED FOR us. The chief delight of The Swiss Family Robinson c a m e from the Robinsons 7 ability to p e r p e t u a t e i n a w i l d e r n e s s the stereotyped roles a n d c u s t o m s of civilization. A n o t h e r instance of t h e father's ascendency over t h e m o t h e r a p p e a r e d in Little Women. In o n e scene, M a r m e e revealed that over

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the years her husband had taught her to control her temper, just as Marmee w a s trying to teach her girls. "HE HELPED A N D COMFORTED ME, AND SHOWED ME THAT I MUST TRY TO PRACTISE ALL THE VIRTUES I WOULD HAVE MY LITTLE GIRLS POSSESS." Jo responded, "I USED TO SEE FATHER SOMETIMES PUT HIS FINGER ON HIS LIPS, AND LOOK AT YOU WITH A VERY KIND, BUT SOBER FACE. WAS HE REMINDING YOU THEN?" When the father, law-giver and decision-maker, w a s absent the mother had to cope alone. The toy-mending father of the Railway Children w a s sent to prison on a false charge, leaving their mother to run the household cheerfully with a breaking heart. She turned the struggles of poverty into games and wrote popular stories that supported the family. It took courage to endure, but always Mother—and the reader—knew the mystery w o u l d be solved and her husband honorably cleared. The w o m a n might have to wait and suffer but almost always she w o u l d be rewarded by being released from this unnatural responsibility for herself and her family. Ma in the Little House books could wait out the blizzard or face the Indians alone with the children, because she k n e w that Pa w o u l d soon make it through. Other lone mothers had a harder time. The w i d o w e d mother of The Five Little Peppers (1881) couldn't make the old stove work or pay for medicine. Without a m a n around, MRS. PEPPER H A D H A D HARD WORK TO SCRAPE TOGETHER MONEY ENOUGH TO PUT BREAD INTO HER CHILDREN'S MOUTHS AND TO PAY THE RENT. WITH A STOUT HEART AND A CHEERY FACE, SHE HAD WORKED DAY AFTER DAY AT MAKING COATS, AND TAILORING AND MENDING OF ALL DESCRIPTIONS. Though her life w a s close to the edge, she came u p with not one but three male rescuers. Rich old Mr. King took such a fancy to the Pepper children that he invited the w h o l e bunch to live with him, with Mrs. P. to be his housekeeper. Then, to relieve the ambiguity of her social class, Mr. King's son-in-law Whitney appeared, revealing that Mrs. Pepper w a s his long-lost cousin. In the second book w e see her once again rescued and this time married, to the good Dr. Fisher w h o tended her family back in the poor days. Such an excess of chivalric attention sweetened for the Peppers and for the reader any bitter memories of life in the Little Brown

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House. A final scene in the mansion s h o w e d the Pepper children describing to their n e w cousins, with total lack of irony, those good times back in the Little Brown House. They did not mention living o n watered milk and stale brown bread, and never celebrating Thanksgiving. "LET'S TALK OF THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE, ALL

THE NICE TIMES YOU USED TO HAVE IN IT!" "OH, THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE!" CRIED DICKY, HIS CHEEKS ALL AFLAME. "THE DEAREST LITTLE BROWN HOUSE, MAMMA! I WISH I COULD LIVE IN ONE!" "AND THEY HAD SUCH PERFECTLY ELEGANT TIMES." A mother like Mrs. Pepper, if she suffered patiently and kept her children virtuous and clean, w o u l d be rewarded. Girls learned that they did not need to solve problems, just live through them uncomplainingly, after which they w o u l d eventually be saved b y a man. Thus w o m e n were glorified children, closer to the child's level but able to intercede. M e n inspired a w e not only through their power but through their distance, their incomprehensible and exalted concerns. They were frightening and titillating. I w a s never good at problem-solving. W e had a number of dogs w h o eventually were hit b y cars. After our beloved mutt Wizard died, m y parents were persuaded to b u y from a friend a purebred Kerry Blue Terrier, a snappish and highstrung breed. Called "Secundus" in honor of his predecessor, Seccy w a s an unpleasant, scowling beast. While his preliminary bites usually did not break the skin, they caused sad bruises on m y calf or arm and a permanent state of terror in m y soul. I w o u l d snivel a little to m y mother and complain, but she merely placated me, denial being one of her stronger habits. So for several years of m y middle childhood I couldn't get from the living room to the kitchen. I w o u l d stare at Seccy through the glass doors to the dining room, where he w o u l d be snarling in his sleep or crouched in the shadows peering at me, and then I w o u l d journey through the front hall, out the door, all around the big house, and in at the kitchen door—even at night, even in rain or snow. While I could endure a lot, I could not stand u p for myself or figure out h o w to fix things. I could only wait for an outside rescuer—finally, the D u gan Bakery delivery man, w h o w a s thoroughly bitten one day and caused Seccy to be sent "to a nice farm."

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A m o t h e r m i g h t h a v e secrets b u t s h e w a s n o t herself mysterious, as a father-figure usually w a s . C h i l d r e n i n b o o k s like The Secret Garden a n d The Bastables h a d only t h e v a g u e s t sense that t h e h e a d of t h e family h a d s o m e p r o b l e m or sorrow. Sometimes this remoteness h a d a d r a m a t i c cause, as in The Chestry Oak, Kate Sere d y ' s 1948 story a b o u t w a r t i m e H u n g a r y . Michael g r a d u a l l y learned that h i s b r a v e father, Prince Chestry, w a s p r e t e n d i n g t o b e a N a z i collaborator in o r d e r t o d e v e l o p a n u n d e r g r o u n d netw o r k a n d h e l p free t h e w o r l d from tyranny. T h e Prince w a s d e picted as a noble suffering father t o h i s s o n a n d his p e o p l e , w h o d i d n ' t u n d e r s t a n d h i m . H e w a s a n emblematic figure: LIKE A SILVER-TIPPED BLACK ARROW HE STOOD ON THE HALF-LANDING OF THE STAIRWAY, TALL, SILENT, AND STRAIGHT. A Little Princess (1905) contained exquisitely o n e of t h e basic patterns—father-worship, father-deprivation, a n d father-restoration. It p r e s e n t e d t h e fantasy situation w h e r e a little girl could a d o r e h e r father w i t h n o interference from a m o t h e r . Before h e r father's d e p a r t u r e for India, SARA SAT U P O N H I S KNEE A N D H E L D

THE LAPELS OF HIS COAT IN HER SMALL HANDS, AND LOOKED LONG AND HARD AT HIS FACE. "ARE YOU LEARNING ME BY HEART, LITTLE SARA/' HE SAID, STROKING HER HAIR. "NO," SHE ANSWERED, "I KNOW YOU BY HEART. YOU ARE INSIDE MY HEART/' AND THEY PUT THEIR ARMS ROUND EACH OTHER AND KISSED AS IF THEY WOULD NEVER LET EACH OTHER GO. Sara's m i s e r y at h e r father's absence w a s as n o t h i n g t o h e r p a i n w h e n s h e h e a r d of h i s death. H e r s u d d e n descent then, from heiress to scullery m a i d , increased h e r w r e t c h e d n e s s . But after s h e suffered w i t h b r a v e dignity t h r o u g h m o n t h s of h u n g e r a n d h u miliation, s h e w a s rescued b y h e r father's old p a r t n e r a n d restored to true Princesshood. A t t h e e n d , it s e e m e d as if a n y kind, rich g e n t l e m a n w o u l d d o , t o give fatherly protection a n d receive d a u g h t e r l y adoration. Sara's n e w father w a s even described in m u c h t h e s a m e t e r m s as t h e old o n e . SHE WENT A N D SAT O N THE STOOL, AND THE INDIAN GENTLEMAN DREW HER SMALL DARK HEAD DOWN UPON HIS KNEE AND STROKED HER HAIR. If y o u s p e a k of girls a n d fathers t o s o m e o n e familiar w i t h n i n e teenth-century girls' fiction, s h e will roll h e r eyes h e a v e n w a r d a n d

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m u r m u r "Elsie D i n s m o r e . " T h e d o z e n or so Elsie b o o k s (from 1868 o n , b y M a r t h a Finley) w e r e t h e apotheosis of traditional fem a l e masochism, a n appallingly e x t e n d e d sick joke in w h i c h pale little girls felt t r a n s p o r t s of p l e a s u r e w h e n chastised or mistreated b y their fathers. There is a h o r r i d fascination in r e a d i n g a b o u t Elsie, as t h e emotional e n e r g y i n h e r story is high. Elsie a n d h e r g a n g p r e s e n t e d in a n extreme version a v e r y c o m m o n k i n d of fictional relationship. Elsie, another motherless child, h a d t w o great n e e d s : t o b e loved a n d t o b e p u n i s h e d . I n d e e d , t h e t w o a r e connected, as a p p a r e n t l y a girl could only e a r n love b y suffering p u n i s h m e n t . W h e n t h e father w h o h a d n e v e r seen h e r finally r e t u r n e d t o h i s p a r e n t s ' h o u s e , w h e r e Elsie w a s living, w e find that s h e a n d h e r father w e r e well m a t c h e d : h e w a s only too h a p p y to bully her. A s h e told a family friend, " C O S T W H A T IT MAY, I MUST SUBDUE HER; SHE

WILL HAVE TO LEARN THAT MY WILL IS LAW." . . . "ELSIE," SAID MR. DINSMORE, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE? DID I NOT FORBID YOU TO BE OUT IN THE EVENING AIR?" "I DID NOT KNOW YOU MEANT THE DOORSTEP, PAPA. I THOUGHT I WAS ONLY NOT TO GO DOWN INTO THE GARDEN," REPLIED THE LITTLE GIRL, RISING TO GO IN. "I SEE YOU INTEND TO MAKE AS NEAR AN APPROACH TO DISOBEDIENCE AS YOU DARE," SAID HER FATHER. "GO IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR ROOM, AND TELL MAMMY TO PUT YOU TO BED." "OH!" SHE MURMURED AS SHE COVERED HER FACE WITH HER HANDS, AND THE TEARS TRICKLED THROUGH HER FINGERS, "I DONT DESERVE THAT HE SHOULD LOVE ME OR BE KIND AND INDULGENT, WHEN I AM SO REBELLIOUS." She Was SO submissive that s h e could only offend b y accident. Elsie w o u l d d o a n y t h i n g (except disobey t h e teachings of Jesus) to w i n t h e caresses s h e y e a r n e d for. " F M SURE P A P A W A S G O I N G T O

TAKE ME ON HIS KNEE. DEAR, DEAR PAPA, IF YOU COULD ONLY KNOW H O W I L O N G T O SIT THERE." In h i s first m o n t h s at h o m e , Elsie h o v ered a r o u n d h e r father w i t h n o s u c h r e w a r d , H E SELDOM NOTICED HER, UNLESS TO GIVE A COMMAND OR ADMINISTER A REBUKE, WHILE HE LAVISHED MANY A CARESS UPON HIS LITTLE SISTER, ENNA. OFTEN ELSIE WOULD WATCH HIM FONDLING HER, UNTIL, UNABLE ANY LONGER TO CONTROL HER FEELINGS, SHE WOULD RUSH AWAY TO HER OWN ROOM TO WEEP.

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Elsie's misery w a s matched b y her sense of unworthiness. She thought and talked constantly of not deserving good things, of wanting punishment to make her better. Her punishments were not beatings but humiliation, deprivation of love, and immobilization. A girl might b e forgiven if she sat still long enough to certify her abasement. One time she w a s guilty of setting free a little bird that she did not k n o w had been captured by her father as a rare specimen. "I SHALL TIE THIS HAND UP, ELSIE/' HE SAID. "THOSE WHO DO NOT USE THEIR HANDS ARIGHT MUST BE DEPRIVED OF THE USE OF THEM/' Later, h e said, "BRING THAT STOOL A N D SET YOURSELF D O W N HERE

CLOSE AT MY KNEE, AND LET ME SEE IF I CAN KEEP YOU OUT OF MISCHIEF FOR AN HOUR OR TWO/' "MAY I GET A BOOK, PAPA?" SHE ASKED TIMIDLY. "NO," SAID HE SHORTLY. "YOU MAY JUST DO WHAT I BID YOU, AND NOTHING MORE OR LESS." SHE SAT DOWN AS HE DIRECTED, WITH HER FACE TURNED TOWARD HIM, AND TRIED TO AMUSE HERSELF WITH HER OWN THOUGHTS. "HOW HANDSOME MY PAPA IS!" THOUGHT THE LITTLE GIRL, GAZING WITH AFFECTIONATE ADMIRATION INTO HIS FACE. In her moments of high misery Elsie w a s always still, frozen like a statue of a saint. Her finest hour came w h e n she had to sit still at the piano all day in front of company, because she w o u l d not break the Sabbath and sing for guests. After sitting u p straight in the hot parlor without food for hours, she not surprisingly keeled over. The horrified guests peered at ELSIE'S LITTLE FACE, GHASTLY AS THAT OF A CORPSE, WHILE A STREAM OF BLOOD WAS FLOWING FROM A WOUND IN THE TEMPLE, MADE BY STRIKING AGAINST SOME SHARP CORNER OF THE FURNITURE AS SHE FELL. SHE WAS A PITIABLE SIGHT INDEED, WITH HER FAIR FACE, HER CURLS, AND HER WHITE DRESS ALL DABBLED IN BLOOD. Mr. Dinsmore eventually softened toward his daughter, w o n by all this satisfactory interaction. H e then provided Elsie and the reader with a great deal of lapsitting, caressing, fondling, entwining, and embracing—rather more than anyone this side of pathology w o u l d care to hear about. There were rosy lips, heaving bosoms, breathless whispers, little trembling, clinging, soft hands. But even after she w o n his love, Elsie could never tell w h e n she w o u l d once again commit an unconscious but punishable crime.

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There w o u l d always be a chance to renew his love by enduring more punishment. I describe Elsie at length because her hysterical tale contains so many elements of girl-grownup relations that appear more subtly in other books. I cannot, even in this much space, convey the h y p notic quality of Dinsmore's tyranny, the relentless repetition in his scoldings, or the obsessional quality of Elsie's self-flagellation. It is easy to be patronizing about Elsie's pitiful guilts and misdemeanors, but I remember feeling similarly overwrought emotions on an occasion which to any sane adult must seem as ludicrous as Elsie's torments. I w a s in sixth grade—not a baby. My teacher, annoyed that supplies were being lost and wasted, announced that every Wednesday she w o u l d check each pupil's equipment. Then she started afresh, handing out pencils, rulers, whatever—and elegant pink erasers, the neat kind with sloping ends. I received m y supplies reverently. I w a s a good girl, never in trouble. But I had some odd nervous habits. (I still possess Alcott books with bits of the inside paper lining peeled off. These tiny injuries to m y beloved books caused m e enormous guilt.) In a fit of abstraction I took a sharp pencil and drilled a hole in m y n e w eraser, turning and turning the point so that pinkish-black shavings bubbled u p from the deepening hole, until the hole went all the w a y through in a perfect round. I became aware of what I had done on about Saturday, and dragged through the next days in a wretched trance. I tried to be sick on Wednesday morning but w a s n u d g e d out the door toward the bus. I knew I w o u l d be shamed and punished; I deserved no forgiveness. The public humiliation did not come: w h e n I muttered a confession to Joan w h o sat behind me, she offered to hand m e her virginal eraser under the desk as soon as Mrs. Morris checked it off, so I could s h o w the same one, pretending it w a s m y own. It worked, but I felt like throwing up. I knew I w a s very bad, and I knew that even the enormity of eraser-rape w a s surpassed by the act of lying to avoid punishment. I w a s a child with shy and modest tendencies, but not an extreme case. Extrapolating from m y o w n experience, I suspect that m y generation produced a good

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supply of seemingly confident w o m e n w h o were and are full of weird self-laceration and guilt.

Strong W o m e n and Weak Men Men characters were uncles, grandfathers, teachers, old family retainers, workmen, doctors, or preachers, as well as fathers. A character might exhibit a father's authority, or his competence, or his courage or strength or shrewdness, or his susceptibility to cute little girls, or any combination. A w o m a n character—aunt, grandmother, teacher, nurse, housekeeper, neighbor, nice old lady— might have a mother's warmth or charity or domestic talents or social k n o w - h o w or culture or piety. Such characters represented variations on sex-linked behavior, not denial of it. In a few cases, though, the stereotype w a s definitely reversed— books where a w o m a n w a s especially strong or a man especially weak. In only a few books w a s the most powerful person a w o m e n , and even in those cases the w o m a n w a s still "feminine." In the Oz books the most powerful character w a s Glinda the Good, the sorceress w h o s e magic powers supported the ruler, Princess Ozma. Most motherly characters were like martyred saints, strong in suffering; Glinda w a s more like a goddess, strong in power and action. Some other w o m e n verged on this goddess category, like Mrs. Brown in National Velvet, the A m a z o n w h o once s w a m the English Channel. A n d of course Mary Poppins w a s the supreme priestess of children's fiction. Such w o m e n as these had unusual powers but exercised them in ordinary roles, disguised as ordinary conventional females. W o m e n could properly be regal and superb like Glinda, as long as they were also gentle and unobtrusive. Velvet's mother w a s heroically strong and determined as an athlete, but in middle age she allowed obesity to immobilize her, forcing her to sit still like lesser females. A n d Mary Poppins—before w h o m the king of the sea b o w e d , the sun stooped for a kiss, the springtime agreed to blossom—never ceased to be the N a n n y w h o ran baths and pushed prams.

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A few of the w o m e n , then, were strong in unusual w a y s but camouflaged, like a Superman w h o never shed his Clark Kent disguise. Some of the younger girl characters, too, had potential beyond conventional limits. Most such heroines, the ones with more gumption and ambition than their peers, were urged in this direction b y a male mentor. A s a child, Alcott's Rose Campbell w a s a wispy, orphaned heiress with a supposedly weak constitution and not m u c h more backbone than Elsie Dinsmore. In Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom (1875 and 76), she grew into a sensible and independent y o u n g w o m a n . Most of the credit w a s d u e to her guardian, Uncle Alec, w h o gave eccentric orders as to her care: w h e n she first came to live with the Campbell clan, she w a s in bad condition, "i A M s o TIRED A N D POORLY ALL THE TIME, I C A N T D O

ANY THING I WANT TO, AND IT MAKES ME CROSS/' SIGHED ROSE, RUBBING THE ACHING HEAD LIKE A FRETFUL CHILD. But Dr. Alec insisted that she replace her coffee and "hot bread and fried stuff" with milk and porridge, her tight belt with a soft sash. H e made her rim. She turned into a y o u n g lady robust in mind and body. When female weakness w a s seen as a bad thing (and that w a s not often), it w a s generally presented as the girl's o w n fault or the fault of w o m e n around her. "AUNT MYRA SAYS I

HAVE NO CONSTITUTION AND NEVER SHALL BE STRONG," OBSERVED ROSE, IN A PENSIVE TONE, AS IF IT WAS RATHER A NICE THING TO BE AN INVALID. Caddie W o o d l a w n (1935, b y Carol Ryrie Brink) w a s another delightful girl w h o w a s delightful precisely because of her father's influence. Mr. W o o d l a w n took pride in telling people about it, HOW FRAIL SHE AND LITTLE MARY HAD BEEN AND HOW, AFTER LITTLE MARY HAD DIED, HE HAD BEGGED HIS WIFE TO LET HIM TRY AN EXPERIMENT. "I WANT YOU TO LET CADDIE RUN WILD WITH THE BOYS. I WOULD RATHER SEE HER LEARN TO PLOW THAN MAKE SAMPLERS, IF SHE CAN GET HER HEALTH BY DOING SO. BRING THE OTHER GIRLS UP AS YOU LIKE, BUT LET ME HAVE CADDIE." After seven years of run-

ning wild, Caddie w a s strong and active, SHE WAS N O LONGER PALE OR DELICATE. HER MOTHER AND SISTERS LOOKED AT HER AND SIGHED, BUT FATHER SMILED AND KNEW HE HAD BEEN A GOOD DOCTOR. This book s h o w s ambivalence: w h e n Caddie tormented a visiting cousin for being prim and civilized, her father lectured her

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o n the state of w o m a n h o o d , A WOMAN'S WORK IS SOMETHING FINE

AND NOBLE TO GROW UP TO, AND IT IS JUST AS IMPORTANT AS A MAN'S. I DON'T WANT YOU TO BE THE SILLY, AFFECTED PERSON WITH FINE CLOTHES AND MANNERS, WHOM FOLKS SOMETIMES CALL A LADY. I WANT YOU TO BE A WOMAN WITH A WISE AND UNDERSTANDING HEART, HEALTHY IN BODY AND HONEST IN MIND." Mr. W o o d l a w n admired sensible womanhood. But the w h o l e book s h o w e d that w o m e n ' s behavior and values were insufferable unless modified by the man's wiser perspective. Caddie's mother and older sister, cultured and sedate, sat around stitching and reading Godey's Lady's Book. Caddie's younger sister w a s arch and whiny. W e are meant to see that Caddie w a s superior to the other females in sense, humor, courage, and integrity—primarily because she spent those years with her brothers. She w a s reconciled to becoming a w o m a n n o w , having had the advantages of being an honorary boy. Some of the girls I discuss here as conventional must have seemed shockingly unconventional to their original readers. (One critic w a s scandalized at Eight Cousins because Uncle Alec seized Rose's medicine bottles and heaved them into the shrubbery.) But often outer changes in the lives of fictional girls were not accompanied b y inner changes in their attitudes. Adventurous "career" books for girls burgeoned in m y childhood, proudly describing nurses, airline hostesses, businesswomen, and girl detectives. The activities of these y o u n g w o m e n w o u l d seem alien to readers of the last century, but I suspect that their attitudes toward themselves and authority w o u l d not. There w a s Cherry Ames, for instance—Student Nurse, Visiting Nurse, Cruise Nurse, even Army Nurse. This w a s not a stay-ath o m e girl obsessed with suitors, but a competent and independent y o u n g w o m a n . The catch w a s that the ambitions of y o u n g w o m e n like Cherry A m e s fit so easily into the old stereotypes. Careers described in books like these were authoritarian, hierarchical ones, where m e n were at the top (often young, lean, and tanned), giving beneficent orders to the w o m e n below them. The hospital w a s like a family; the nurse w a s an obedient wife or grown daughter to the doctor, and a mother to her patients. Cherry's school song s h o w s the nurses' image of themselves:

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ALL O'ER THE EARTH ANGELS IN WHITE, IN SICKNESS, AGE, AND BIRTH, BRING LIGHT. These exciting careers w e r e clearly t o b e s c r a p p e d w h e n t h e heroine decided t o settle d o w n w i t h a m a n . C h e r r y w a s h a r d l y a N e w W o m a n , w i t h h e r d r e a r y a n d laborious fuss over clothes—a scarlet a n g o r a sweater set, a ruffled b a t h i n g suit, a n u r s e ' s c a p t h a t w a s A DAINTY CHARLOTTE RUSSE AFFAIR O F FLUTED O R G A N D Y , a d r e s s of D I A P H A N O U S BLACK C H I F F O N , AIRY A S SMOKE, N A R R O W

BLACK LACE AT THE EDGE OF THE PERT SHORT SKIRT. H e r Concerns w e r e familiar feminine ones, a n d h e r m o r a l decisions w e r e too: they w e r e choices a b o u t t h e right kind of obedience t o authority in confusing situations. So e v e n t h o u g h C h e r r y w a s sincere i n h e r ambitions (SHE HONEST-TO-GOODNESS CARED ABOUT PEOPLE AND SHE WANTED TO HELP T H E M O N A G R A N D SCALE), t h e m a i n i m p r e s s i o n w a s of a shel-

tered w o r l d — w h e r e , for instance, t h e h e a d n u r s e suggested s h e take a n extra m o n t h of vacation from n u r s i n g school because s h e looked p e a k e d . C h e r r y w a s s u r r o u n d e d b y father figures, k i n d or critical doctor-mentors. The best e x a m p l e of C h e r r y ' s reliance o n m a l e authority w a s i n Cherry Ames—Visiting Nurse (1947). Six friends took jobs as visiting n u r s e s i n N e w York a n d rented a n a p a r t m e n t i n G r e e n w i c h Village. T e n e m e n t s , p o o r ethnic n e i g h b o r h o o d s — a girl m u s t b e self-reliant t o cope w i t h t h e city. But n o t e o n e curious incident. The m u t t e r i n g janitor of their b r o w n s t o n e b u i l d i n g frightened t h e y o u n g w o m e n w i t h predictions that t h e l a n d l o r d w o u l d p u n i s h their repainting efforts b y kicking t h e m o u t of t h e a p a r t m e n t . Six healthy, sane, e m p l o y e d R N ' s spent t h e next m o n t h or so shivering w i t h terror, h i d i n g from t h e janitor. N o o n e could think of w h a t t o d o , until C h e r r y saved t h e m w i t h h e r great idea: call i n a m a n . She t e l e p h o n e d their m a r r i e d friend, A n n , w h o agreed t o lend h e r h u s b a n d s o h e could talk t o t h e landlord. T h e l a n d l o r d t u r n e d o u t t o b e a jolly Italian w h o d i d n ' t m i n d t h e p a i n t a t all. Everyone w a s grateful t o Jack; n o o n e t h o u g h t (nor d i d t h e author) that o n e of t h e women could h a v e called t h e landlord. This p a t t e r n is typical of t h e " m o d e r n " y o u n g w o m e n i n m y girls' stories—

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their p r o g r e s s took t h e m three steps forward a n d t w o steps back. (Or sometimes t w o forward a n d three back.) Fans of N a n c y D r e w m a y b e offended a t m y opinion of h e r relation to h e r father a n d to t h e w o r l d , b u t it's right there in t h e b o o k s . C a r s o n D r e w , f a m o u s l a w y e r a n d detective, t a u g h t N a n c y h o w to think logically a n d act decisively, that is, n o t like a girl. A s a a result, s h e w a s able t o solve m a n y rather d r a b mysteries. Nonetheless, s h e often d e p e n d e d o n h e r father for h e l p , s h o w i n g surprisingly little confidence a n d p r i d e . "OH, YOU LAWYERS ARE S O PARTICULAR ABOUT FACTS/7 NANCY SIGHED/' A n d , "IF WE FIND THE WILL, THEY WONT BE ABLE TO KEEP THE MONEY/' NANCY DECLARED. "FATHER WILL SEE TO IT THAT YOU GIRLS GET YOUR JUST DUE." If N a n c y v i e w e d h e r o w n role as b e i n g of limited importance, it is n o t surprising to h e a r h e r father's tone, a s s h e came into h i s office to a s k advice a b o u t a case: " N O W W H A T ? " HER FATHER ASKED,

SMILING AS SHE BURST IN UPON HIM. "IS IT A NEW DRESS YOU WANT?" (This is n o t t h e k i n d of question t h e H a r d y Boys' detective father w o u l d a s k them.) A n d it seems n a t u r a l t o h e a r this reaction from a n unfamiliar sheriff: " I F MY FATHER WERE HERE, H E ' D C O N V I N C E

YOU ALL RIGHT," NANCY SAID, WITH RISING TEMPER. "YOUR FATHER? YOU DON'T MEAN CARSON DREW? YOU'RE HIS DAUGHTER?" "I AM." "WELL, THAT'S DIFFERENT. WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO?" W h e n y o u c o m p a r e early N a n c y D r e w w i t h early H a r d y Boy b o o k s , y o u c a n see differences. Frank a n d Joe H a r d y w e r e also sons of a w e l l - k n o w n detective. They b e c a m e involved i n their father's cases; occasionally h e h e l p e d w i t h a solution. But in general it w a s a s s u m e d that, t h o u g h they g o t their inherited talents a n d their inspiration from their father, t h e y w e r e n o w responsible for themselves. They v i e w e d their relation to Fenton H a r d y matter-of-factly, a n d so d i d t h e p e o p l e they encountered. W h e n N a n c y ' s father w e n t a w a y i n t h e m i d d l e of h e r a d v e n t u r e s , there w a s a n u n e a s y feeling, until h e r e t u r n e d , that s h e h a d n o resource in a n emergency. T h e detective w o r k of Frank a n d Joe w a s d e picted a s a d v e n t u r o u s , a s fun, as d a n g e r o u s , b u t n o t a s i n a p p r o priate or startling—certainly n o t a s cute. In m y girls' b o o k s there w e r e s o m e cases of u n u s u a l l y w e a k males as well a s u n u s u a l l y strong females. These deviations from t h e

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typical m i g h t b e surprising, e v e n funny, b u t they w e r e contained w i t h i n o r d i n a r y definitions of m a l e a n d female behavior. This is the George Banks s y n d r o m e . T h e father in Mary Poppins w a s o n e of those m e n w h o b l u s t e r e d a n d p r e e n e d b u t w e r e really silly a n d ineffectual. T h e w o m e n of his h o u s e h o l d formed a conspiracy to ignore his real n a t u r e , u p h o l d his dignity, a n d soothe his ego. A u t h o r a n d r e a d e r s k n e w t h e truth, b u t t h e y k n e w also that n o one w o u l d d a r e p u n c t u r e t h e pretensions of a paterfamilias. W e glimpse Mr. Banks's professional life in t h e City: H E SAT O N A LARGE CHAIR IN FRONT OF A LARGE DESK AND MADE MONEY. ALL DAY LONG HE WORKED, CUTTING OUT PENNIES AND SHILLINGS AND HALF-CROWNS AND THREEPENNY-BITS. HE BROUGHT THEM HOME IN HIS LITTLE BLACK BAG. H e w a s a n o v e r g r o w n b o y , terrified w h e n

his old governess c a m e to visit; still h a r b o r i n g comfortable childish tastes. "MY DEAR, IF IT DOESN'T RAIN I THINK JANE AND MICHAEL MIGHT CALL FOR ME AT THE OFFICE TODAY. I SHOULD LIKE TO BE TAKEN OUT TO TEA AND SHORTBREAD FINGERS AND IT'S NOT OFTEN I HAVE A TREAT." Mr. Banks's tyrannical fussing w a s only a n act, so his wife a n d children

did

not

mind

humoring

him.

"WHERE IS M Y BAG?"

SHOUTED MR. BANKS, TURNING ROUND AND ROUND IN THE HALL LIKE A DOG CHASING ITS TAIL. AT LAST MR. BANKS DISCOVERED THE BAG HIMSELF IN HIS STUDY. "NOW" HE SAID, AS THOUGH DELIVERING A SERMON, "MY BAG IS ALWAYS KEPT IN ONE PLACE. HERE. ON THE UMBRELLA-STAND. WHO PUT IT IN THE STUDY?" HE ROARED. "YOU DID, MY DEAR, WHEN YOU TOOK THE INCOME TAX PAPERS OUT," SAID MRS. BANKS. MR. BANKS GAVE HER SUCH A HURT LOOK THAT SHE WISHED SHE HAD BEEN LESS TACTLESS AND SAID SHE HAD PUT IT THERE HERSELF. A w i l d version of this Foolish Father t h e m e a p p e a r e d in Peter Pan. F r o m t h e start Mr. Darling w a s described i n t e r m s b o t h lovi n g a n d c o n d e s c e n d i n g , H E W A S O N E O F THOSE DEEP O N E S W H O

KNOW ABOUT STOCKS AND SHARES. OF COURSE NO ONE REALLY KNOWS, BUT HE QUITE SEEMED TO KNOW AND HE OFTEN SAID STOCKS WERE UP AND SHARES WERE DOWN IN A WAY THAT WOULD HAVE M A D E A N Y W O M A N RESPECT HEM. Mr. D a r l i n g w a s full of rhetoric,

b u t acted like a little boy. W h e n t h e children called his bluff a b o u t t a k i n g m e d i c i n e — " M I C H A E L , W H E N I W A S YOUR A G E I T O O K MEDI-

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CINE WITHOUT A MURMUR. I SAID, 'THANK YOU, KIND PARENTS, FOR GIVING ME BOTTLES TO MAKE ME WELL' "—demanding that he take

some foul medicine n o w with Michael, their father poured his instead into Nana's drinking bowl. Nana, the protective shaggy dog, w a s the children's nurse. A s the ensuing fracas about the medicine led Mr. Darling to chain Nana in the front yard instead of letting her guard the nursery, he made it possible for Peter Pan to enter and bewitch the children. When they flew a w a y with Peter, Mr. Darling w a s devastated with a self-centered and childish grief. H e crawled into the doghouse in penance, v o w i n g he w o u l d not emerge until the children came home. Every day a cab carried the doghouse to work in the City and h o m e again, attracting m u c h attention. Mr. Darling admitted that his head might have been turned b y all the sympathy, "IF I H A D BEEN A WEAK MAN!" The traditional definition of the father, the man in charge, can stretch to include his weaknesses, but the expose is not radical. Instead of suggesting a coup to overthrow his rule, the family shore u p his e g o and cover u p his mistakes. Did anyone tell O w l in the Milne books that he w a s not a scholar, that in fact he couldn't e v e n spell H a p p y Birthday? Did anyone respect the Wizard of Oz less, in later books, after he w a s revealed as a fraud? Even Alice, generally skeptical about the strange "adults' 7 around her, w a s tolerant of the pretentious Tweedledum and Tweedledee as they prepared for battle, SHE H A D NEVER SEEN SUCH

A FUSS IN ALL HER LIFE—THE WAY THOSE TWO BUSTLED ABOUT, AND THE QUANTITY OF THINGS THEY PUT ON, AND THE TROUBLE THEY GAVE HER IN TYING STRINGS AND FASTENING BUTTONS. She Was amused at the militaristic swagger, and laughed—BUT SHE M A N A G E D TO TURN

IT INTO A COUGH, FOR FEAR OF HURTING HIS FEELINGS. She k n e w that these gentlemen had a place in her world; in fact she could predict all their actions from the nursery rhyme she already k n e w about them. Masculine behavior, it seems, is a given of the universe. Girls must accept and respect its oddities. Books starting in the 1960s seriously challenge old assumptions about male and female roles; but earlier books contained only the kind of deviation that confirms rather than challenges the assumptions. Men are stronger, w o m e n are weaker; and if they

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aren't, then w e will all act as if they were and that will amount to the same thing.

What Girls D o about Grownups What exactly d o girls do, in their relations with adults, with more powerful beings? Mostly, they depend; they expect their elders to guide and protect them much more than fictional boys do at the same age. A little girl may have adventures without the usual disadvantages, because a wandering girl character often has strong allies as protection. Once Dorothy (1900) w a s out of her flying house (the scariest part of The Wizard of Oz), she picked u p a comforting number of indestructible "adult" companions. Her friends may have had drawbacks, like a tendency to rust, but Dorothy never seemed in danger as Jim Hawkins w a s on the island, or Tom Sawyer in the cave. The Oz books made a distinction between beings like the Tin Woodman and Scarecrow, w h o could not k n o w hunger, exhaustion, or pain, and "meat people," with their strange bodily needs. This distinction, which might seem alarming, w a s actually reassuring: it emphasized the superhuman powers of Dorothy's protectors. Many a child went to sleep comforted by the knowledge that those odd, clumsy chaps were guarding the sleeping Dorothy—standing there unblinking through the night. A n d Jane and Michael Banks could journey to the depths of the ocean and the heights of the constellations without fear, because they knew the beady eyes of Mary Poppins were always u p o n them. Some of the fictional girls were not lucky enough to have someone to depend on; they were forced to go in for endurance. Sara Crewe, the "Little Princess," w a s perhaps the one w h o suffered the most, but scores of others practiced the time-honored female virtue of hanging on until help comes—not finding solutions, only suffering until someone else found solutions. Heidi couldn't have gotten back to her beloved mountain from the horrible city on her own. Her author found an ingenious w a y out, though: in Heidi's case, an unconscious action—sleepwalking—led people to discover h o w miserable she w a s and send her home. A girl could

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not exhibit the kind of positive behavior that w o u l d result directly in a change in her state. It w a s simply the weight of her passive yearning that caused Heidi's sleepwalking and then her rescue. Mostly, girls did nothing so dramatic. They merely endured and waited for the invalid to get better; for the father to come home; for the crime to be cleared u p and the m o n e y found; for the lover to discover that the quarrel w a s just a misunderstanding. In some cases, before rescue arrived, the heroine had to make some kind of sacrifice. It might be a sacrifice easy to endure, like Cherry Ames's leaving a Christmas dance to help with an emergency, or Rose's giving u p a wonderful excursion in Eight Cousins so her protegee, the servant girl Phoebe, could take her place. Or it might be a sacrifice that continued to sting, like Rebecca's giving u p her teaching job in Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, and Anne's giving u p her scholarship in Anne of Green Gables, both to go back to their isolated farms and nurse their invalid relatives. A s for Connie in Midnight Moon, w h e n her mother w a s sick and medical bills were crushing, she voluntarily sold the horse she had tamed and adored. (This being the kind of book it is, her mother got well and Connie got the horse back.) In most books a heroine suffered passively rather than taking action. When she did take action, it meant giving u p something rather than getting or deciding or building or organizing. Depending, enduring, and sacrificing are familiar female habits. What startled m e as an adult, looking through m y array of children's books, w a s the enormous amount of reforming that w a s also going on. When I started remembering cases where children reformed their elders, fifteen came to mind immediately and I k n o w there were more. This is not a trivial question because the books were so popular. If this plot pattern w a s pernicious—hostility of the powerful vanished w h e n faced with sweetness of the weak—it w a s absorbed by many girls over the years. In the typical situation, a child (full of innocence, vitality, and love) encountered a middle-aged or old person w h o w a s in bad shape (lonely, depressed, grouchy). The disagreeable grownup had given u p on people, often because of a death or disappointment. But the child's sweet and affectionate character, all by itself, melted the icy heart and turned the town grump into a Santa

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Claus. This is the Silas Marner motif: I wonder h o w many authors of children's books read at an impressionable age that overwrought story of a miser w h o learned to love the golden curls of a little girl better than his golden coins. Some of these reformed grumps were w o m e n ; more were men. Some were mildly irritable souls easily softened. Others were truly mean and required a longer exposure to the innocent child's virtue-vibrations before being transformed. • In Penny, a gentle little book, the heroine w a s frightened of visiting her stiff great-aunt, with her formal parlor manners. Soon she discovered Granny making fudge and licking her fingers in the kitchen, and of course joined her for a summer of fudgemaking and other happy activities. • In Anne of Green Gables, the grouchy adult w a s more recalcitrant, wanting at first to return Anne to the orphanage, as she w a s not the expected boy. Marilla w a s not mean but strict and shy and narrow. Fortunately, behind her sarcasm she had affection and a sense of humor. She became devoted to Anne. • In A Little Maid of Philadelphia, Ruth felt that her Quaker aunt didn't love her; she tried harder to be obedient and made Aunt Deborah sorry for seeming harsh. The tougher cases are more interesting; a grouch w h o reforms easily is an unworthy opponent for an earnest child. • In Rebecca ofSunnybrook Farm, Miranda Sawyer, an aging spinster, decided it w a s her duty to take in and educate her poor sister's daughter. Miranda, censorious and penny-pinching, w a s an excellent candidate for conversion. Her creator, Kate Douglas Wiggin, s h o w e d restraint in producing a modest rather than a sensational conversion. IT WOULD BE PLEASANT TO STATE THAT MIRANDA SAWYER WAS AN ENTIRELY CHANGED WOMAN AFTERWARD, BUT THAT IS NOT THE FACT. THE TREE THAT HAS BEEN GETTING A TWIST FOR TWENTY YEARS CANNOT BE STRAIGHTENED IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE. IT IS CERTAIN, HOWEVER, THAT ALTHOUGH THE DIFFERENCE TO THE OUTWARD EYE WAS VERY SMALL, IT NEVERTHELESS EXISTED, AND SHE WAS LESS CENSORIOUS IN HER TREATMENT OF REBECCA, LESS HARSH IN HER JUDGMENTS, MORE HOPEFUL OF FINAL SALVATION FOR HER.

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• In A Girl of the Limberlost, w e have a truly sensational conversion. Elnora's mother, noted for rage, neglect, sadism, finally came round because her daughter w a s so good and accomplished and forgiving; exchanged her black depression for a sunny and tolerant v i e w of life; and got a n e w hairdo. • If the Limberlost books gave us a conversion of the most intense (and most implausible) quality, Pollyanna may well have provided the greatest quantity of conversions. Most notably, Pollyanna reformed Aunt Polly, w h o first gave her an attic bedroom that w a s bare and claustrophobic but later m o v e d her to a pretty, carpeted room below. A s the maid told Pollyanna, "IT'S LITTLE WAYS SHE HAS, THAT SHOWS HOW YOU'VE BEEN SOFTENING HER UP AN' MELLERIN' HER DOWN—THE CAT, AND THE DOG, AND THE WAY SHE SPEAKS TER ME." In case this conversion didn't prove Pollyanna to be saintly enough, the author had her also reviving a gloomy rich recluse and inspiring a depressive minister. In fact, Pollyanna, with her easily-parodied game of always finding something to be glad for, reformed three-quarters of the t o w n of Beldingsville. Pollyanna's power to improve the world around her merely by her radiance and her uplifting chatter used to amaze and terrify me. I w a s given to chattering myself, but n o one seemed uplifted; n o poor washerwomen blessed m e for bringing sunshine into their lives. In books where the child's influence reformed a w o m a n character, the w o m a n w a s usually a relative or guardian with w h o m the girl w a s living on close, homely terms. While the girl's simple good nature played a large role in the adult's transformation, her practical helpfulness usually contributed also. The older w o m a n could see the girl as a protegee, w h o w o u l d inherit and perpetuate her o w n customs and values. These transformations were rather mundane, requiring compromise and understanding on both sides. The more exciting transformations were those in which a girl conquered a man. More chutzpah w a s involved, more distance, than in simply convincing your aunt that y o u were a good girl after all. The reformation of a man character had wider social implications than the merely domestic softening of a w o m a n — m o r e

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of t h e sense that a breach in the c o m m u n i t y w a s b e i n g healed. The p o w e r of female virtue w a s at its m o s t t r i u m p h a n t in these relationships. This sense that hostility is easily defused a n d d o e s n o t really exist w a s a consistent a n d crucial t h e m e in girls' books. Sometimes it w a s the m a i n m o v e m e n t of the book; sometimes it w a s one incident, as w h e n Jane Moffatt, after h i d i n g in the b r e a d b i n all d a y to avoid t h e d r e a d Chief of Police, found that h e w a s n o t a n ogre b u t a jolly fat m a n w h o t h o u g h t she w a s hilarious. The m o s t m e m o r a b l e e m b o d i m e n t s of this t h e m e , t h o u g h , w e r e s o l e m n a n d sentimental, n o t funny. The m a n w a s usually old a n d rich, the girl poor and weak. • In The Littlest Rebel (1914), a tearjerking Civil W a r tale b y Edw a r d Peple, implacable General G r a n t w a s a b o u t to h a v e t w o m e n executed, the S o u t h e r n C a p t a i n C a r y for spying, the N o r t h e r n Colonel Morrison for letting C a r y escape. But angelic Virgie, C a r y ' s d a u g h t e r , softened G r a n t ' s t o u g h old h e a r t a n d saved t h e m b o t h b y innocently describing their actions in a n e w , forgivable light. She h a d also saved h e r father earlier, b y s h o w i n g Colonel Morrison that her father w a s sneaking a r o u n d e n e m y lines only to b r i n g h e r provisions. That counts as another conversion, a n d a p r e t t y g o o d one w h e n y o u can get a n e n e m y to h e l p a c a p t u r e d officer escape. In canceling the execution, G r a n t n o t only h a d to give in to a barefoot m o p p e t , h e h a d to e n d u r e o n e of those m u s h y scenes that a l w a y s resolved a situation like this: THERE WAS A RUSH O F BARE, CHILDISH FEET AND BEFORE HE COULD ESCAPE, VIRGIE'S BROWN LITTLE ARMS WERE ROUND HIM AND HER DIMPLED CHIN WAS PRESSED AGAINST HIS WAIST. THE GENERAL MADE NO EFFORT TO RELEASE HIMSELF BUT LOOKED DOWN ON HER WITH A SOFTER LIGHT IN HIS FACE THAN ANY OF HIS MEN HAD SEEN THERE IN MANY MONTHS. "AND AS FOR YOU, YOUNG LADY, THE NEXT TIME YOU PERVERT MY OFFICERS AND UPSET THE DISCIPLINE OF THE FEDERAL ARMY—WELL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'LL DO WITH YOU." HE LOOKED DOWN INTO HER FACE AND READ THERE A WISTFUL FEMININE APPEAL FOR OUTWARD AND VISIBLE RECONCILIATION. "OH WELL," HE SAID WITH MOCK RESIGNATION, "I SUPPOSE FVE GOT TO DO IT," AND HE STOOPED AND KISSED HER. A s if

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this w e r e n ' t e n o u g h , t h e b o o k e n d e d w i t h t h e irresistible Virgie n o w i n the a r m s of Robert E. Lee. Perverting the officers, indeed! • I n Heidi one of the best-loved conversions took place. Everyone r e m e m b e r s the k i n d old grandfather u p o n the m o u n t a i n , giving goat's milk to his little Heidi. H e b e c a m e s o b e n i g n that it is easy t o forget h e h a d b e e n for years a h e r m i t b r o o d i n g over h i s w i c k e d past, a m i s a n t h r o p e w h o frightened t h e t o w n s p e o p l e . H e i d i ' s secondary conversion w a s t o inspire w i t h n e w life t h e lonely, despairing doctor from Frankfurt. After m e e t i n g a n d visiting Heidi, h e retired from his practice, m o v e d t o her m o u n t a i n , a n d m a d e her his heir. • I n The Secret Garden, h o r r i d M r . C r a v e n c a m e t o forget h i s tragic loss a n d share the vitality of his niece. M a r y h a d s o m u c h magical p o w e r that she transformed herself from a sour w e a k l i n g into a pretty, healthy girl, her cousin Colin from a neurotic invalid into a n o r m a l boy, Ben from a g r i m old g a r d e n e r into a sentimental a d m i r e r , a n d Archibald C r a v e n from a suicidal isolate into a loving father. • In Little Women Beth, t h o u g h m o r b i d l y shy, w o n the h e a r t of the gruff old codger next door, Mr. Laurence, t o the p o i n t w h e r e h e gave h e r his d e a d g r a n d d a u g h t e r ' s piano, REMEMBERING THAT HE HAD LOST THE LITTLE GIRL HE LOVED, SHE PUT BOTH ARMS ROUND HIS NECK, AND KISSED HIM. IF THE ROOF OF THE HOUSE HAD SUDDENLY FLOWN OFF, THE OLD GENTLEMAN WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN MORE ASTONISHED; BUT HE LIKED IT—OH DEAR, YES! HE LIKED IT AMAZINGLY; AND WAS SO TOUCHED AND PLEASED BY THAT CONFIDING LITTLE KISS THAT ALL HIS CRUSTINESS VANISHED. • I n Pollyanna John Pendleton, the millionaire recluse, described h i s o w n c o n v e r s i o n : " F O R L O N G YEARS I H A V E BEEN A CROSS, CRAB-

BED, UNLOVABLE, UNLOVED OLD MAN—THOUGH I'M NOT NEARLY SIXTY, YET, POLLYANNA. THEN ONE DAY, LIKE ONE OF THE PRISMS THAT YOU LOVE SO WELL, YOU DANCED INTO MY LIFE, AND FLECKED MY DREARY OLD WORLD WITH DASHES OF THE PURPLE AND GOLD AND SCARLET OF YOUR OWN BRIGHT CHEERINESS." • I n The Five Little Peppers old Mr. King w a s a n irritable gentlem a n , WHOSE WHOLE BEARING SHOWED PLAINLY THAT PERSONAL COMFORT HAD ALWAYS BEEN HIS, AND WAS, THEREFORE, NEITHER A

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MATTER OF SURPRISE N O R THANKFULNESS. But all Phronsie Pepper

had to d o w a s bake h i m a crooked gingerbread b o y with wild raisin eyes, and his formality collapsed, NOWADAYS, N O ONE EVER SAW THE OLD GENTLEMAN GOING OUT OF A MORNING WITHOUT PHRONSIE BY HIS SIDE, AND MANY PEOPLE TURNED TO SEE THE PORTLY FIGURE WITH THE HANDSOME HEAD BENT TO CATCH THE PRATTLE OF A LITTLE SUNNY-HAIRED CHILD, WHO TROTTED ALONG, CLASPING HIS HAND CONFIDINGLY. • In Elsie Dinsmore, as w e have seen, the tyrannical Horace Dinsmore, m o v e d b y Elsie's innocence and abject submission, learned to love his daughter and give her those unsavory caresses she yearned for. • The reforming child w a s not always a girl. Little Lord Fauntleroy s h o w e d the old Earl forgiving and acknowledging his hated American daughter-in-law just because of her little boy's moral and physical beauty. Little Lord Fauntleroy, though about a boy, w a s certainly more of a girls' book (written b y Burnett for the same audience that read Secret Garden and A Little Princess), and thus s h o w s the characteristic pattern of these other girls' books. But it's interesting to see one difference: the old Earl w a s consciously testing his grandson to see if h e w o u l d be a worthy heir. H e watched Cedric's behavior for signs of weakness or cowardice; he noticed Cedric's treatment of the tenants that he w o u l d eventually be responsible for. His softening attitude toward the b o y w a s more a conscious choice than a spontaneous release from curmudgeonry. Cedric had to earn his grandfather's favor. Only a girl could w i n an old man's heart merely b y sending forth rays of joy and purity. • So the typical agent of infant conversion-power remains the little girl w h o is unconscious of her strength. The Little Colonel, to give a final example, described the capitulation of old Colonel Lloyd, k n o w n for being as dictatorial as Napoleon, to his equally stubborn granddaughter. N o one thought he w o u l d forgive his daughter, w h o had married a Yankee, but w h e n the fairhaired daughter of that marriage toddled into his life, A VERY UN-NAPOLEON-LIKE MIST BLURRED HIS SIGHT. IT HAD BEEN SO LONG SINCE SUCH A TOUCH HAD THRILLED HIM, SO LONG SINCE ANY CARESS H A D BEEN GIVEN HIM. Eventually all lived happily together—the

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Colonel getting thrilling caresses out of the arrangement, and the Little Colonel getting admiration and money. I have listed many examples because this theme is not only c o m m o n in girls' fiction, it is very revealing. The idea that a girl can entirely change a hostile adult without really doing anything is one of the most dangerous notions in these books. It's not bad for girls to learn that they should be loving and helpful, but it's disastrous for them to learn that there is n o w a y to cope with hostility except by sitting around exuding virtue and good cheer. The remarkable thing in these books is that so few people are really bad. The few instances of real aggression are extreme, almost caricatures: Miss Minchin, the schoolmistress in A Little Princess; Fraulein Rottenmeier, the nasty housekeeper in Heidi; the Wicked Witch of the West. Such thorough wickedness could possibly be destroyed (though only by accident, as Dorothy destroyed witches), or could more likely be ultimately escaped, as Sara Crewe and Heidi escaped their tormenters. But aside from these few extreme cases, most girl characters did not have to deal with truly bad people. A s soon as someone seemed to s h o w real badness, it started dissolving into good. W o m e n may well be harmed less by their desire to help and cooperate than by their inability to cope with aggression. Boys' books contained bad guys as a given. The boys found some w a y to outwit or overpower their enemies, without being traumatized at the very existence of enemies. Fictional girls did not have enemies: enemies were really friends. What is a reader of Pollyanna going to think if she grows u p and finds that someone's hostility does not melt w h e n confronted with sweetness? She is going to think that she wasn't sweet and pure enough, that it w a s really her fault, for everyone is good inside. You can get a certain mileage out of that attitude, but if y o u are trying to function in the world it doesn't help to fall apart whenever hostility stays hostile. The Oz books, on the whole, presented action adventures rather than personal dilemmas; but one book, The Emerald City of Oz (1910), s h o w e d an interesting moment of decision. Ozma, the benevolent ruler, learned that the N o m e King w a s tunneling under the desert and planned to attack the Emerald City with thousands

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of evil, grotesque creatures. O z m a ' s friends w e r e n e r v o u s , k n o w ing t h e e n e m y w e r e digging closer each d a y . O z m a , t h o u g h , d i d n o t w o r r y or form a n y plan. It took the Scarecrow (male) to realize that a s t o r m of magic d u s t in t h e t u n n e l w o u l d cause t h e attackers to look for w a t e r , a n d once o u t of t h e t u n n e l , to d r i n k from t h e Fountain of Oblivion nearby. This scheme succeeded, a n d t h e creatures w e r e r e n d e r e d h a r m l e s s , forgetting all evil p u r p o s e s . W h a t role d i d O z m a , t h e d e v o t e d ruler, take in saving h e r p e o ple? N o n e at all, except in u s i n g h e r limited magic p o w e r s to raise the d u s t s t o r m , at t h e Scarecrow's suggestion. Earlier, w h e n h e r subjects looked to h e r for advice, s h e expressed only that catatonic, serene passivity so familiar to r e a d e r s of girls' books. "OH, OZMA, OZMA! I'M SO SORRY FOR ALL YOUR TROUBLE ABOUT THE NOME KING." OZMA LAUGHED WITH GENUINE AMUSEMENT. "WHY, THAT HAS NOT TROUBLED ME A BIT," SHE REPLIED. "HAVE YOU ALL BEEN WORRYING ABOUT THIS TUNNEL?" "WE HAVE!" THEY EXCLAIMED IN A CHORUS. "WELL, PERHAPS IT IS MORE SERIOUS THAN I IMAGINED," ADMITTED THE FRAIL RULER; "BUT I HAVEN'T GIVEN THE MATTER MUCH THOUGHT." At this p o i n t t h e reader w o n d e r e d if O z m a h a d a secret solution that m a d e h e r so confident. In fact s h e h a d n o n e , a n d t h e Oz-ians sadly discussed w h a t w o u l d h a p p e n w h e n t h e l a n d w a s d e stroyed. It w a s fortunate that t h e Scarecrow t h o u g h t of his p l a n , as t h e s u p p o s e d l y w i s e Princess O z m a offered only o n e solution. H e r solution d i d n ' t s e e m s t u p i d to m e w h e n I w a s a child, because m y ears w e r e ringing w i t h t h e e n d e a r i n g prattle of Pollyanna a n d the Little Colonel; m y eyes w e r e d a z z l e d w i t h t h e riches a n d caresses that those girls c h a r m e d o u t of their rich old m e n b y just s u c h behavior as O z m a w a s exhibiting. O z m a explained in a cheerful a n d r e a s o n a b l e m a n n e r : "I'LL GET U P EARLY T O M O R R O W

MORNING AND BE THERE WHEN THE FIERCE WARRIORS BREAK THROUGH THE CRUST OF THE EARTH. I WILL SPEAK TO THEM PLEASANTLY AND PERHAPS THEY WONT BE SO VERY BAD, AFTER ALL." The only m e t h o d I learned of r e d u c i n g g r o w n u p aggression w a s to Speak to t h e Aggressors Pleasantly, a n d h o p e they w o u l d n ' t b e so v e r y b a d , after all. W h e n I w a s five years old, m y p a r e n t s w e n t a w a y o n a trip. I liked w r i t i n g e v e n then, a n d m a d e a checklist of instructions for

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myself while they were gone. Here are the items on m y list, which w a s preserved by m y mother and still exists today. BEGOOD AND HELPFUL KEEPCLM pikuprum MAKBED TAKMDASN BRSTEEH WRITMUMMANDDADDY BRSHAR TAKBTH OBA A girl will d o fine as long as she remembers to keepclm and alw a y s oba her elders and betters.

• 5 -

G i r l s

a n d

C i v i l i z e d

T h e i r b y

t h e

F r i e n d s : G r o u p

1 H E LIVING ROOM PRESENTED A LIVELY SCENE. ALL THE NINE LINGER-NOTS WERE COMFORTABLY SQUEEZED INTO IT, FOR NOBODY MINDED A LITTLE CROWDING IN AN IMPORTANT CAUSE. THE GIRLS DISTRIBUTED THEMSELVES COSILY ON THE COUCH, IN THE WINDOW-SEATS, ON HASSOCKS AND ON THE FLOOR, LAUGHING AND CHATTERING MERRILY.... IT WAS A VERY SMALL BOWER—JUST BIG ENOUGH TO HOLD THEM, AND THE BASKETS, AND THE KITTEN. OH, HOW GOOD EVERYTHING TASTED IN THAT BOWER, WITH THE FRESH WIND RUSTLING THE POPLAR LEAVES, AND BIRDS SINGING OVERHEAD!... AT SEVEN O'CLOCK, THE FOUR MEMBERS ASCENDED TO THE CLUBROOM, TIED THEIR BADGES ROUND THEIR HEADS, AND TOOK THEIR SEATS WITH GREAT SOLEMNITY.... M y fictional girls clustered in g r o u p s . They liked to d o things together b u t d o i n g things w a s n o t as i m p o r t a n t as s i m p l y b e i n g together. Three p a t t e r n s e m e r g e in stories a b o u t girls' g r o u p s : (1) Being in a g r o u p h e l p e d a girl—flawed a n d feeble as a n i n d i v i d u a l o n her o w n — f i n d completion, s u p p o r t , a n d vicarious perfection. This allowed her to b e slightly different from t h e others yet still fit in smoothly. (2) Being in a g r o u p h e l p e d a girl c h a n g e a n d i m p r o v e herself. She learned to eliminate a n y sour notes in her personality t h a t m i g h t threaten the h a r m o n y of the circle. This

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allowed her to become more similar to the others. (3) The group served as an inspiration to its members, another kind of superego fostering good girlish qualities like duty, cooperation, and guilt. It might seem that girls' informal groups w o u l d probably be subversive—a protection against all the mothers, teachers, and other adult mentors w h o smothered their girls in w h o l e s o m e messages. But girls' stories of the mid-twentieth century and earlier periods didn't work that way. Most of them, most of the time, described girls' groups that simply, happily, reinforced the teachings of the elders. Books describing children in groups included adventure stories full of action but these (except for the Nancy Drew mysteries) were not much read by girls. In plot-centered books the group of friends w a s incidental, part of the local color and setting. In true group stories, plot w a s secondary. Instead of embarking on elaborate adventures, children spent their time celebrating their o w n group, or defending it from some outside threat, or ironing out problems within it. Sometimes the children were members of a family—the kind of group y o u didn't choose, y o u just belonged to. In other books children joined with friends in choosing or creating a nonfamily group that became important in their lives. While group life in children's fiction sometimes supported a girl's efforts to become an independent, strong person, in many cases it deftly, comfortably undermined such efforts.

Girls and Boys, Groups and Pairs Boys at mid-century liked books about a single hero with or without a buddy-sidekick; girls liked books about a girl hero closely entangled with at least t w o other children. The sociologist Georg Simmel pointed out in 1908 that a group of t w o is different from a group of three or more: A pair, a dyad, he says, is not really a group—the t w o members are aware of each other, but there is n o super-personal collectivity existing beyond those t w o individuals. A dyad n o longer survives if one drops out of the pair, but a group of three or more continues even if one member leaves. In

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a dyad, responsibility is shared by both members; n o higher element controls or influences individuals. In a triad, of course, a majority can overrule an individual member. David Balfour and Alan Breck Stewart in Kidnapped, read mostly by boys, formed a dyad; so did Robinson Crusoe and Friday, the t w o Hardy Boys, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, and others. Mary in The Secret Garden, read by girls, formed a triad with Colin and Dickon. Look through the favorite stories of girls u p to the mid-twentieth century: the typical girls' story features at least three children w h o created and celebrated a marked group mystique. Some boys did read stories about a group of characters: King Arthur's knights, for instance, or team players in John Tunis's sports books. Boys' groups have always been more conspicuous in British children's fiction than American, in keeping with the tradition that an American hero is a loner—perhaps a cowboy, explorer, or private eye. While American boys of the midtwentieth century apparently liked some cooperative effort and hierarchical structure, as with a Team or Round Table, they did not enjoy stories about groups of chums. Treasure Island, one of the books most loved b y American boys, concerns a male group acting more or less together, but it is n o tale of devotion to the group; each sailor w a s interested in saving his skin and his fortune; they banded together only temporarily, out of self-interest. When boys' stories did present characters in a group, it w a s a group with a specific, concrete goal and a clear hierarchy, like a baseball team. If the group's goal w a s abstract, as with the Round Table, the story soon dropped the organizing abstraction to focus on a particular adventure of individual characters or pairs. Of course, w h e n male characters form an alliance for a practical reason, they may also forge a personal bond. Men are not supposed to be emotional but are allowed intense relationships within a platoon or gang. The rituals of membership, coming of age, and bonding are important to boys of a tribe. Huck and Tom and Jim on the raft were not just escaping various kinds of slavery, they were forming a magic band; Mowgli and his Jungle Book friends swore loyalty to the death. These male alliances differed from female groups because they pointed outward, to action: self-defense or self-aggrandizement in

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the outside world. Fictional girls' groups went in rather for celebrating themselves—activities and practical goals were secondary, an excuse. Even though the March sisters matured during Little Women and m o v e d into separate spheres, the idea of the family group persisted for each as inspiration and guide. Their development w a s circular, shaped by departure and return, by quarrel and resolution—less linear than a boys' adventure. This difference in plot pattern grew out of the different w a y s girls and boys related to the group. Boys, in these stories, sought power and achievement; for them a group w a s an alliance which could help or hinder progress. Girls sought community, connection; for them a group w a s a goal in itself. Often the group provided personal completion for its girl members—they k n e w themselves to be so incomplete, such partial, inadequate human beings, that they could find a w h o l e identity only by joining together in a larger design. Books about mixed boy and girl groups in this period were mostly matter-of-fact and plot oriented, like Enid Blyton's dreary, predictable series. I preferred the all-girl books, with minimal plots, where a girl could bask in the warmth and solidarity of the characters' relations. I w a s in the minority in disliking the adventurous Nancy Drew stories. Nancy and her friends bored me, I n o w realize, because they did not subscribe to an emotional group mystique—they simply went about their business solving mysteries and having fun. N o girlish guilt? N o yearning for approval from others? N o devoting the self to a higher cause? To m e and m y type of girl, this lacked excitement. Perhaps Nancy's bland stories, written in a pedestrian style, were important to many y o u n g w o m e n because they avoided both the "feminine" selflessness of the usual girls' story and the "heroic" selfishness of the boys' story. Though she spent most of her time with her t w o chums, Nancy w a s unlike heroines w h o defined themselves through their group of friends and accepted the group's conventions. Nancy Drew lacked subtlety; what she did offer w a s wholeness, the possibility that a girl hero could be independent and active, and still close to a circle of friends. So nonchalant and so knowledgeable, Nancy struck sheltered little girls as a major revelation.

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WITH A LAST COUGH THE ENGINE STOPPED. "OH, PSHAW!" N A N C Y EXCLAIMED, "I GUESS THE DISTRIBUTER GOT W E T . . . . HEEDLESS OF RUST

AND DIRT SHE CLIMBED OVER THE EDGE [of the roof] AND DREW HERSELF ERECT. Lines like these made it seem that anything w a s possible. (Nancy did a good deal of drawing herself erect, an interesting image.) A s Bobbie A n n Mason observed, "Nancy is so accomplished that she can lie bound and gagged in a dank basement or snowed-in cabin for as much as twenty-four hours without freezing to death or wetting her pants." At an extreme, plot-driven stories are a series of meaningless physical actions, as witless as today's action movies composed of a karate fight, a g u n fight, and a car chase. Nancy Drew's adventures were better than that. She had "male" qualities like courage and initiative, while remaining thoughtful, cooperative, and "feminine." But hers are definitely plot rather than character stories—in the leader-andfollowers genre like boys' books rather than the harmoniousgroup-of-girls genre. Apparently there were many girls w h o yearned for the action found in boys' adventures but rejected the arrogance. They found what they wanted in Nancy Drew.

Family: The Group You Didn't Choose Books about families evoked comfort and passivity because, whatever problems threatened the family group from without or within, the child's membership w a s automatic; she didn't have to invent or discover her group. Some family stories were mild and episodic, like Laura Lee Hope's beloved Bobbsey Twins books for very small children. These described ordinary activities, small festivities, little expeditions to farm or shore—the normal days of well-to-do boys, girls, and parents. Plot and character were minimal; there were n o individualized characters, just middle-class stereotypes. I always disliked the stupid Bobbsey Twins, older b o y and girl twins N a n and Bert, and the younger set Flossie and Freddy, but many of m y contemporaries in their youngest years seem to have been reassured by the predictability, the safety.

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The Saturdays (1944), a more sophisticated episodic book by Elizabeth Enright, seems at first to celebrate a nice balance of group and individual: the four Melendy children decided to pool their weekly allowance so one child could get the total s u m each Saturday afternoon and spend it as he or she wished. Four chapters described individual outings, in which Randy went to an art gallery, Oliver went to the circus, Rush went to the opera, and Mona went to a beauty salon to have her long hair cut off. H o w ever, the children finally decided it w a s more fun to d o things together; they abandoned the system of separate expeditions and just played in Central Park, an unoriginal w a y to spend a good Saturday. Even the individual adventures themselves pointed back to the primary importance of the group: Rush brought back a stray p u p p y for everyone to enjoy, and Randy struck u p a friendship with a rich old lady w h o became a benefactor to the family. The separate individual turned out to be lonelier and feebler than the group together—a popular theme in these stories about groups, which were read mainly by girls even though some of the groups also included boys. Usually in family-survival stories, a sudden threat or a chronic problem h u n g over the family. The children were expected to endure, sacrifice, and obey rather than solve the family problem. At least these stories described difficult times, so there w a s some plausible reason for girls to put the family group ahead of their individual wishes. But their help generally w a s limited to comforting, enduring, and housekeeping rather than anything more strenuous. There were a few better family books like The Moffats, with more complex worlds to survive in and more convincing characters. Rufus, Jane, Joey, and Sylvie knew that their w i d o w e d mother had to work hard at sewing to support the family in Depression-era Connecticut. They k n e w that it w a s disastrous to lose the family's last five dollars w h e n they were sent to b u y coal in January, and that it w a s futile to cry w h e n forced to m o v e out of the family house. I liked seeing h o w the children behaved in adversity, and I cared about Jane's run-in with the Superintendent of Schools and Rufus's running away on the trolley—in other

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words, I cared about w h o w a s good and w h o w a s bad. Eleanor Estes created the Moffats in 1941, w h e n the ideal girl w a s still depicted as shy and submissive but a few authors were providing more solid characters. Jane Moffat w a s an unusual character because she didn't become a conventionally noble family prop—she simply helped w h e n she could and put u p with things w h e n she couldn't help, with n o self-consciousness or whining. The more sentimental family survival story is typified by the Five Little Peppers books, beloved since 1881. Margaret Sidney w i n s the all-time prize for rhetoric about a bunch of Loving, Plucky, Poor Children. In treacly prose Polly struggled with the old broken stove, Joel got deathly ill, Phronsie w a s kidnapped by a swarthy tramp. The family ended up rich and happy because (the author implies) the children were industrious and loyal, and above all charming. This kind of family-survival book w a s read because its g l o w of self-congratulation spilled over to the y o u n g reader and made her feel virtuous too. The Peppers s h o w e d that y o u can be as self-sacrificing as a girl should be and still, if y o u follow the rules of your society, after the problems disappear, y o u will magically end u p with everything y o u want. Family-survival books before the mid-century period tended to be like the Pepper books—they taught that children could help their family endure troubled times and they told a story in such fantastic, fairy tale terms that n o y o u n g reader w o u l d find the trouble very troubling. Even The Railway Children by E. Nesbit (1908), a better book about a family in trouble, dealt in magical coincidences and solutions. At the lowest point, w h e n the children knew their father w a s disgraced but not w h y or h o w , their faith and solidarity and the author's intimate style still provided a soft cushion of comfort. Girl readers learned that in a storm y o u were safe if y o u all huddled together and tried to be good. The practical problems of a group were usually not as emotionally compelling as its interpersonal relations. In Little Women, for instance, the worries were enormous—poverty and sickness in the family—but the greatest emotion surrounds questions of guilt, duty, and loyalty. Along with survival and the threat from outside, another important theme in the family story described the threat from within:

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the behavior of a lively but misguided sister. This character learned, eventually, to merge her self and her wishes into the larger importance of the group. The book w o u l d focus on her, the one interesting character, as she settled into her proper role— while surrounding characters were generally faceless and uninteresting. Caddie Woodlawn is this sort of book, and so is What Katy Did. Trudy and the Tree House, written b y Elizabeth Coatsworth in 1944, is a perfect example of this type—delightful but depressing in its implications. Trudy w a s the rebellious and spoiled youngest child in a family of seven girls. Gradually she realized that her pranks and her desire to be alone had a bad effect on the family group and also made her feel lonely. So she modified her independent behavior and even let her sisters come into her private treehouse. The creepiest part of this book is that the seven girls were named alphabetically, like hurricanes: first Ann, then Barbara, Claire, and on d o w n to Gertrude. This gimmick confirms that the girls were just part of a set, not real people. They had a few minor differences in personality but not enough to make them individuals. Each w a s important only because she filled that particular alphabetical niche. Trudy w a s the only one to challenge her proper position in the hierarchy with a nickname that did not begin with her o w n letter. But by the end of the book she had settled down; they probably started calling her Gertrude, the "G" girl, instead of Trudy. The girl-family book w e all remember best is Little Women, which characterized and revered the w h o l e group, not just the main character. While Alcott followed the familiar pattern of taming the wild hoyden sister, she didn't slight the other three. This kind of book w a s appealing because it offered a choice, but the choice had comforting limits. If y o u were not a heroine like Jo or a saint like Beth, y o u could still be a domestic M e g or an artistic A m y . You could be a Piglet or an Eeyore or a Rabbit or an Owl. The group embraced all sorts and considered each worthy of individual attention, a notion that made child readers feel good. Characters in boys' group stories just happened to be of different types and abilities. They used their different qualities as best they could in pursuing individual and group goals—the strong lad and the clever one, the leader and the clown. Girls used their different

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personalities and skills more self-consciously to complete the circle. A girl character felt safe knowing that she contributed her mite to the larger w h o l e and w a s supported b y the contributions of others. It w a s all right for her to be small and lacking, because others provided what she lacked. The smart girl w a s interdependent with the beauty and the athlete and the motherly one and the naughty one and so on. If children's stories generally assumed that females cared about the community more than about their individual selves, it is not surprising that many a girl character found her wholeness as a cog in the communal wheel. This snug and s m u g type-casting occurred frequently in books about girl families. In Little Women w e were reminded of the sisters 7 contrasting personalities in hundreds of details such as the letter each one sent to their mother: M e g addressed her as "MY DEAREST MOTHER," JO wrote "MY PRE-

CIOUS MARMEE," Beth wrote "DEAR MOTHER," and A m y wrote "MA

CHERE MAMMA." Once Beth watched the little gray sand-birds o n the beach and m u s e d , "MOTHER SAID THEY REMINDED HER OF ME,

BUSY CREATURES, ALWAYS NEAR THE SHORE, AND ALWAYS CHIRPING THAT CONTENTED LITTLE SONG. YOU ARE THE GULL, JO, STRONG AND WILD, FLYING FAR OUT TO SEA. MEG IS THE TURTLE-DOVE, AND AMY IS LIKE THE LARK, TRYING TO GET UP AMONG THE CLOUDS, BUT ALWAYS DROPPING D O W N INTO ITS NEST AGAIN." Such type-casting w a s also

popular in books about girl groups outside the family, and w a s even more thrilling there because of the element of choice in the group's membership.

Friends: Their Clubs and Mentors The purest type of girls' group story does not concern a family. A sense of possibility arises w h e n girls choose each other and band together outside the family. But the same patterns appear here: the individuals-conform-to-the-group story and the groupsolidarity-in-the-face-of-danger story. Here, away from permanent, messy family loyalties, a character could answer questions about her position in a group, her relation to other members, her

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ability to contribute. The answers were usually reassuring and traditional. In most of m y o w n favorite tales, a bunch of non-related children spent the most significant part of their childhood in a group or club. The most significant part of that group experience w a s not activities; it w a s working out w h o and what the group w a s , and making it even more so. Jim Hawkins o n Treasure Island w a s not at all exciting to me—exciting w a s the Little Colonel's houseparty of girls, or Maida's little shop full of her buddies, or the mounted Girl Scout troop in Silver Birch. Exciting w a s h o w and whether they all got along, w h o fit in where, and what everybody thought of everybody else. That w a s a real group, and that w a s what a girl needed to know—at least u p through the 1940s: What must she d o to be accepted and approved? Because, for her, success w a s not winning the race or the treasure or the goal, it w a s winning the approval of her circle. A s Carol Gilligan, Mary Pipher, and others have s h o w n in their writings about female development, most girls in our culture lose some of their childhood confidence and vitality as they enter adolescence. Like their brothers, little girls feel exhilarated at first as they grow bigger, stronger and smarter. The boys continue on toward independent maturity, but at puberty the girls receive strong signals to stop m o v i n g in that direction: signals annoimcing that the female type of "maturity" involves deference, passivity, conformity, and silence. Girls today at the end of the century face horrible physical and emotional dangers that w e mid-century girls were not even aware of. But they also have more resources and choices than w e did. There are more various voices being heard n o w , some of them urging teenage girls to hold on to their childhood strengths. The question here is which kind of message pre-adolescent girl readers of m y generation and earlier got from stories of group solidarity. Did these fictional groups support their members as they tried to grow, or did they offer a comfortable w a y not to grow? Were the groups subversive or conservative? Most of these books written before 1950 were essentially conservative. The nature of a fictional girls' group w a s determined b y its members and also by its mentors. Some stories included a strong

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adult—a parent, or aunt or teacher w h o provided the superego's viewpoint. Others presented the girls directly without much outside perspective One simple 1940s series called Betsy, Tacy and Tib, by Maud Hart Lovelace, appealed to younger readers, w h o enjoyed watching the three little girls discover they were similar but also a bit different. Brunette Betsy w a s imaginative and impetuous and bossy, redhaired Tacy w a s shy and romantic and docile, and blonde Tib w a s cute and practical and independent. They worked out these identities in relation to each other through small escapades like trying to fly off a roof, cutting each other's hair, and venturing to the poor, "ethnic" side of town. Books like this are about what y o u are, and h o w that relates to what everyone else is—they are not about what y o u do. Betsy, Tacy, and Tib set u p a club self-consciously with rules and goals and secrets: they decided they were all three in love with the y o u n g King of Spain; they all agreed to use grownup expressions like "indeed"; and so on. Betsy had the most forceful personality and w a s something of a leader, but her status w a s challenged easily and often. They all respected the idea of their group, not any special member within it. The girls had no particular mentor, but clearly had ingested the teachings of the adult world around them: they formed the TCKC, "The Christian Kindness Club." "IT'S ABOUT BEING GOOD/' SAID TACY. "AND WE'LL NEVER GET TO BE GOOD IF WE DON'T PUNISH OURSELVES FOR BEING BAD." Each wore a little bag on a string around her neck and put in a stone every time she did something bad, as a punishment. Soon they were competing to d o bad things, each hoping to get the most punishment. The author in 1941 thought this scene w a s a great joke. In the 1990s, it seems a particularly horrid masochistic example of girls w h o knew just what w a s expected of them, first in play and then more seriously in later life. Some group stories were as elaborately patterned as the Mystery Stories for Girls, Four Complete Books in one volume that I read numerous times as a middle-sized girl. The emphasis on character and connectedness in these books is especially noticeable w h e n they are compared with the companion volume put out by the same publisher at the same period: Mystery and Adventure Stories for Boys. Each volume contains four 200-page novels but the boys'

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volume, written by three different authors, presents four sets of characters in different settings while the girls' volume, written by a single author, Agnes Miller, describes one set of girls together in four different adventures. In these t w o companion books, the writing style fit the content: The boys 7 stories went in for fast-paced, disconnected actions described in an unsubtle factual style, while the girls' mysteries, written in a more emotional style, always w o v e things together— relationships were strengthened, past and present were linked, and clues were connected to explain the unknown. Coincidence and luck played a large part in much girls' fiction. The easy solutions in these books were often preposterous but seemed all right because the whole texture of the girls' stories w a s so interw o v e n with connections. Living in such a world, the characters solved mysteries by discovering hidden links among seemingly separate people and events. Along with logic and observation, they used intuition. Thus, in one of these stories, members of the Linger-Not Club discovered that an orphan girl w a s the heir to a merchant drowned in a nineteenth-century clipper ship; and in another they restored a lost family necklace to a poor Russian immigrant girl. The Linger-Not stories I liked best took place near the girls' N e w York neighborhood. In one they discovered a military secret from the Revolutionary War by finding the secret message s e w n into a sampler by a girl of the eighteenth century. The other story told the romantic tale of a link from the historic chain spread over the H u d s o n River below West Point to stop the British; the LingerN o t girls encountered a feud between t w o local families w h o s e ancestors had forged the original chain and had received a link from the chain in honor of their contribution. When the partnership turned into a feud, each family had kept one half of the broken link. N o w the Linger-Not girls came along, had the t w o pieces forged anew into one link, and persuaded the families to end their quarrel. You couldn't get a clearer metaphor for what girls do: they m e n d and create links among themselves and other people. A child reading these linked stories w a s perhaps pleased to k n o w that everything connected and there w a s an important place in the circle for every kind of girl. Evelyn the writer and Rose the

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studious one solved the first mystery; Priscilla the gracious leader and Dorothy the down-to-earth athlete solved the second; Helena the sophisticated, musical one and Aline the motherly one solved the third; and the trio of younger girl buddies solved the fourth— quiet, clever Muriel, sensible Joyce, and mischievous Virginia. The members helped outsiders with their problems and, even more important, they helped each other improve their personalities and relationships. Rose became less withdrawn, Virginia became more responsible and, as convention always dictated, Helena became less snobbish and selfish. Most characters in girl-group stories exhibited some such personality flaw; they tended toward an extreme and, in the v i e w of the author, needed to be pushed toward the socially accepted mean. It w a s fine to have an individual talent—to be scholarly or athletic or literary—as long as y o u didn't g o too far. Individual talents must not challenge the primary value of the Club; rather, they must contribute to it. A n y member w h o put her o w n selfish w h i m s first, like Helena, must be s h o w n her error. This selfish character type appeared in every girl-group book I can think of. It's a variant on the situation in books like What Katy Did where the influence of an adult, usually a mother or other family m e m ber, taught a girl to subordinate her wishes to the needs of others. Here the social coercion w a s more subtle and more attractive: her o w n peers were working to socialize her through their group, not an older authority figure. The force of the superego is muted w h e n embodied in a girl group like the Linger-Nots, but it's still the superego. I especially liked books that had explicit, hovering, adult superego figures as well as girl group members. Dorothy Lyons's Silver Birch (1939), like the Mystery Stories for Girls, described a girls' group created by the girls themselves; it also presented loudly the voice of the girls' mentor and Girl Scout leader. Aunt Lou provided practical help, advice, and praise. She also provided a g o o d scolding w h e n necessary: "I'M ASHAMED OF BOTH YOU GIRLSI

TO THINK WE SHOULD HAVE SUCH A SCENE AT THE PATROL'S FIRST CAMP. REMEMBER THAT THE SCOUT LAWS ARE MADE FOR YOU TO LIVE BY. THEY ARE TEN SOUND RULES THAT OUGHT TO GOVERN YOU EVERY

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MINUTE THROUGHOUT YOUR WHOLE LIFE." So the Pegasus Patrol w a s

watched over b y a diligent Aunt-type and also b y the wondrous standards of the whole Girl Scout organization. Girls like m e , eager for approval, found books like this especially titillating because they created, o n top of the supportive girls' group, several layers of adult opinion—perhaps several different mentor characters backed u p b y a judging narrator or b y some disembodied ideal such as that of the Girl Scouts. The girls in Silver Birch h a d this typical kind of adult support and they themselves covered the typical spectrum of club members: spunky Connie and reserved D i and impulsive Bing and sickly Martha and s o on, all learning to conform so as to be more worthy of their little society. A n d of course there w a s snobbish Ann, w h o had to be chastened through the trauma of a near-tragedy. This group of girls w a s typical but had an unusual goal: living in farm country they all loved to ride and several o w n e d horses, so they decided to form a mounted Girl Scout patrol. O n top of bonding together and improving their individual selves, they had to find horses for everybody and even learn to ride together, in formation. Just as the Linger-Not members embodied their ideal of connection in the metaphor of the Revolutionary War chain, the Pegasus Patrol acted out their relationships in their riding demonstrations at parades and horse shows. Their synchronized riding reinforced and displayed the harmonious relations within the group; it also w o n them approval from their leader, parents, neighbors, and n o doubt the Girl Scouts of America. The sequel, Midnight Moon, s h o w e d the girls at the height of their glory riding w i t h a drill team: SIXTEEN HORSES SWUNG INTO A DIFFERENT MOVE-

MENT LIKE MECHANICAL MOUNTS. THEY DISCOVERED THE JOY OF PERFECTION AND THE FUN OF BEING ONE PART OF A HARMONIOUS WHOLE. For a few summers, at m y pleasant summer camp in Maine, I w a s actually part of a Group of Chums. Jo (yes, she really w a s called Jo) w a s athletic and rebellious, Sally w a s fun and cute and nice, Susie w a s competent and sensible and witty, Debby w a s smart and imaginative. W e felt a real, comfortable balance completing each other. When I humiliated myself at some activity like tennis, I could forgive myself because m y roommate w a s Jo, the

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camp's top athlete. It w a s a little embarrassing for me, though, as w e got older: One summer w e became Counselors-in-Training, each CIT being assigned to work with some camp activity. Where to put Debby? They came u p with a satisfactory answer—Put her in the kitchen. I became helper to t w o sweet old-lady cooks, learned the fastest, tidiest w a y to peel forty-five potatoes, and supervised camper dishwashing crews. It's true that I also handled the Camp Log that held the summer's history, and ran the little theatricals, so I w a s not totally a Cinderella Wimp. But I especially liked the safe, non-competitive kitchen work, and took full advantage of m y opportunities to sneak into the walk-in refrigerator and eat leftover pie. The Alcott books and the Little Colonel books by Annie Fellows Johnston offered the best examples of girls together hearing multiple voices explaining h o w to be good. The first Little Colonel short stories (1896) merely told simple stories of Lloyd Sherman, the little girl w h o had the stubbornness of her grandfather, the fierce Old Colonel, and also the charm of her lovely grandmother. But starting with the full-length The Little Colonel's House Party (1900) the books were infused with a heavy sense of moral and social duty, and the focus broadened from one little girl to a whole bunch of girl characters. Each girl had to learn to make moral choices, and the setting for those choices w a s the small world of friends and mentors w h o encouraged and challenged her. Their world w a s Lloydsboro Valley, a Kentucky town full of gracious plantations and happy darkies; a paradise for its privileged (white) children, but a paradise where bad actions brought terrible consequences. Thus, The Little Colonel's House Party is not just another episodic bunch of childhood anecdotes: it is a succulent stew of praise and blame, selfishness and humility and duty and forgiveness—all those interpersonal issues so fascinating to group-oriented girls. I w a s a serious child but m y serious thoughts were not religious; church w a s only a pleasant place w e went on Easter. The sort of preaching I found in the Little Colonel Books, that w a s m y scripture, m y code of ideals transcending but guiding the group. Cu-

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rious about these books that were formative in m y development, m y husband tried to read The Little ColoneVs House Party. To him it w a s not boring or silly but incomprehensible—he literally could not figure out what those girls were talking and worrying about. There may be an analogy in m y o w n reaction, then and n o w , to Treasure Island—I have never been able to fathom the relations among Jim and the pirates, w h y they were as they were and w h y they were interesting. Their moral issues are not mine. Perhaps a well-balanced person of either gender could appreciate both traditionally female issues that involve community and traditionally male ones that involve competition. What I did understand w a s Lloyd and Betty and Eugenia and Joyce, all together for a summer month at "The Locusts/' Eugenia, Lloyd's motherless cousin from N e w York, had the most to learn from this newly-formed group. A typical bad girl character— spoiled, vain, supercilious—she did great harm b y ignoring her duty to the group and its mentor. Eugenia insisted that the girls visit a Gypsy camp, even though Lloyd's mother had refused permission. She violated the group code b y disobeying and lying and putting her w h i m s ahead of the g o o d of the group, and she caused them all to catch measles from the Gypsies. (Swarthy ethnic people in these books were depicted as dirty and diseased.) At the other end of the moral spectrum from mischievous Eugenia w a s Betty, saintly like Little Women's Beth. A poor orphan w h o did housework for a farm family, Betty w a s overjoyed w h e n Mrs. Sherman, her mother's childhood friend, invited her to the house party. Betty w a s a docile, selfless girl but in spite of her desire to please she w o u l d never d o what she k n e w w a s wrong; she therefore refused to join Eugenia's trip to the Gypsies. The innocent one always suffered most, so w h e n Betty caught the measles from the other girls it w a s a serious case and she almost went blind. Selfish Eugenia w a s transformed by remorse and became a worthy member of the group. Betty couldn't improve much, being close to perfect, but did become less shy, more confident, and more willing to accept help. The third guest, Joyce, came from a hearty middle-class family in the west. She learned to be herself, a sensible cheerful girl, and to ignore pretensions of snobs like

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Eugenia. Lloyd's lesson w a s to be more considerate, less willful: as a rich only child, beautiful and clever, she had never thought about the needs of others. In this series, whenever the girls were involved in a moral crisis someone told them or read them an uplifting legend or parable. In the house party book, Betty's illness made her particularly u n happy because she didn't want to be a burden to Lloyd's family: she w a s trying to build a "Road of the Loving Heart" like the one built b y Samoans for their beloved leader, Robert Louis Stevenson. Betty s h o w e d her friends her tattered magazine clipping about Stevenson's last years, which h e devoted to helping the Samoans. In gratitude the old chieftains undertook the backbreaking task of building a road that he needed, through the jungle. The four Lloydsboro girls took this tale as their inspiration; each one v o w e d to build a smooth Road of the Loving Heart for everyone around her, with n o stones or unpleasant memories. Eugenia realized, "EVERY DAY I'VE LIVED I'VE LEFT A WHOLE ROAD FULL OF STONES FOR SOMEBODY TO JOLT OVER," and as a reminder she bought each of

the girls a gold ring engraved with the w o r d "Tusitala," Stevenson's Samoan name. Betty confessed, "IT WILL BE HARDER TO D O NOW THAT I AM BLIND, BECAUSE I CAN'T HELP BEING A CARE TO EVERYBODY, BUT GODMOTHER SAYS PEOPLE WON'T MIND IF I'LL ONLY BE PLEASANT A N D CHEERFUL ABOUT MY MISFORTUNE." She regained her

sight, and never lost her cheerfulness. This cloying fervor for moral improvement pervades all the Little Colonel books. At Lloyd's house party there were picnics and magic lantern festivals and lounging o n the lawn, puppies and ponies for everyone—but most of all, each girl treasured the group bond and her o w n role within the group. The safety of belonging w a s central; the greatest satisfaction w a s becoming more worthy of membership and being recognized as worthy. You could have it both ways, a comfortable sense of one's virtue along with lesser satisfactions like a private bedroom with crystal candlesticks, white Angora rugs, and dainty toilet articles of gold and ivory, or a party like this one: GAY BUTTERFLIES WERE POISED EVERYWHERE,

ON THE FLOWERS, THE CANDLE-SHADES, THE CURTAINS. THE MENU CARDS WERE DECORATED WITH THEM, THE FINE HAND-PAINTED CHINA BORE SWARMS OF THEM AROUND THEIR DAINTY RIMS, AND EVEN THE

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ICES WERE MOULDED TO REPRESENT THEM. THE LITTLE HOSTESS HERSELF WORE A GAUZY DRESS OF PALEST BLUE, EMBROIDERED IN BUTTERFLIES AND BUTTERFLIES WERE CAUGHT HERE AND THERE IN HER GOLDEN CURLS. I tormented m y mother about birthday parties— w h y couldn't she reproduce this one? Once Lloyd's core group w a s established in House Party, its membership expanded or shifted slightly in later books, but a group w a s always central. Each story featured its o w n setting. There were t w o boarding schools, a tour of Europe, a ranch in Arizona, several seasons in Lloydsboro Valley. In each location Lloyd and her friends were s h o w n moving into some n e w phase of moral and social development, with c o m m o n themes elaborated in different ways—sympathy, loyalty, responsibility, selfdenial, kindness (the patronizing sort) to outsiders. Group stories like this gave each character and each reader a haven between the past (with its family group all-important to small children) and the future (with the outside world adolescents m o v e into). The girls 7 group strengthened its members and helped them meet that world. The danger w a s that the group w o u l d also constrict its members, requiring them to suppress their selves and their wishes and grow only in conventional directions. It's true that Joyce wanted to be an artist and Betty a writer, but not for personal fulfillment—only in order to support and honor their loved ones. At the age of fourteen Lloyd told her father (in her saccharine accent) about her o w n ambition: to "NOT DO ANY MOAH THAN JUST GATHAH UP EACH DAY'S HONEY AS IT COMES AND LAY UP A HIVE FULL OF SWEET MEMORIES FOR MYSELF AND OTHAH PEOPLE." A n d that's what she did. After boarding school and a debutante season she w e d her childhood chum and settled d o w n to gather honey and radiate joy throughout the Valley. A n y selfsacrifices required in these books were not too painful because a reward usually followed that w a s more delightful than whatever y o u gave up. For readability's sake it's fortunate that the Little Colonel books described so much girlish fun, because the bombardment of inspirational messages w a s enormous. There were always pills under the sugarcoating. Along with the Tusitala story there were allegories of the would-be knight Ederyn faithfully "Keeping the

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Tryst/' of Shapur with his lame camel patiently toiling in the Desert of Waiting, of Hildegarde refusing to give away the golden mantle (of virginity) until it w a s certain to fit a worthy prince. One of the girls or the elders w o u l d read or recite these legends to the group, thus binding the members together more firmly with a secular version of saints' lives. There were quotations from Pilgrim's Progress and The Vicar of Wakefield, scenes from Idylls of the King, accounts of Clara Barton's exemplary life. Dozens of mentors' voices urged the girls on to a life of self-improvement— mothers, aunts, teachers, occasionally a father or kindly male doctor. This w a s an unusually hypnotic, satisfying series because it s h o w e d virtue to be often easy, usually rewarded, and always picturesque; and because individual effort toward virtue w a s guided by kindly mentors and supported by devoted friends. If I had to name one author w h o s e influence most pervaded and perverted m y childhood, it w o u l d have to be Annie Fellows Johnston. Her world w a s softer and more sustained than Alcott's and there w a s more of it (I read nine Little Colonel books, while Alcott wrote only three about the March family). I w a s too obtuse to notice Johnston's racism and the gross Negro dialect she invented. Although their social perspective w a s distorted, the girls in the Little Colonel books seemed real and their struggles seemed important—learning to get along with each other and earn the praise of their elders. Another series presented a circle of privileged children in a more simplistic w a y that seemed silly even to m y tolerant taste. Nonetheless, I found it irresistible. Maida's Little Shop (1909) introduced a sweet, w a n , rich little invalid w h o had been cured of her physical malady but w a s still wasting away because she didn't k n o w h o w to live or what to live for. Only w h e n she w a s given a tiny shop to run in a lower-middle-class Boston neighborhood did she become energetic and cheerful. Selling toys and candies and pencils to the neighborhood, Maida made friends with real children. They formed a club of three girls and three boys, the Big Six, and allowed the younger children in as a satellite gang, the Little Six. The actions and relationships of this group were bland and boring, merely demonstrating old stereotypes—one girl w a s charming and smart, one

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energetic, one artistic; the boys were an explorer, a scholar, and a military sort. When Rosie the tomboy said, "i HATE EVERY SINGLE THING YOU LIKE, LAURA. BUT I'M GLAD YOU LIKE IT BECAUSE THEN I D O N T HAVE TO D O IT/' she w a s referring to more than household chores—she w a s articulating the notion that a girl is incomplete and becomes a whole person only through her group. The Maida books may have described an equal number of boys and girls but they were unquestionably girls' books, depicting girls w h o must join together in order to amoimt to anything at all. It's a rehearsal for the next stage, w h e n each must join with a husband in order to amount to anything. The main thing worth noting about the Maida series is the amazing role of the children's mentors: the children by themselves seemed to have no ability to think or act, almost n o volition. Benevolent adults (in this series, almost always men) arranged all the fun. Maida's father w a s a billionaire financier w h o once gave her her weight in silver dollars. When she w a s convalescing he bought her the little shop she admired; in each later book he planned and executed some grand enterprise for the w h o l e bunch of children such as building or buying them a houseboat, a camp, and a w h o l e historic village. In the second book they took over the "little" house behind his mansion for the summer. The idea w a s that the children w o u l d learn housekeeping, gardening, and responsibility; the presence of four nurturing adults living in the little house, however, and the authority of Maida's father behind the whole project made it clear that everything w a s being managed by grownups. The children had little opportunity for responsibility and less inclination. Many scenes in many of the books started out with the children lounging about on the grass moaning that they didn't know what to d o with themselves—and then Maida w o u l d appear with the n e w s that her amazing father (called "Buffalo" Westabrook by the press) had come u p with another w a y to entertain her and her friends. Other times the father's proteg6, a strange, elfin writer with unlimited time to play with the children, w o u l d come u p with a plan. The fatuity of the children w a s so great that any tiny sign of initiative brought an a w e d response: o n a nice summer day Laura suggested a picnic and

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M a i d a r e p l i e d , "OH LAURAI W H A T A W O N D E R F U L IDEA! I LOVE PIC-

NICS TOO! H O W D I D Y O U C O M E T O T H I N K O F I T ? " T h e M a i d a b o o k s

w e r e t h e apotheosis of passivity. A s I reread these girls' stories recently t o see h o w t h e y treated girls i n g r o u p s , I w a s n o t s u r p r i s e d t o see h o w d e p e n d e n t t h e characters w e r e o n each other. W h a t I h a d n o t realized w a s h o w d e e p l y a n d obviously t h e girls, s u p p o s e d l y p l a y i n g their o w n g a m e s together, w e r e controlled b y their w o r l d a n d its expectat i o n s — h o w d e p e n d e n t they w e r e o n t h e p o w e r s a r o u n d a n d above t h e m . M a i d a ' s feeble b u n c h of friends is only t h e m o s t blatant example; T h e Little Colonel, Betsy a n d Tacy a n d Tib, t h e girls of t h e P e g a s u s Patrol, t h e Little P e p p e r s , a n d m o s t of t h e others w e r e constantly m a n i p u l a t e d b y their loving m e n t o r s i n small m a t t e r s a n d large. I n b o o k s a b o u t g r o u p s for boys, a n authority figure like King A r t h u r or a football coach m a y h a v e supervised t h e p r o c e e d i n g s b u t s u c h figures w e r e n o t so p r o m i n e n t or s o interfering. I n girls 7 g r o u p s t h e a u t o n o m y of t h e i n d i v i d u a l w a s greatly restricted: b y h e r loyal peers a n d h e r loving elders a n d particularly b y t h e code of behavior constantly drilled into h e r b y those elders. Most of t h e girls w e l c o m e d these restrictions, e n d o r s i n g t h e m i n playful versions of t h e a d u l t c o d e — a s i n this p a s s a g e from What Katy Did At School: KATY WAS CHOSEN PRESIDENT, AND PROCEEDED TO READ THE BYLAWS, WHICH HAD BEEN COPIED ON AN IMMENSE SHEET OF BLUE PAPER. THEY RAN THUS:—CONSTITUTION OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE SUPPRESSION OF UNLADYLIKE CONDUCT. THE OBJECT OF THIS SOCIETY IS TWOFOLD: IT COMBINES HAVING A GOOD TIME WITH THE PURSUIT OF VIRTUE. VIRTUE IS TO BE PURSUED AT ALL TIMES AND IN ALL SEASONS, BY THE MEMBERS OF THE SOCIETY SETTING THEIR FACES AGAINST THE PRACTICE OF BOWING AND SPEAKING TO YOUNG GENTLEMEN WHO ARE NOT ACQUAINTANCES; WAVING OF POCKET-HANDKERCHIEFS, SIGNALS FROM WINDOWS, AND ANY SPECIES OF CONDUCT WHICH WOULD BE THOUGHT UNLADYLIKE BY NICE PEOPLE ANYWHERE, AND ESPECIALLY BY THE MAMMAS OF THE SOCIETY. In t h e English Swallows a n d A m a z o n s series of t h e 1930s a n d 1940s, A r t h u r R a n s o m e created a w o r l d w h e r e b o t h b o y s a n d girls s h o w e d imagination a n d initiative i n creating a d v e n t u r e s , a n antiM a i d a sort of w o r l d . These b o o k s described a bold, c o m p e t e n t

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gang of individuals in which girls outnumbered boys, five to three. (There's a kind of affirmative action here—because boys in children's fiction have dominated girls for so long, y o u need a larger number of girls than boys in order to give an impression of equal weight.) The only American series I know from the first half of this century with such a balance of male and female power, and with more than one strong female character, w a s Walter R. Brooks's Freddy the Pig series (1940s). At that time the idea of independent, forceful w o m e n w a s so alien that it appeared mostly in a few fantasy worlds. In Freddy's stories the large, sensible cow became mayor of the barnyard and every animal w a s encouraged to d o what he or she could do best. But realistic series about children's groups couldn't handle such radical notions.

Complications in the Self and in the Group Group stories for girls, then, pushed a distinctly conservative viewpoint about the relations of girls' groups to the adult world. It is not surprising that relations among the girls themselves were also conservative: the challenge faced by a typical girl, learning to deal with her peers, w a s to subdue her individuality, not to develop it. It's the process described by Gilligan whereby the adolescent girl gradually loses confidence and voice, the opposite of empowerment. Katy and the Little Colonel and Maida and the Pegasus Girl Scouts and the Peppers and the Linger-Nots Club and other sociable y o u n g w o m e n wanted to become better listeners, not better speakers. When a few girls had individual goals, like Connie taming the wild horse Silver Birch or the Little Colonel's Betty writing a novel, their goals (since they were good girls) were the kind that supported the group and did not threaten it in any way. Meanness and quarrelling were seldom seen among the nice members of a fictional girls' group; these were reserved for the scapegoat character, the conceited one w h o ultimately learned to think of others before herself. Brown and Gilligan's Meeting at the Crossroads describes the serious, painful work real-life girls must d o (in the 1990s as in earlier periods) to resolve the tension be-

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tween respect for themselves and respect for their friends. Most girls and w o m e n have experienced the teasing and whispering and cruelty that occur in these years of intense negotiation, as victim or aggressor or both. But in the stories I read and reread as a child, such meanness w a s not acknowledged; it w a s considered unusual and curable. Competition w a s not recognized as important or normal. N o one questioned that the desirable pattern of a girl's development involved abandoning an immature "selfishness" in favor of gracefully integrating into her peer group and then into the larger world. I used to like h o w clearcut the problems were in these stories, h o w obvious the solutions. I read them over and over, reassuring myself that the complexities in m y o w n friendships didn't really exist. In fact, m y real-life classmates went in for Byzantine, shifting alliances. They badgered nonconformists and shy girls; minor victims w o u l d join in tormenting major victims. I tried to be inoffensive, but many recess periods I spent crouching in the big w o o d e n box where rubber balls were kept, while the top girls w h o put m e there for some u n k n o w n crime sat on the lid and laughed. I never learned to stand u p to bullies—certainly m y books didn't s h o w m e how. I used indirect methods to placate m y peers, like lowering m y grades with deliberate mistakes on math tests. Girls like me expected to reduce aggression through passive pleasantness. In the stories I liked best, meanness w a s rare and quickly regretted. One time Lloyd, the Little Colonel, w a s haughty to a spoiled, lonely girl in a hotel but soon realized h o w insensitive she

had

been: "OH, IF I H A D ONLY KNOWN! I FEEL TOO M E A N FOR

ANYTHING! MOTHAH TOLD ME I OUGHT TO PUT MYSELF IN HER PLACE, AND MAKE ALLOWANCES FOR HER, BUT I DIDN'T WANT TO EVEN TRY. I'M GOIN' TO WRITE TO HER THE MINUTE I FINISH POLISHIN' MY NAILS, AND TELL HER HOW SORRY I AM THAT I DIDN'T LEAVE A KINDAH MEMORY BEHIND ME." Lloyd's remorse w a s sincere, but not so excessive as to prevent her from polishing her nails properly. So fictional girls w h o were friendly and flexible worked out their differences easily. Storybook girls didn't learn to cope with aggression and competition in themselves or others, children or adults. They could remain admirably weak as individuals—not

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needing to accomplish anything o n their o w n — a n d could still absorb strength from their collectivity. The better, more complex, books, went beyond assigning simple labels to different kinds of girl characters; they revealed unresolved tensions between a girl's allegiance to her society and her need to develop a self of her o w n . In the girls' books that were most interesting and perhaps most popular, the central girl w a s ambivalent—active and passive, competent and confused, strong and weak, at once, in a single character. M y contemporaries and I read children's books in a transitional period w h e n w o m e n were becoming less certain that they should lead passive lives following society's expectations, but weren't yet completely certain that they shouldn't. Our favorite stories reflected this doubleness. I a m thinking, for instance, of Heidi, well loved since 1880. A nice child but not cloyingly sweet, she spoke abruptly and did unexpected things. Heidi at the age of five climbed the mountain with her aunt, w h o had bundled her u p in t w o heavy dresses. Going unafraid to live w i t h a grandfather she h a d never met, she responded to the bright, wild landscape b y removing her shoes and dresses and capering about in her underwear. Presumably nineteenth-century Swiss underwear involved a substantial amount of discreet cloth; even so, this w a s a bold thing to do. But Heidi's stay in Frankfurt revealed the other side of her character— depressingly soppy. Her posture of Christian submissiveness w a s alarming, as were effusions like "OH, H O W GLAD I AM THAT THE DEAR LORD DID NOT GRANT WHAT I ASKED AND LONGED FOR!" By the end of the book, Heidi's brusque independence w a s less conspicuous than her pious, vapid docility. Nancy Drew w a s another two-sided girl, both daring and cautious; independent and conventional. Sometimes her ideas and actions were really d u m b ("PERHAPS A BIRD FLEW IN A N OPEN WIN-

DOW A N D TOOK THE PIN"), while other times her competence and courage were staggering, as w h e n she saved an unconscious captain in a shipwreck. A villain soon found that she STOOD HER GROUND; HE WAS NOT DEALING WITH A GIRL WHO COULD BE BLUFFED. She w o u l d zip about town in her roadster, stirring u p adventure. But she also loved lunching and shopping with her buddies (flow-

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ered crepe g o w n s , high-heeled slippers), N A N C Y SPENT A RESTLESS DAY IDLING ABOUT THE HOUSE. SHE CLEANED THE ATTIC, ACCOMPLISHED A LITTLE SEWING AND PRACTICED ON THE PIANO, YET TIME H U N G HEAVY U P O N H E R H A N D S . N a n c y ' s fans l e a r n e d t h a t y o u n g

w o m e n could b e smart, s t u b b o r n , a n d skillful. They also learned y o u n g w o m e n could live comfortably at h o m e w i t h n o p l a n s or goals, i n d u l g e d b y a father a n d a housekeeper. N a n c y n e v e r c h a n g e d or d e v e l o p e d herself. A t least s h e h a d a self, shallow a n d elitist t h o u g h it w a s . E v e n Lewis Carroll's Alice, w h o m w e r e m e m b e r a s so cool a n d b o l d in h e r a d v e n t u r e s , w o r r i e d terribly a b o u t politeness a n d tact a n d rules. She tried n o t to give offence or h u r t a n y o n e ' s feelings (like t h e ridiculous T w e e d l e d u m a n d Tweedledee); s h e scolded h e r kittens for m i s b e h a v i o r ("SIT U P A LITTLE MORE STIFFLY, DEAR!" "CURTSEY W H I L E YOU'RE T H I N K I N G W H A T T O P U R R " ) ; s h e w e n t i n for

moralizing w o r d s like " r u d e / 7 " f a u l t / ' " d i s g r a c e / ' a n d " r e p r o a c h ful." Yet h e r t o u g h n e s s in a n u n m a n a g e a b l e universe w a s heroic. Even w h e n s h e could n o t stop things from h a p p e n i n g , like a d r i n k m a k i n g h e r bigger a n d a cake m a k i n g h e r smaller, Alice tried to u n d e r s t a n d w h a t caused t h e c h a n g e a n d u s e t h e k n o w l e d g e to h e l p herself. She tried to m a k e rational p l a n s , w h i c h is n o t easy in a w o r l d w h e r e y o u r u n t h e opposite w a y to get w h e r e y o u w a n t to g o a n d y o u are o r d e r e d a b o u t b y animals, " T H E FIRST THING I'VE GOT TO DO IS TO GROW TO MY RIGHT SIZE AGAIN, AND THE SECOND THING IS TO FIND MY WAY INTO THAT LOVELY GARDEN. THAT WILL BE THE BEST PLAN." She s t o o d u p for herself, literally: ALICE W A S DOUBTFUL W H E T H E R

SHE OUGHT NOT TO LIE DOWN ON HER FACE LIKE THE GARDENERS, BUT SHE COULD NOT REMEMBER HAVING HEARD OF SUCH A RULE AT PROCESSIONS; "AND BESIDES, WHAT WOULD BE THE USE OF A PROCESSION," THOUGHT SHE, "IF PEOPLE HAD TO LIE DOWN SO THEY COULDN'T SEE IT?" s o SHE STOOD WHERE SHE WAS. Alice persisted until s h e reached h e r goal of b e c o m i n g a q u e e n — " I D O N ' T W A N T T O BE ANYBODY'S

P R I S O N E R " — b u t s h e a l w a y s acted polite, concealed h e r true feelings, a n d curtsied a lot. This m i x t u r e of p r o p r i e t y a n d strength a p p e a r e d in its m o s t extreme form in M a r y P o p p i n s — a y o u n g n a n n y w h o tidied t h e n u r s e r y a n d r a n e r r a n d s , and a n ancient sorceress w h o climbed

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stairs by sliding up the banister. From Mary Poppins girls learned to resist bullies and help outsiders and ride through the air on peppermint-stick horses. A n d girls learned to admire themselves instead of seeking admiration from others: Mary liked to look at herself and her n e w blouse in store w i n d o w s not out of uncertainty but out of an overflow of self-satisfaction, SHE THOUGHT THAT, ON THE WHOLE, SHE HAD NEVER SEEN ANYBODY LOOKING QUITE SO SMART AND DISTINGUISHED. It's splendid that a nanny might really be a powerful wisew o m a n , but this can be seen the other w a y round: a w i s e w o m a n must hide her identity and take on the disguise of a nanny. It's a complicated image of female strength. Before she left at the end of the second book (Mary Poppins Comes Back, 1935), whirling into the dusk on a flying merry-go-round, Mary Poppins said, "JANE! TAKE CARE OF MICHAEL AND THE TWINS!" AND SHE LIFTED JANE'S HAND AND PUT IT GENTLY ON THE HANDLE OF THE PERAMBULATOR. She w a s passing on to Jane her skill in caring for people. Will Jane also conquer tyrants and dance with the Sim, like Mary Poppins? Jane will grow up responsible, but will she be able to fly? The children shared Mary's adventures in a context of conventional propriety; Mary denied all the magical events the children knew really happened. Even with her o w n Jane and Michael, Mary Poppins maintained the fagade of ordinary propriety. "NO MORE N O N SENSE!" "SPIT SPOT INTO BED!" "SIT STILL, PLEASE—YOU'RE NOT PERFORMING MICE!" Mary Poppins gave her protegee a gift Jane w o u l d never forget—the swirling dance of the universe; she also gave Jane the gift of civilized hypocrisy and lies. The saddest case of ambivalence is Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden (1911), because the ambivalence lies not in Mary's character but in her author: Mary herself never weakened but her creator "disappeared" her at the end of the book, so her position in her world weakened terribly. The grumpy little orphan from India, transported to a lonely Yorkshire mansion, stayed clever and stubborn. With no governness or school, she also became resourceful and independent and thoughtful. She w a s actually growing up. At one point Mary discovered the door not only into the secret garden but also, unconsciously, into her sexual nature: Gazing at the garden wall, Mary spied

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something under tendrils of i v y — A R O U N D KNOB WHICH H A D BEEN

COVERED BY THE LEAVES HANGING OVER IT. SHE PUT HER HANDS UNDER THE LEAVES AND BEGAN TO PULL AND PUSH THEM ASIDE. MARY'S HEART BEGAN TO THUMP AND HER HANDS TO SHAKE A LITTLE IN HER DELIGHT AND EXCITEMENT. WHAT WAS THIS UNDER HER HANDS WHICH HER FINGERS F O U N D A HOLE IN? (Bobbie A n n Mason noticed

a similar scene in Nancy Drew and I found another: FLASHING HER LIGHT INTO THE CLOSET, SHE FOCUSED IT UPON THE KNOB. IT WAS A TINY THING AND APPEARED TO HAVE NO SPECIAL PURPOSE. CURIOUSLY, NANCY TWISTED THE KNOB. IN THE DIM LIGHT SHE COULD MAKE OUT A LONG CRACK. "I BELIEVE I'VE STUMBLED UPON SOMETHING IMPORTANT/' NANCY THOUGHT EXCITEDLY.) Mary and her invalid cousin Colin expanded and found their true shapes, b y sharing the magic of springtime in the garden. She brought the wretched youth out from his dark sickroom into the sunlight. When Colin's brooding father came h o m e and found his crippled son running about, however, Mary m o v e d to the edge of the scene while everyone admired Colin: he w o u l d be strong enough to grow into a true, bullying master of Mistlethwaite Manor. Mary appears hardly at all in the last thirty pages, and is not mentioned in the last four pages (as Shirley Foster and Judy Simons have noted). The Secret Garden created a wonderful group of equals supporting one another—Mary, Colin, the nature b o y Dickon, Dickon's wholesome mother and sister, and the old gardener—until Burnett's devotion to the male aristocracy caused her to destroy the nurturing group, deify Colin, and abandon Mary. Speaking of tensions between the self and the group, m y o w n favorite emotion w a s guilt. Girls constantly worried about what might be wrong in their behavior, speech, or appearance, and suspected that anything wrong in their world w a s their fault. N o t all girls were like this—my sister certainly wasn't—but I felt guilty all the time. Feeling wretchedly guilty about reading m y father's memoirs of Casanova o n the sly, skipping piano practice, listening to the Lux Radio Theatre under the blanket w h e n I w a s supposed to be asleep?—these sins were dumb and dreary, not worth such fear and shame.

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The high priestess of guilt w a s Jo March, w h o s e guilts were of a much more serious order. Many readers remember only her independent side: At sixteen she proclaimed, "I WANT TO D O SOMETHING SPLENDID—SOMETHING HEROIC, OR WONDERFUL. I MEAN TO ASTONISH YOU ALL SOME D A Y / ' Jo's split character w a s aggressive

but eager to please, bold but anxious. Marmee and Father knew exactly what w a s bad in Jo, telling her so in little sermons; and the narrator knew they were right, (WRONG-DOING ALWAYS BRINGS ITS OWN PUNISHMENT; AND, WHEN JO MOST NEEDED HERS, SHE GOT IT, said the narrating voice smugly w h e n Jo w a s writing sleazy stories for m o n e y ; SHE WAS BEGINNING TO DESECRATE SOME OF THE WOM-

ANLIEST ATTRIBUTES OF A WOMAN'S CHARACTER.) Jo herself knew those kindly critics were right, she w a s deeply wicked. Her family newsletter contained a Weekly Report: "MEG— GOOD. JO—BAD. BETH—VERY GOOD. AMY—MIDDLING." A reader could admire Jo's blunt, unladylike behavior but w o u l d also hear and perhaps believe the constant, despairing wail of her selfflagellation: "IT'S MY DREADFUL TEMPER! I TRY TO CURE IT; AND THEN IT BREAKS OUT WORSE THAN EVER. I'M AFRAID I SHALL DO SOMETHING DREADFUL SOME DAY, AND MAKE EVERYBODY HATE ME." She yearned to be boyish and free but even more she wanted to be good, and her efforts gradually paid off. She worked on keeping her temper, paying social calls politely, doing chores without complaint. If y o u read Little Women carefully, y o u realize Jo w a s painfully torn, often thoroughly wretched. W h y should jolly, / / virile , / Jo be depressed, tormented by guilt, pitifully dependent on the group— the approval of others? A s Jerry Griswold points out (in The Classic American Children's Story, 1992), "Alcott hunts for and delivers the cloud in every silver lining that ensures that her characters will be left miserable/ 7 Many incidents explain Jo's chronic sense of unworthiness—little acts of rudeness, selfishness, disobedience. But the stain of her guilt ran deeper and could never be washed away. Within her general guiltiness there lay a specific, terrible offense. She knew that her penance must be everlasting: for she knew that she herself killed her sister Beth. Jo's youthful insistence on getting her o w n w a y led eventually to Beth's death—after which Jo renounced the idea of fulfilling herself, embracing instead the traditional role of the Good Girl loyal to the group or family.

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It's right there in the text, as I recently noticed while rereading Little Women once again. Beth w a s the sister so lovable in childhood, so angelic in her final years, w h o s e life w a s FULL OF THE SELF-FORGETFULNESS THAT MAKES THE HUMBLEST ON EARTH REMEMBERED SOONEST IN HEAVEN. (When reading this book I still find myself sobbing just about every time Beth is mentioned.) In the beginning Beth w a s not unhealthy, just timid. When Marmee went to Washington to tend the sick Father, a Civil War chaplain, the four healthy sisters stayed home being virtuous. Beth had been visiting the poor German family w h o were the Marches' pet charity. One day she begged Jo to g o in her place, as the baby w a s sick and she didn't know what to do. Jo h a d already had scarlet fever and believed herself immune but she refused o n feeble, selfish pretexts. So Beth went again herself, caught the disease, and began her journey toward death. When Beth told her sister about the baby dying of scarlet fever, Jo m o a n e d , "HOW DREADFUL FOR YOU! I OUGHT TO HAVE GONE, IF

YOU SHOULD BE SICK I NEVER COULD FORGIVE MYSELF!" Beth did get sick and Jo insisted o n nursing Beth herself "BECAUSE IT'S MY FAULT SHE IS SICK; I TOLD MOTHER I'D DO THE ERRANDS AND I HAVEN'T." After that Beth w a s DELICATE, N O T A N INVALID EXACTLY, BUT NEVER AGAIN THE HEALTHY CREATURE SHE H A D BEEN. Four years passed in

which Beth wasted away and then she sweetly died. Jo w a s the most adoring nurse in her final days and the most heartbroken mourner at her death. But there w a s something deeply uncomfortable in Jo's sorrow about Beth. It is downright creepy the w a y Jo, in a terrible depression, tried to take Beth's place with the housework, h u m m i n g among brooms and dishcloths, (SOMETHING OF HER HOUSEWIFELY SPIRIT SEEMED TO LINGER ROUND THE LITTLE MOP.) N o one in the story admitted w h y Jo w a s so devastated; but I am convinced Alcott wanted u s to see Jo's responsibility and agree that her guilt could never be washed away. While a bad girl like Jo could improve her behavior and conformity to the group, she could not outgrow her strong will, her self. Self became a permanent danger, threatening harm to others. (A strong, willful girl can kill without meaning to, as w h e n Dorothy's flying house landed in Oz and squashed the Wicked Witch.)

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Years earlier Jo almost caused A m y to drown, an incident foreshadowing her role in Beth's sickness: Jo w a s furious about something and failed to warn A m y that the ice w a s too thin to skate on. A m y crashed through and Jo COULD ONLY STAND MOTIONLESS,

STARING AT THE LITTLE BLUE HOOD ABOVE THE BLACK WATER, while Laurie pulled her out. Later Jo sobbed to her mother, "IF SHE SHOULD DIE, IT WOULD BE MY FAULT. IT SEEMS AS IF I COULD DO ANYTHING WHEN FM IN A PASSION; I COULD HURT ANY ONE, AND ENJOY IT." Only a continuing remorse, an acceptance of guilt and inadequacy, could partly atone for the awful things Jo did and might d o w h e n she insisted o n her o w n needs, w h e n she did such an antisocial thing as getting into a passion. She must always be vigilant. I understood this instinctively, in m y early readings of Little Women. A girl could easily be guilty of all sorts of monstrous infractions. At the end of Little Women, Jo rejected the heroic dreams that were so lovable in the y o u n g girl Jo. When A m y asked "DO YOU REMEMBER OUR CASTLES IN THE AIR?" Jo answered, "YES, I REMEMBER; BUT THE LIFE I WANTED THEN SEEMS SELFISH, LONELY AND COLD TO ME NOW." Jo March remains a wonderful hero for girls to admire. It's just that she w a s a more ambivalent, tormented hero than is usually recognized, and a sadder one. She developed a fine, quirky self until it tormented her, and she denied it—convinced that development of the self meant betrayal of the group.

•6G i r l s

a n d

B o y s — C o n s e r v a t i v e R o m a n c e

V V e k n e w , girls in the 1940s, that childhood w o r k a n d p l a y led straight to the one female goal—courtship a n d marriage. If s o m e of u s h a d ambitions to a m o u n t to s o m e t h i n g in t h e w o r l d outside the h o m e , w e n e v e r talked a b o u t it. I certainly h a d n o n e . M y m o t h e r , a social w o r k e r , w o r k e d before she m a r r i e d a n d after I reached junior high; b u t m y o w n i m a g e s a n d fantasies never w e n t b e y o n d t h e domestic scenes I a d m i r e d in the Ladies' Home Journal a n d Good Housekeeping. T o d a y the M a r t h a Stewart k i n d of domestic d r e a m serves as a p i q u a n t alternative to n o r m a l life— a n n o y i n g to m a n y p e o p l e , nostalgically a p p e a l i n g to others. Back t h e n w h e n I w a s a sheltered W A S P child, that w a s o u r w o r l d , a place w h e r e w e learned h o w to knit argyle socks for m e n a n d h o w to color-coordinate ribbons a n d strawberries a n d cupcakes o n Valentine's Day. Girls from p r o s p e r o u s families d i d g o to college b u t m a n y left to get m a r r i e d , or m a r r i e d soon after g r a d u ating. The perfect, romantic t h i n g w a s a w e d d i n g t h e d a y after g r a d u a t i o n in the w h i t e , chaste college chapel. The b o o k s w e r e a d as y o u n g children a i m e d u s at that w e d d i n g chapel. A s w e g r e w to p u b e r t y t h e m e s s a g e in o u r b o o k s b e c a m e explicit, telling u s exactly h o w a n d h o w n o t to b e h a v e , exactly w h a t to think a n d feel, in the c o m i n g years. W h a t action w a s a girl s u p p o s e d to take in the serious courtship g a m e ? A c c o r d i n g to

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our books, only the most minimal, defensive, inactive sort of action. Yet w e read them eagerly for hints and models. My mother gave m e embarrassing books of advice o n teen behavior and sex—self-consciously cute sermons. The most vivid advice book w a s Letters to Jane (by Gladys Denny Shultz, 1947), in which troubled college girls corresponded with their friend Jane's understanding mother. By this period girls were less sheltered than in Alcott's time, even needing to fend off "wolves." One girl in Letters to Jane complained, "IT MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL W H E N BOYS

GET SO FRESH WITH GIRLS WHO WANT TO BE DECENT. I'M NOT SAYING EVERY GIRL IS AN ANGEL. MANY OF US HAVE DONE THINGS WE'D GIVE AN ARM OR AN EYE TO SPONGE OUT, BUT IT WAS BECAUSE SOME FRESH WOLF TALKED u s INTO IT." Jane's mother responded with gentle chiding, pointing out that usually girls are responsible for anything bad that happened to them: "YOUNG M E N OF THE AGE YOU ARE DEALING WITH ARE IN THE LUSTIEST FLOWER OF THE PROCREATTVE URGE. MANY GIRLS BRING UNPLEASANT EXPERIENCES ON THEMSELVES BY KISSING TOO LONG AND TOO EXPERTLY/ AS ONE MAN PUT IT, ON LONELY ROADSIDES. GIRLISH EBULLIENCE IS A THING SOME MEN MISCONSTRUE." A s late as the 1940s a girl could not d o much to decide her fate—but more than ever she w a s to blame if things went wrong, even the most unforeseeable things. Consider, for instance, the dour maternal warning reported in a memoir b y Beverly Cleary, author of the Ramona Quimby stories: " 'Never play leapfrog with b o y s / she said. 'They might look u p / " I respected the wise hints of m y elders and v o w e d to avoid Fast Behavior. I agreed with the author that "Petting" w a s a terrible threat to a girl's happiness and "wholesome and lighthearted contacts" with boys were the key to a successful life. But Jane's story w a s obvious propaganda and focused too much o n modern dangers w e didn't want to think about. Identifying with lighthearted heroines like Judy in Daddy-Long-Legs and Laura in the Little House books, I entered their worlds and absorbed their ideals of female behavior. Girls did take such stories seriously and read them voraciously. Books read b y boys included virtually n o scenes of courtship, while girls' books pullulated with romance. In many of the girls'

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series, a popular first book has n o courtship plot but a later book gets the heroine married: notably, Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, The Five Little Peppers, and Pollyanna. Romances written for adults were also popular with girls at mid-century, novels such as Gone with the Wind and Rebecca. A chorus of voices surrounded girls, guiding them toward marriage. I see n o w that the fictional suitors I liked best were bland characters. They were representative types, like those m e n I liked to make pictures of in m y prepubescent years. In little rectangles I w o u l d draw m e n with permutations of clothes and hairstyles— striped, patterned, or dotted ties; solid or plaid jackets; dark or light hair sticking u p in a crewcut or folding over to one side. They all had the same blank expression and squinty eyes. The variations did not disguise the fact that all these m e n were the same, merely pleasant instruments for fulfilling a girl's destiny. W o m e n were not the only ones v i e w e d as Objects in y o u n g people's minds and in their reading.

Courtship without Pain Following her destiny, a girl w a s allowed only a few actions: she could accept a suitor, take subtle measures to attract a suitor, perhaps select from a group of suitors. Once the selection stage w a s passed, she could help him and she could suffer for him. Some popular courtship books described an easy, effortless drift into accepting marriage. Laura of the Little House books w a s an energetic girl w h o faced discomfort and danger bravely, yet her relations with the man w h o became her husband were amazingly passive. In These Happy Golden Years (1943) Laura, not yet sixteen, took a teaching job where she had to board with a crazy w o m a n on an isolated farm. She disliked teaching and only took the job to help pay for her sister's school for the blind. The bright spot w a s going h o m e on weekends. Laura w a s surprised and grateful w h e n every Friday instead of her father a y o u n g neighbor farmer appeared at the school to fetch her home and w h e n every Sunday he appeared at her home to take her back.

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Gladly s h e let A l m a n z o Wilder rescue h e r w i t h o u t asking permission, s w a t h e h e r in blankets, a n d carry h e r off in his sleigh. "IT'S LIKE FLYINGr LAURA SAID. THERE WAS NOT A JOLT NOR A JAR; THE LITTLE CUTTER SKIMMED THE SNOW AS SMOOTHLY AS A BIRD IN AIR. Their low-key courtship p r o c e e d e d like that, as s m o o t h l y as a b i r d in air, w i t h v e r y little conversation or action. O n e ripple d i s t u r b e d t h e smoothness: A n o t h e r girl, v u l g a r a n d forward, tried to entice Wilder; b u t Laura k n e w there w a s n o real threat. D u r i n g this brief spell of jealousy, Laura r e s p o n d e d like m o s t of t h e other girl characters I r e a d about: passively, THE T H O U G H T OF NELLIE OLESON JUST CROSSED HER MIND. BUT IF ALMANZO WANTED TO SEE HER AGAIN, HE KNEW WHERE SHE WAS. IT WAS NOT HER PLACE TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT, AND SHE DIDN'T INTEND TO. T h e tWO drifted peaceably for three years until o n e d a y A l m a n z o PICKED UP LAURA'S HAND AND HIS SUN-BROWNED HAND CLOSED GENTLY OVER IT. HE HAD NEVER DONE THAT BEFORE. "YOUR HAND IS SO SMALL," HE SAID. "I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WOULD LIKE AN ENGAGEMENT RING." "THAT WOULD DEPEND ON WHO OFFERED IT TO ME," LAURA TOLD HIM. After a w e e k ' s p a u s e a n d a few m o r e bits of conversation, L a u r a finally said "IT is A BEAUTIFUL PONG, I THINK . . .

I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE IT." "THEN LEAVE IT ON." She told h i m h e could kiss h e r goodnight—for t h e first t i m e — a n d w e n t into t h e house while he drove away. They h a d a simple w e d d i n g a n d m o v e d right into t h e little cabin h e h a d built for her. T h e m o o d w a s placid a n d loving, n o t intense. L a u r a ' s m o s t passionate m o m e n t c a m e w h e n s h e said a b o u t A l m a n z o , "WE JUST SEEM T O BELONG TOGETHER." T h e r e a d e r

comes a w a y w i t h a sense that L a u r a w a s extremely lucky s u c h a g o o d m a n h a p p e n e d t o trot h e r w a y , because there w a s n o t h i n g she could h a v e d o n e a b o u t it except wait. She w a s a dutiful d a u g h t e r a n d sister, a g o o d friend, a n d a k i n d l y teacher of small children; after learning to b e this w o r t h y p e r s o n s h e received h e r r e w a r d . L a u r a ' s j o u r n e y to m a r r i a g e w a s as s m o o t h as A l m a n z o ' s sleigh rides, N O T A JOLT N O R A JAR; a n d all t h e time s h e w a s p u l l e d along h a p p i l y w h i l e s o m e b o d y else controlled t h e journey. The courtship in Heidi Grows Up (1935) w a s briefer a n d e v e n m o r e primitive, a n d H e i d i ' s role w a s e v e n m o r e passive. Teaching

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the village school, Heidi felt a yearning for something she couldn't quite identify: "SOMETIMES I N THE SCHOOLROOM I LONG TO BE U P O N

THE MOUNTAIN WHERE I CAN STRETCH MY ARMS AND FEEL FREE/' A f e w p a g e s later, W H E N PETER, QUITE UNEXPECTEDLY, ASKED HEIDI TO

MARRY HIM, SHE EXCLAIMED IN THE UTMOST SURPRISE, "WHY PETER! I THINK THAT MUST HAVE BEEN WHAT I WANTED/' THEY PLANNED A STREET WEDDING SO THAT EVERYONE IN THE VILLAGE COULD TAKE PART IN THE BEAUTIFUL CEREMONY. A n d that w a s it. Heidi's story and Laura's described the simplest kind of courtship, where the girl simply waited to b e chosen. Daddy-Long-Legs (1912) s h o w e d another lively heroine falling happily into the arms of a wonderful suitor, but this is a more convoluted story—one with a weird, frightening perspective o n relations between m a n and w o m a n . The author, Jean Webster, w a s a great-niece of Mark Twain and had a bit of his humor and energy. In Judy Abbott she created a fine, saucy character: a teenage orphan sent to college by a Trustee of her orphanage. "Mr. Smith" announced through his man of business that Judy's expenses at Vassar w o u l d be taken care of; her only duties were to write Mr. Smith a monthly letter and respect his desire for anonymity. His generous plan gave Judy freedom from drudgery and freed o m to develop her talents as a person and a writer. The book is full of ambiguity about her freedom, however: it s h o w s a y o u n g heroine controlled b y a m a n (rich, wise, and considerably older) w h o knew what w a s best for her and w h o ended u p marrying her. It is a twentieth-century version of uncomfortable Victorian plots where an older m a n raised a child ward to b e his wife, but here the story w a s told from the viewpoint of the happy y o u n g girl. Judy's response to her n e w life w a s spirited and far from fawning. In her first letter she explained that a glimpse of her patron's shadow leaving the orphanage told her h e w a s tall, and she w o u l d therefore address h i m as "Daddy-Long-Legs." She even teased h i m with guesses about his appearance: YOUR MOUTH IS A STRAIGHT LINE WITH A TENDENCY TO TURN DOWN AT THE CORNERS. OH, YOU SEE, I KNOW! YOU'RE A SNAPPY OLD THING WITH A TEMPER. In college, joyously, she started to learn about herself and her world. In a letter to Daddy-Long-Legs she reported, THIS IS THE

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FIRST CHANCE I'VE EVER HAD TO GET ACQUAINTED WITH JERUSHA ABBOTT. I THINK FM GOING TO LIKE HER. She developed independent

opinions. By sophomore year she could say, I A M BEGINNING TO FEEL AT HOME IN COLLEGE AND IN COMMAND OF THE SITUATION. Was she really in command? She had not objected back w h e n the orphanage matron announced that the Trustee w a s PLANNING TO EDUCATE YOU TO BECOME A WRITER, but that had b e e n the first clue

that this kindly gentleman thought h e o w n e d her life. Conflict arose between her wishes and his orders. She w a s awarded a scholarship which he instructed her to turn d o w n . They clashed over other decisions. The reader gradually understands what Daddy-Long-Legs w a s u p to, because Judy's letters mentioned that the uncle of a rich classmate began turning u p o n campus frequently, to take his niece and Judy out for treats. Jervis Pendleton, a philanthropist fourteen years older than Judy, had also (not coincidentally) been a visitor since childhood at the farm where Mr. Smith sent her for the summers; she became good friends with h i m there. The w e b around Judy grew tighter, as Daddy-Long-Legs's orders were increasingly influenced b y jealousy—he refused to let her make a visit, for instance, because a friend's Princeton brother w a s interested in her. Readers could see that Judy's mentor w a s a dog-inthe-manger (as well as a spidery insect), but the author presented his possessiveness as lovable rather than greedy. In the end, the secretive suitor got his w a y without being revealed as a gross bully because Judy confessed her love for Jervis in a letter to Daddy-Long-Legs. She did not k n o w that her suitor and her benefactor were one and the same, and thus h e could not be accused of buying her love and pressuring her into marriage. Nonetheless, the whole relationship developed in a context of s m u g manipulation. The m a n held the advantages of wealth and power and experience and secret knowledge, while the w o m a n w a s innocently pursuing her life and education with n o idea she w a s dancing into his w e b . Like Laura Ingalls with her farmer, Judy w a s enormously lucky that such a m a n came to claim her. But the book's happy ending failed to erase the creepy image of Daddy-Long-Legs in his shado w y appearance at the orphanage in Chapter One: She CAUGHT

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ONLY A FLEETING IMPRESSION OF THE MAN. THE SHADOW PICTURED GROTESQUELY ELONGATED LEGS AND ARMS THAT RAN ALONG THE FLOOR AND UP THE WALL OF THE CORRIDOR. IT LOOKED, FOR ALL THE WORLD, LIKE A HUGE, WAVERING DADDY-LONG-LEGS. Of COUrse a daddy-long-legs is a harmless b u g and plenty of girls are willing to play with it; but this description is not benign. It came as n o surprise that this huge figure—like an alien in science fiction— slowly, patiently, gathered Judy into the grasp of its grotesquely elongated legs and arms and promised to hold her there forever. A n d it came as n o surprise b y the end of the book that Judy w a s transcendently grateful at being clutched so tightly and so lovingly b y her monstrous daddy-long-legs. In the crucial letter where Judy told h i m about her love for Jervis, she made a revealing remark: WE THINK THE SAME ABOUT

EVERYTHING—I AM AFRAID I HAVE A TENDENCY TO MAKE OVER MY IDEAS TO MATCH HIS! The author seems to have had n o regrets that this bright, feisty girl w o u l d n o w make over her ideas to match her rich husband, and it didn't occur to the author that Judy might resent the fact that for four years this m a n had played with her ignorance and deceived her into revealing her private thoughts about h i m in unguarded letters. When I w a s a preteen reader around 1950, Daddy-Long-Legs w a s considered a happy fairy tale, and Judy a happy girl w h o w o u l d be happy ever after in her silken w e b . We were taught, quite young, h o w to apply these lessons in waiting. Starting in fifth grade w e attended dancing classes. Girls clustered in the lobby in soft, bright dresses and white gloves while the boys watched, until the dancing teacher clicked her hand clicker. Following a hierarchy w e all understood, the p o p ular boys strolled over and asked the popular girls to dance. Then the okay ones; then the last few pathetic ones. I w a s okay, somewhere in the lower-middle; m y partners were nice enough, smart but short, with glasses a n d / o r big ears. Although I wasn't treated badly I w o u l d get a stomachache lasting through each session, from the tension of waiting over and over again to be asked. There w a s nothing y o u could d o but stand there smiling wanly, hoping your stocking seams were straight. When pushed around the floor

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in a stiff foxtrot or rumba, y o u could d o nothing but follow your partner's lead and smile. In sixth and seventh grade the waiting game got worse, because n o w boys w o u l d phone girls with invitations to little dances held in the g y m or local country clubs. One time m y social level seemed about to rise a notch: A popular boy (handsome but short) w a s turned d o w n for a school dance by his first- and second-choice girls and asked me to go with him. I felt overjoyed, honored before m y peers. Steve w a s coming d o w n with the flu—ten minutes into the dance he threw u p on the g y m floor. I smiled wanly while waiting for his mother to arrive and drive us home. There w a s nothing I could do about anything but look nice and act pleasant.

The Proper Choice In many stories the heroine chose from t w o or three suitors. Occasionally she ended up with an outsider, a beau w h o came from beyond her small circle of family and friends. We loved tales of a romantic stranger but seldom found them in books written for children. We found them instead in some adult novels that were popular with y o u n g girls—passionate books such as Jane Eyre and Rebecca and Gone with the Wind. In stories that mid-century girls were supposed to read, the successful suitor w a s not the stranger but rather the comfortable, familiar chap w h o w a s more like a brother or father than a lover. The thrust of these stories w a s conservative: a girl w o u l d be safest and happiest staying within her o w n milieu and passing on the values and virtues of those she had grown u p with. Adults writing for girl readers preferred to create suitors w h o seemed like family members, because they did not threaten the established social order and they did not reek of sexuality. Young readers got around such squeamishness b y seeking out adult books with intense, sexual heroes like Rhett Butler and Heathcliff. But the wise fatherly lovers and jolly brotherly lovers in girls' stories had their o w n appeal too, and helped nudge a girl toward conventional behavior and sensible marriage.

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When a girl chose to marry the older suitor, she chose to be cared for and protected in traditional style by a husband she acknowledged as wiser and better than she. In her childhood and teens Jo March of Little Women s h o w e d a bold, independent character. In her twenties, though, after trying a n e w life as governess and writer, Jo w a s beaten d o w n by loneliness, homesickness, and sorrow (at her sister's death) into such a depression that only the proposal of kind, middle-aged Professor Bhaer restored her happiness and sense of purpose. The Professor, a scholarly sort w h o resembled Jo's father, cherished and guided her through t w o preachy sequels, Little Men and Jo's Boys. Jo w a s able to fulfill herself so beautifully (according to her author) because her husband w a s a fine teacher and father, praising her generously and, w h e n she needed it, scolding her gently. Everyone w a s happy that the Professor took over the parental role so well. We y o u n g admirers had thought that Jo could run her o w n life and make her o w n mistakes; w e found that w e were wrong—and that she w a s thoroughly comfortable with her n e w circumscribed world. Jo, this girl w h o defied everyone at fifteen, at twenty-five w a s eager to obey three watchful fathers: her Heavenly and earthly fathers and her husband. To post-Freudian adult readers these stories have o d d and unsavory elements, but to earlier readers they followed a familiar pattern. Today it's hard to believe that the many masochistic Elsie Dinsmore books, about the little girl's unwholesome worship of a father and later a father-like husband, were immensely popular. In one book y o u n g Elsie joyfully married her father's best friend, "Mr. Travilla," as she called him, thus virtually managing to have sex with her father without raising eyebrows. Such tales satisfied some Victorian craving for w o m e n to undergo permanent paternal discipline, stern and captious. Nineteenth-century assumptions underlie later books like Daddy-Long-Legs, where even ambitious girls got absorbed by husbands full of righteous authority and full of years. W o m e n w h o enjoyed Louisa May Alcott's books as children remember, many years later, the charm and humor. They may think they forget the sermons and w o r d s of advice to sweethearts and w i v e s , but some part of them remembers. Today I look at Little Women, Jo's Boys,

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and the rest with a suspicious eye, yet every sentence, every admonition, glistens for m e with the absolute truth I found here as a child. If the nineteenth century liked stories about a girl marrying a father-figure and this survived as a sub-theme into the twentieth, the most c o m m o n choice of fictional girls in our century w a s marriage to a brother. Popular versions included the three Pollys: the heroine of PoUyanna Grows Up (1914) by Eleanor Porter, Polly Milton in Alcott's An Old-Fashioned Girl (1870), and Polly in Five Little Peppers Grown-Up (1893) b y Margaret Sidney. Alcott's romances were lively enough, but Porter and Sidney, basically fatuous writers, became unusually fatuous w h e n they described romantic situations. Pollyanna's courtship included a ridiculous remnant of the Victorian father-marrying pattern. When Jimmy, the childhood chum w h o obviously should become her husband, proposed to her, h e mentioned a suspicion that his middle-aged mentor, John Pendleton, also loved her. Then PoUyanna, w h o always h a d a close but unromantic friendship with Pendleton, decided that if he d i d indeed ask her to marry him she w o u l d b e obliged to d o so, giving u p her love for Jimmy—because years a g o her mother had broken his heart by spurning him and marrying Pollyanna's father, POLLYANNA GAVE A M O A N A N D COVERED HER FACE

WITH HER HANDS. HER EYES HAD THE HUNTED LOOK OF SOME WILD THING AT BAY. "YOU MEAN YOU'D MARRY HIM?" "OH, NO!—I MEANWHY—ER—Y-YES, I SUPPOSE SO," SHE ADMITTED FAINTLY. "POLLYANNA, YOU'RE BREAKING MY HEART." "I'M BREAKING MINE TOO. BUT I'LL HAVE TO DO IT. I'D BREAK YOUR HEART, I'D BREAK MINE—BUT I'D NEVER BREAK HIS!" Because her mother h a d once made h i m unhappy, she must make it u p to him? All ended well, because Pendleton actually wanted to marry a mature w i d o w and Pollyanna could marry Jimmy with n o guilt. A feebler plot device could not be imagined, but the author obviously felt she must s h o w that Pollyanna w o u l d sacrifice love for duty and thus w a s certified a good-girl heroine. Basically, Pollyanna thought she ought to marry her father but then realized she didn't have to, s o she married her brother and everyone w a s happy.

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Alcott's Polly Milton d i d n o t share Pollyanna's n o t i o n that a girl w a s morally obliged t o m a r r y a n older m a n to i m p r o v e h i s life, b u t s h e s h a r e d t h e s a m e itch for m a r t y r d o m . Polly felt affection b u t n o love t o w a r d rich A r t h u r Sidney, a g e n t l e m a n eight years older w h o appreciated h e r strength a n d simplicity. O l d fashioned Polly w a s a sensible c o u n t r y girl w h o h a d b e e n taken u p b y s o m e rich city relatives. H e r v a l u e s a n d habits startled h e r u r b a n friends: s h e w a s n o t a s h a m e d of p o v e r t y , n o t afraid of h a r d w o r k , a n d n o t (except a little bit) t e m p t e d b y t h e wasteful, frivolous social life of t h e S h a w s ' circle. Polly finally d i s c o u r a g e d h e r fatherly lover M r . Sidney a n d found fulfillment d e v o t i n g herself to h e r lovable b u t i m m a t u r e brotherly lover, T o m Shaw. T o m w a s the actual b r o t h e r of Polly's rich friend Fanny; h e a n d Polly h a d b e e n friends since h e r first visits w h e n they w e r e children. Polly (unlike Jo March) w o u l d b e t h e nobler s p o u s e , h e l p i n g T o m o v e r c o m e h i s weaknesses. A h e a r t y y o u n g w o m a n , s h e w a s also angelic, inspiring t h e w h o l e S h a w family a n d a n u m b e r of their friends t o discard crass w a y s a n d values. Like Jo March, Polly finally chose a m a n w h o w a s a comfortable family m e m b e r rather t h a n a romantic knight. These choices w e r e v e r y c o m m o n in t h e b o o k s I a m considering. Old-fashioned Polly's family-like relations w i t h T o m are stressed t o a grotesque extent. O n e w h o l e chapter, entitled " P l a y i n g G r a n d m o t h e r / ' s h o w s Polly taking t h e place of h i s d e a d grandmother,

"i USED T O G O A N D CONSULT

GRANDMA, AND SHE ALWAYS HAD SOMETHING COMFORTABLE TO SAY TO ME. SHE'S GONE NOW, BUT POLLY, YOU SEEM TO TAKE HER PLACE. WOULD YOU MIND SITTING IN HER CHAIR, AND LETTING ME TELL YOU TWO OR THREE THINGS?" POLLY FELT THAT TOM HAD GIVEN HER THE MOST BEAUTIFUL COMPLIMENT HE COULD HAVE DEVISED. T o m Says of his real sister, " F A N IS A G O O D SOUL, BUT SHE ISN'T PRACTICAL, s o

W H O H A V E I BUT MY OTHER SISTER, POLLY?" Polly liked these familial

g a m e s , saying t o T o m e v e n after t h e y w e r e e n g a g e d "BROTHERS AND SISTERS SHOULDN'T HAVE SECRETS FROM EACH OTHER." So Polly found a h u s b a n d w h o w a s b o t h brother a n d g r a n d s o n , a striking incestuous c o u p . A s for t h e sacrifice t h e m e , Polly (like Jo March) t u r n e d d o w n the richer suitor a n d accepted t h e poorer. T o m ' s rich family h a d conveniently g o n e b a n k r u p t , i n time for Polly t o m a r r y h i m a n d

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s h o w her contempt for materialism. That w a s one kind of sacrifice, to reject luxury and help your struggling mate face a life of hardship. The desire to put others 7 needs above your o w n took other forms too: Polly briefly wondered if she should sacrifice her love for Tom and marry Sidney, because his wealth w o u l d relieve her family's poverty. Even in romantic matters—especially in romantic matters—these heroines were constantly giving u p their o w n desires, seeking the crown of martyrdom one w a y or another. The books our elders urged u s to read s h o w e d girls w h o wanted to help; any girl characters w h o wanted to be helped and supported were scorned in these books. A n d w e did read them, and w e did believe them. The g o o d girl's goal w a s usefulness not happiness— though she w a s taught that usefulness w a s the same as happiness. The other Polly, Miss Pepper, easily w i n s the prize for most feeble engagement scene. (This is not surprising, for the Five Little Peppers series is probably the most saccharine, simplistic set of girls 7 books ever written.) From his first appearance Jasper King w a s clearly fated to become Polly's husband. In book one Jasper's rich father, old Mr. King, rescued the Pepper family from poverty and brought them to live in his mansion, whereupon it w a s discovered that the Peppers were actually cousins of the Kings. So Polly w a s related to her dear friend Jasper and called Jasper's father "Grandpapa" (which w o u l d make Jasper her uncle, a nice combination of brother and father figure). In Five Little Peppers Grown Up lovely Polly, n o w twenty years old, inspired marriage proposals from various y o u n g m e n with elegant names: Livingston Bayley, Jack Loughead, Pickering Dodge. She w a s somewhat dazed by this attention but had enough sense to k n o w that none of these could meet her high standards or touch her heart. You w o u l d think, then, that Polly w o u l d realize what w a s going on w h e n one evening as they all sat together Jasper asked her mother solemnly if he might "speak." But no, Polly sat quietly in her childish stupor as Jasper continued: "LOOK AT ME, DO, DEAR!" POLLY LIFTED HER BROWN EYES QUIETLY. "WHY, JASPER?" "DO YOU THINK YOU COULD LOVE ME—I'VE LOVED YOU EVER SINCE THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE DAYS, DEAR!" "OH JASPER!" POLLY CRIED, "HOW GOOD YOU ARE." "WILL YOU, POLLY?" CRIED JASPER, "TELL ME QUICKLY, DEAR." "WILL I WHAT?" ASKED POLLY

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WONDERINGLY. "LOVE ME, POLLY." "OH! I DO—I DO," SHE CRIED. "YOU KNOW IT. I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART." "POLLY, WILL YOU MARRY ME? TELL HER, MRS. FISHER, DO, AND MAKE HER UNDERSTAND," BEGGED JASPER, TURNING TO MOTHER FISHER IMPLORINGLY. "POLLY, CHILD," SAID MAMSIE, PUTTING BOTH ARMS AROUND HER, "JASPER WANTS YOU TO BE HIS WIFE—DO YOU LOVE HIM ENOUGH FOR THAT?" POLLY, NOT TAKING HER BROWN EYES FROM JASPER'S FACE, LAID HER OTHER HAND UPON HIS. "I LOVE HIM ENOUGH," SHE SAID, "FOR THAT; OH, JASPER!" Polly w a s not mentally disabled, just innocent. Apparently sweet confusion w a s the proper response w h e n your brother asked y o u to marry him—erotic passion w o u l d be unseemly. She w a s an outspoken y o u n g lady, a competent music teacher, but in the marriage dance her role had to be merely receptive. You couldn't expect anything better from an author w h o called the mother "Mamsie"—a name even more repellent than Alcott's "Marmee". You can't be surprised that this Polly w h o w a s leading a sweet, padded life as a maiden should slip so gently, with so little change, into her role as a bride, especially w h e n she had been living in the same house with her husband since they were children. Some other popular heroines of nineteenth- and early twentiethcentury series, w h o also chose sensible, brotherly suitors, had more gumption than Pollyanna and Old-Fashioned Polly and Polly Pepper, and less martyrdom. It is relevant that Lloyd in the Little Colonel books and Rose in Alcott's Eight Cousins series were extremely rich, and Anne in the Green Gables books graduated from college, with high honors. Even conservative authors acknowledged that such circumstances gave a girl a certain extra freedom of choice that modest, stay-at-home girls and humble elementary teachers w o u l d not have. Despite this extra freedom, though, Lloyd and Rose and Anne all chose to marry m e n w h o had been unromantic friends of theirs since childhood. They still followed the rule that a girl should marry a good brother rather than a passionate stranger. A w o m a n w a s less threatening to a patriarchal society if she didn't grow u p completely and become an independent, sexual person. These literary examples of the desire to control female

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behavior m a y seem trivial, in a world that also contains, for instance, the custom of female genital mutilation, but they express the same intention in genteel form. In marrying comfortable old friends, Lloyd and Rose and Anne and the Pollys confirmed the social and economic status quo. It's not surprising that in the p o s t World War II period, our parents and teachers wished u s to read such stories, and that many of u s read them devotedly and believed them absolutely. I read these books over and over as a child, thrilled b y romantic dangers and dilemmas, and I remember being pleased with the rightness of the endings. In Alcott's Rose in Bloom (1876), the heiress announced that she must d o something with her life: "WE WANT TO LIVE AND LEARN AS WELL AS LOVE AND BE LOVED. FM SICK OF BEING TOLD THAT IS ALL A WOMAN IS FIT FOR!" Rose SOUnds almost like Isabel in James's Portrait of a Lady, but since Rose in Bloom w a s a book for girls it is clear from the start that (a) her ambitious work w o u l d be limited to local charities and (b) her choice of a mate w o u l d be limited to the seven b o y cousins she had grown u p with. A strong-minded girl like Rose had to be carefully monitored in those yearnings to live and learn. Rose w a s ALL AGLOW WITH THE EARNESTNESS THAT MAKES ONE HOPE SUCH HUMAN FLOWERS MAY HAVE HEAVEN'S PUREST AIR AND WARMEST SUNSHINE TO BLOSSOM IN. Words like fresh, innocent, pure, and maidenly surrounded Rose so lushly that w e are not surprised w h e n handsome Charlie, her favorite cousin, proved insufficiently virtuous for her. H e drank, in fact, and came to see her once in such a wobbly state that she rejected his love. Predictably, Charlie died after falling off a horse while drunk and Rose married the good cousin, Mac, an ugly duckling w h o had turned into a famous poet. Rose's story w a s a cautionary tale reminding girls that it's not enough to exclude dangerous suitors w h o come from afar—even within the family circle there m a y be crude and shallow m e n w h o must be cast off. Rose at the start seemed to be looking outward to all that the world might offer and all that she might offer the world. By the end, her life w a s bundled u p safely with a kind, bespectacled cousin, A GIRL'S FIRST THOUGHT OF LOVE, Alcott told

US, IS AS DELICATE A THING AS THE ROSY MORNING-GLORY, THAT A BREATH OF AIR C A N SHATTER. Reading about Rose and the others,

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w e learned to be cautious and fastidious. I should not be ironic about Rose's choice, because she did d o the right thing in rejecting Charlie: he w a s not just a drunk, he w a s also selfish and overbearing. In choosing the good brother Mac over the bad one Charlie, she chose stability, permanence, continuity; she protected her developing self admirably—and she also protected her powerful, traditional family and society. While Rose's story reminded girls that romantic heroes w o u l d break your heart, even lads within your social circle w h o should k n o w better, the Little Colonel books were more reassuring. They made it seem painless to make the right choice: y o u might feel a little tender regret but n o anguish. In The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding (1907), many beaux besieged Lloyd Sherman, because of her charm, beauty, social position, and money, but her careful parents h a d given her an ideal yardstick for suitors—they must measure u p b y being clean, honorable, and strong. Phil gambled and Lloyd dismissed him. ' I m p e t u o u s and headstrong" Leland Harcourt captured her fancy but lost out b y grumbling selfishly at her attentions to a needy child. Lloyd had liked having a strange Knight gallop into her life and demand her hand, but her involvement w a s so mild that readers could not be upset w h e n she told Leland to ride off again, HIS WOOING WAS THE KIND ONE READS OF IN BOOKS. IT WAS SO DELIGHTFUL TO HAVE SOME ONE WRITE POEMS TO HER AND SING SONGS IN SUCH A WAY THAT EVERY TONE DEDICATED THEM TO HER ALONE. IF ONE COULD ONLY GO ON THAT WAY THROUGH ALL THE SUMMERS, BEING ADORED IN THAT FASHION, KNOWING SHE WAS CROWNED QUEEN IN SOMEBODY'S HEART, HOW DELIGHTFUL IT WOULD BE. Lloyd's infatuation with this phony Knight, Leland, contrasted with her growing appreciation for her old b u d d y Rob, big and dependable (like Rose's cousin Mac). IT'S ROB W H O GETS U P THE RIDES AND PICNICS, AND STIRS US OUT OF OUR LAZINESS BY MAKING u s GO FISHING A N D TENNIS-PLAYING. So Rob shifts smoothly from big brother to lover: "i THINK TVE ALWAYS HELD THE THOUGHT OF

YOU IN MY HEART, LLOYD, BUT IT HAS COME TO SUCH FULL FLOWER NOW, DEAR, I COULDN'T HIDE IT FROM YOU. ALL MY LIFE MUST HAVE BEEN A GRADUAL GROWING UP FOR THIS ONE THING—TO LOVE YOU!" For all the appeal of a stranger Knight, Lloyd's emotion w a s re-

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served for people and places she had always loved. Finally engaged to Rob, w h o s e family had lost their fortune, Lloyd discovered the truly romantic kind of sacrifice: devoting yourself to a poor, struggling husband. Once again, a girl reader w a s instructed to grasp the known, support the system, and obey a true knight w h o — o n c e again—turned out to be both a lover and a brother. Anne of Green Gables faced special challenges as she grew toward womanhood, because imagination and intelligence drew her toward more education than most of her peers wanted. Bright and competitive as a child, she quarreled with the b o y w h o shared her status at the top of the class. At the e n d of the first book she came to regret her stubborn pride and made u p with this schoolmate, Gilbert. H e then took on the role of friendly, helpful teenage brother. So Anne had grown u p some, understanding that a girl must be flexible and forgiving, not proud: "WHAT A STUBBORN LITTLE GOOSE i WAS!" she reminisced.

She still had to learn what Lloyd and Rose learned, and other girl heroines: You must resist romantic notions; embrace solid, homely values; resist handsome romantic strangers; and embrace brotherly friends from childhood. (Although y o u must not embrace them until y o u are engaged.) Such good sense did not come easily to Anne. Her instinct for the romantic cliche w a s unerring, and led her for example to haunt the grave of a local bride w h o had died of consumption in the garden her husband had made for her. Of the dead bride Anne said, "SHE H A D FOUR YEARS OF PERFECT HAPPINESS, SO I THINK SHE WAS TO BE ENVIED RATHER THAN PITIED. AND THEN TO SHUT YOUR EYES AND FALL ASLEEP AMONG ROSES, WITH THE ONE YOU LOVED BEST ON EARTH SMILING DOWN ON YOU . . . OH, IT WAS BEAUTIFUL!" Anne's first beautiful romance (in Anne of the Island, 1915) w a s with Roy Gardner, a true Prince Charming—his full name w a s Royal and h e had all the romantic qualifications. Eventually, in spite of Roy's flowers and sonnets, she realized he w a s stiff and humorless; she didn't love him. A n d she realized that her vision of an ideal hero w a s shallow. She n o w valued and accepted the simple, worthy vision that Gilbert offered her: "i HAVE A DREAM," HE SAID SLOWLY. "I PERSIST IN DREAMING IT. I DREAM OF A HOME WITH

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A HEARTH-FIRE IN IT, A CAT AND DOG, THE FOOTSTEPS OF FRIENDS— AND YOU\"

Attracting a Prince Let y o u n g w o m e n stick to that hearth-fire and cat and dog and they will be fine. A s a preteen reader I felt safe hearing that I wouldn't really want to marry someone exciting—Rhett Butler and Heathcliff w o u l d probably use bad language and act crude. To be happy, I just had to prepare to be a worthy bride and choose the familiar, tame suitor over the exotic, passionate one. This rule w a s still honored in the 1950s, but our world differed in one w a y from the earlier worlds of Laura, Anne, Rose, and Lloyd: a society less stable and less homogeneous, it couldn't promise that suitable, familiar grooms w o u l d appear as soon as w e were marriageable. In the transitional era of mid-twentieth-century courtship, w e had to d o more than stay pure and choose w e l l — w e had to make an active, anxious effort to attract. After the 1920s, Depression, and war years, elders accepted that girls could n o longer lead the complacent life of the Little Colonel but did not much want them to leave home and strike out on their own. In the 1940s heroines were created w h o — i n spite of restless energy and competence— still assumed the future w o u l d contain husband and home; they focused energy on w a y s to ensure that future. Popular series, like those by Rosamond Dujardin and Maureen Daly, starred teenage girls w h o worked diligently on appearance and behavior to attract the right boys. A girl w a s still a prize to be w o n by a prince— that had not changed—but n o w the prize had to d o more than wait to be w o n . She had to make herself highly desirable or no true prince w o u l d want to w i n her. The prize had to work as hard as the prince, though her efforts must be hidden. Our courtship and dating books (written from the 1930s through the 1950s) were founded on the Jo M a r c h / A n n e of Green Gables tradition, where a girl grew up by molding character, controlling selfish impulses, and developing useful skills. Our newer books endorsed this tradition while also requiring that a success-

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ful girl s h o u l d entice a n d m a n i p u l a t e t h e b o y s s h e m e t . Jo M a r c h a n d h e r sisters struggled t o b e good, scorning t h e few frivolous girls w h o tried t o o h a r d t o b e a d m i r e d ; eighty years later Marcy R h o d e s a n d Angie M o r r o w w a n t e d t o b e good, sure, b u t m o s t of all t h e y w a n t e d t o b e a d m i r e d a n d p o p u l a r . If a fictional girl h a d t h e prerequisites—a respectable family, a last n a m e that s e e m e d p r o s p e r o u s a n d usually Protestant, a n d a first n a m e t h a t e n d e d i n a n " e e " s o u n d — s h e could start develo p i n g qualities that w o u l d attract desirable boyfriends. They w o u l d t a k e y o u t o T H E D A N C E I N THE BIG GYM A T H I G H , W I T H PAPER

FESTOONS AND THE LIGHTS SOFTENED AND ALL THE GIRLS AND THEIR DATES, WHIRLING A N D SWAYING. Books like Wait for Marcy (1950), b y R o s a m o n d Dujardin, offered three guidelines: b e beautiful, b e m a n i p u l a t i v e , a n d b e yourself. It w a s h a r d t o b e yourself a n d beautiful a t t h e s a m e time, a n d impossible t o b e yourself a n d also m a n i p u l a t i v e , b u t t h e contradictory n a t u r e of t h e rules w a s n o t acknowledged. Rule O n e , Be Beautiful, involved self-conscious fussing a n d fretting. Marcy agonized over a date: W H A T T O WEAR W A S SETTLED. BUT—HOW TO DO HER HAIR? WHETHER IT WOULD BE BEST TO HAVE IT WASHED AND SET A DAY AHEAD OR ON SATURDAY MORNING? W H E T H E R T O WEAR H I G H HEELS O R LOW? Self-doubts p l a y e d a l a r g e

p a r t i n these stories: W H Y H A D I EVER SAID I ' D GO? W H Y H A D I

THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUN TO COMPETE WITH BEAUTIFUL GLAMOUROUS GIRLS WITH GORGEOUS CLOTHES? I FELT THAT MY NOSE WAS SHINY AND MY LIPSTICK SMEARED AND PROBABLY MY STOCKING SEAMS WEREN'T EVEN STRAIGHT. OR MY SLIP COULD BE SHOWING. D u j a r d i n a n d h e r characters followed Rule T w o w i t h a m u s e m e n t rather t h a n s h a m e . According t o Tobey i n Class Ring (1951), MEN ARE SO EASY TO MANIPULATE, IF YOU GO AT IT IN THE RIGHT WAY. THERE ARE TIMES IN EVERY GIRL'S LIFE WHEN SHE FINDS IT NECESSARY—NOT TO LIE EXACTLY, BUT NOT TO TELL QUITE THE WHOLE TRUTH. IT NEVER PAYS TO LET A BOY THINK YOU'RE TOO FOND OF HIM, EVEN W H E N YOU'RE W E A R I N G H I S CLASS RING. T h e r e w a s a l w a y s a

b a d girl i n these books, a p r e d a t o r y , insincere girl in jangly bracelets w h o s h o w e d t h e others h o w n o t t o b e h a v e . But t h e b a d girl w a s m e r e l y a g o o d girl w h o w a s n ' t subtle e n o u g h i n h e r m a n i p -

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ulation, and even heroine Marcy and her friends went in for "playing hard to get/ 7 "teaching them a l e s s o n / ' "keeping them guessing," and "winding m e n around your finger." Marmee in Little Women w o u l d have lectured these girls sharply. Dujardin's books included a superficial allegiance to Rule Three, Be Yourself, a few feeble instances where the b o y liked the girl better for being natural and honest, but Rule T w o w a s foll o w e d with much more conviction. By 1950 the practical cynicism of Scarlett O'Hara had entered into these thin, popular stories for pre-adolescents and the idealism of earlier stories had mostly fled. We were still instructed that the proper goal of a y o u n g girl w a s to marry well; w e were just being encouraged to play a part in the process that w a s — i n a sneaky, passive-aggressive w a y — m o r e active. Seventeenth Summer (1942), b y Maureen Daly, painted a less shallow picture of y o u n g romance but its message w a s ultimately the same—catch a m a n and y o u will become Somebody, a real person. Even the heroine Angie Morrow, a sensible heroine, shared this belief: IT'S FUNNY WHAT A BOY C A N DO. ONE DAY YOU'RE

NOBODY AND THE NEXT DAY YOU'RE THE GIRL THAT SOME FELLOW GOES WITH AND THE OTHER FELLOWS LOOK AT YOU HARDER AND WONDER WHAT YOU'VE GOT AND WISH THEY'D BEEN THE ONE TO TAKE YOU OUT FIRST. GOING WITH A BOY GIVES YOU A NEW IDENTITY. She w a s discovering social status and also sexual delight, innocently reporting such sensations as A WARM, CONTENTED FEELING WENT

THROUGH ME LIKE WHEN YOU DRINK HOT MILK. A s she picked flowers in the evening, A THROBBING WARMTH SURGED THROUGH MY

WHOLE BODY. Sailing w i t h her boyfriend she discovered SOME-

THING IN ME WAS SUDDENLY ALIVE. IT WAS WARM, STRANGE, AND BEATING. Angie harnessed these impulses in socially acceptable w a y s and avoided the mistakes of her friend Margie (engaged to someone she despised just for the security) and her sister Lorraine (a pitiful, man-crazy mess). Lorraine wore curlers all the time except w h e n she went out, and put o n lipstick with a brush. She w a s selfconscious and artificial and tried too hard to impress men. While Angie's friendly naturalness led to a romance with a nice football player, her sister spent the summer running after a sarcastic m a n

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w h o sneered a t her, lied t o her, failed t o s h o w u p for dates, a n d b r o k e h e r heart. Lorraine w a s a grisly e x a m p l e of t h e girl w h o c o u l d n ' t b e herself: "i W I S H I K N E W W H A T K I N D O F GIRLS H E LIKES—

I DONT KNOW IF I SHOULD PRETEND I'M THE INTELLIGENT TYPE OR PRETEND I'M SOPHISTICATED AND HAVE BEEN AROUND/' A n g i e could d o n o t h i n g b u t w a t c h h e r sister self-destruct. Lorraine HAD ON PURPLISH LIPSTICK AND WAS DANCING WITH HER HEAD BACK, LAUGHING VERY HARD AND HAVING A GAY TIME, BUT HE WAS LOOKING AT HER IN A SURPRISED SORT OF WAY, HOLDING HIS HEAD BACK AT A FUNNY ANGLE AS IF HIS NECK WERE STIFF. There is n o t h i n g pernicious a b o u t a story that tells girls n o t to b e p h o n y ; t h e trouble w i t h Seventeenth Summer is that Lorraine w a s c o n d e m n e d n o t for p l a y i n g m a n i p u l a t i v e , dishonest g a m e s w i t h h e r d a t e s b u t for p l a y i n g t h e m b a d l y . A n g i e herself FELT T H A T W A R M , POSSESSIVE

POWER THAT COMES FROM KNOWING THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO WORRY A BOY, a n d w o r k e d deliberately t o m a k e t h e right i m p r e s s i o n o n Jack a n d h i s friends. Being yourself w a s n o t e n o u g h . Readers w e r e s u p p o s e d t o like A n g i e a n d identify w i t h h e r lack of confidence, IT D I D N ' T SEEM T H A T A BOY S O N I C E C O U L D REALLY BE

WITH ME. IT SEEMED AS IF MY FACE WAS STIFF WITH SCOWLING AND MY EYEBROWS MUST BE GROWING STRAIGHT ACROSS MY NOSE, DARK A N D HEAVY. W h e n s h e t h o u g h t Jack d i d n o t like h e r , s h e s a t n u m b l y i n their b o o t h a t t h e teen h a n g o u t , FEELING AS USELESS, A S HOLLOWED AS A SUCKED ORANGE. IF YOU DON'T MAKE THE GRADE AT PETE'S, Y O U JUST DON'T MAKE IT. After b e c o m i n g a n insider s h e w a s t e d n o s y m p a t h y o n others w h o d i d n ' t m a k e t h e g r a d e , a s w h e n t w o girls c a m e into Pete's w e a r i n g flat black oxfords instead of s a d d l e shoes a n d w e r e icily ignored. A n g i e t h o u g h t that A N Y GIRL WHO DOES THAT ALMOST DESERVES NOT TO HAVE FELLOWS LOOK AT HER. M o s t teenagers of m y generation s h a r e d A n g i e ' s a m b i v alence a b o u t t h e future: s h e w e n t off t o college a t t h e e n d of t h e b o o k a n d w a n t e d t o b e smart, b u t h e r d r e a m — a s s h e explained it t o J a c k — w a s t h a t " W E W O U L D BE, MAYBE, GREAT PEOPLE W H E N W E

GROW UP. I COULD BRUSH MY HAIR EVERY NIGHT AND YOU COULD READ A LOT SO WE WOULD REALLY BE SOMETHING." I w a s a s m a r t girl like Angie i n those nice years after W o r l d W a r II a n d I t o o w a s n ' t sure h o w t o stop b e i n g a n o b o d y ; b u t I k n e w s h e w a s right, it required a m a n a t y o u r side, a n d it

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wouldn't hurt to brush your hair a lot. By seventh grade m y friends and I were chanting "I must, I must, I must increase m y b u s t / ' while flinging our elbows behind our backs in a futile b o s o m exercise. W e analyzed lipstick colors like Cherries in the Snow and Fire and Ice. We were getting in shape for the biggest struggle of our lives, the effort to attract a husband—without any visible effort.

Grownup Romance: Schemers and Sufferers We swallowed a lot of conservative advice in our girls' books, classics like Alcott's and contemporary ones like Maureen Daly's. Some girls scorned these books that told us to wait patiently, choose carefully, and attract cleverly—preferring romances written for adults. Even cautious girls sometimes read adult novels, which s h o w e d broader romantic possibilities but still preached a conservative moral. Adult romances popular with m y generation perpetuated the old split in female characters: they were bad girls, enterprising but selfish, or else good girls, submissive but strong in suffering for others. Bad-girl heroines were most appealing w h e n they were safely distanced in time or space. Many girls liked cliche-laden historical novels such as Forever Amber and Desiree—about restless y o u n g w o m e n w h o became mistresses to rich, powerful men. Gone with the Wind (1936) w a s in this category; w e loved Scarlett in nineteenth-century Georgia but knew w e w o u l d not befriend her if she appeared n o w in our orderly world. (Melanie, of course, w a s the best of the g o o d girls, and of course she died.) The w o m e n authors of these historical romances made it clear that ambivalence w a s the right attitude toward the racy young heroines. We empathized w h e n they were taken advantage of and betrayed; w e yearned to be as clever and beautiful and bold as they; but w e realized that their restlessness turned too easily into ruthlessness. The naughty girl characters went too far, neglecting family, m o rality, and decency, and were punished. In reading about Amber, Desiree, and Scarlett, w e indulged rebellious urges in a safe context.

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W e also liked other k i n d s of a d u l t r o m a n c e that reinforced only v i r t u o u s impulses. In these the heroine m i g h t b e a girl-goddess, a n airy s u p e r n a t u r a l b e i n g w h o got sacrificed; or a saint, a m o r e earthy, h u m b l e creature w h o suffered for h e r m a n . Girl-goddess stories h a d a particular appeal: w e comfortably a d o r e d characters like tragic Rima in Green Mansions, k n o w i n g their stories w e r e only fantasy—while w e could all too easily see ourselves as h a v i n g the p r o b l e m s of m o r e realistic heroines like Jo or A n n e . I read W. H . H u d s o n ' s Green Mansions (1916) w i t h m y friends at s u m m e r c a m p . U n d e r the pines o n a chilly lake in M a i n e w e d e v o u r e d this tale of jungle passion, a w e d b y Rima's m y s t e r i o u s life a n d horrible death. Fantasy stories like Green Mansions mostly h a d m a l e a u t h o r s a n d narrators: M e n i m a g i n e d so beautifully the O t h e r n e s s of these s h a d o w y sprite-goddesses. Abel, a n explorer in G u y a n a , escaped from a blood-thirsty s a v a g e tribe a n d c a m e u p o n a n elusive b e i n g h i d d e n in the forest. I C A U G H T THE FAINT RUSTLE OF A LIGHT FOOTSTEP, A GLIMPSE OF A GREY, MISTY OBJECT MOVING IN THE DEEPER SHADOWS. Discovering this strange girl living in a r e m o t e h u t w i t h a r o u g h Spanish foster-grandfather, Abel fell in love w i t h her innocence, h e r various b e a u t y , a n d her m e lodious voice: like the s o n g of the flute-bird b u t PURE, MORE EXPRESSIVE; A SOFT WARBLING, INFINITELY TENDER, SINKING TO LISPING SOUNDS THAT SOON CEASED TO BE AUDIBLE. IT WAS A VOICE PURIFIED AND BRIGHTENED TO SOMETHING ALMOST ANGELIC. A s for a p p e a r ance, HER FACE AND FEATURES WERE SINGULARLY DELICATE, BUT IT WAS HER COLOUR THAT MADE HER DIFFER FROM ALL OTHER HUMAN BEINGS. Abel p r a i s e d this shifting skin color as d i m w h i t e , alabastrian, semi-pellucid, rosy p u r p l e , d i m blue, pale grey, a n d other unlikely tints; a n d r h a p s o d i z e d o n her eyes a n d hair in equally o v e r w r o u g h t terms. Their spiritual love w a s heating u p nicely (i LOVED HER AS I NEVER COULD LOVE ANY OTHER BEING, WITH A PASSION WHICH HAD CAUGHT SOMETHING OF HER OWN BRILLIANCE AND INTENSITY), w h e n things got complicated. Rima a n n o u n c e d she m u s t j o u r n e y in search of h e r d e a d m o t h e r ' s people, w h o m i g h t share h e r u n i q u e l a n g u a g e , soften her isolation, a n d h e l p her decide w h a t to d o a b o u t her love for Abel. After the fruitless j o u r n e y to find h e r lost tribe w i t h its w a r b l i n g bird-language, Rima reconciled herself to

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living alone w i t h h e r love a n d r u s h e d b a c k t o t h e h u t a h e a d of Abel, t o p r e p a r e for their n u p t u a l s . This separation g a v e t h e s u perstitious natives a n o p p o r t u n i t y to t r a p h e r i n a tree a n d b u r n h e r u p a s a n evil spirit. Like other d e a d m a i d e n s Rima t u r n e d into a n icon for h e r lover t o w o r s h i p t h e rest of his life. T h e girl w h o h a d s e e m e d so p u r e a s t o b e i m m o r t a l w a s gone: a s o n e savage t o l d t h e lover, " F R O M T H E T O P O F T H E TREE C A M E A GREAT CRY, LIKE

THE CRY OF A BIRD, 'ABEL!' AND THEN WE SAW SOMETHING FALL INTO THE FLAMES BENEATH. Abel located t h e tree a n d stuffed t h e b o n e s a n d ashes into a n u r n , w h i c h s a t for y e a r s i n h i s p a r l o r a s h e l a m e n t e d — M E M O R Y O F ALL THE MYSTIC, UNIMAGINABLE GRACE AND LOVELINESS AND JOY THAT HAD VANISHED SMITES ON MY HEART WITH SUCH SUDDEN, INTENSE PAIN THAT I CAST MYSELF PRONE ON THE EARTH AND WEEP TEARS LIKE DROPS O F B L O O D — b u t f o u n d consolation i n h o p e s of

joining Rima o n e d a y i n eternity, N O LONGER " Y O U ARE YOU A N D I AM I—WHY IS IT," THE QUESTION ASKED WHEN OUR SOULS WERE, LIKE TWO RAINDROPS SIDE BY SIDE, DRAWING EVER NEARER: NOW THEY HAD TOUCHED AND WERE NOT TWO, BUT ONE INSEPARABLE DROP, CRYSTALLISED BEYOND CHANGE, NOT TO BE DISINTEGRATED BY TIME, NOR SHATTERED BY DEATH'S BLOW. W e l a p p e d this stuff u p . Green Mansions w a s m y favorite b o o k t h e s u m m e r I w a s ten. R i m a ' s d e a t h w a s e v e n better t h a n Carol's in t h a t other bird-girl book, The Birds' Christmas Carol. Rima w a s a n e x a m p l e t o u s girls i n m a n y w a y s , n o t a b l y i n s h o w i n g h o w desirable it w a s t o h a v e a s w e e t voice s o l o w it could h a r d l y b e h e a r d , a v o i c e t h a t w o u l d SINK T O LISPING S O U N D S T H A T S O O N

CEASED T O BE AUDIBLE. It w a s g o o d for a girl-heroine t o b e misty,

lisping, a n d inaudible, a n d e v e n better for h e r t o b e d e a d . R i m a ' s sufferings w e r e over faster t h a n R a m o n a ' s , i n that classic tale of S o u t h e r n California i n t h e early d a y s . H e r story s e e m s e n d less, h e r nobility b o u n d l e s s . For years Senora M o r e n o scorned a n d t o r m e n t e d h e r foster-child R a m o n a , t h e o r p h a n e d d a u g h t e r of a Scottish father a n d I n d i a n m o t h e r . R a m o n a e n d u r e d a n d o b e y e d until s h e fell i n love w i t h a p r o u d y o u n g Indian. E n r a g e d at s u c h plebian b e h a v i o r o n t h e p a r t of h e r w a r d , t h e Senora locked h e r u p until s h e r a n a w a y w i t h A l e s s a n d r o . They escaped t h r o u g h hills a n d canyons, h i d i n g from p u r s u e r s ; found a fertile I n d i a n

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settlement, married, bore a child, worked hard. Then Americans seized the Indian lands. Driven out, Ramona and Alessandro journeyed into the mountains and twice made a n e w start but the baby died, they almost starved, Alessandro went m a d from the hardship and w a s killed in a dispute. Ramona bore a n e w baby, w e n t into one of those pitiful heroine-type comas, and recovered w h e n rescued b y her foster brother w h o brought her h o m e to a peaceful ranch n o w that the Senora w a s dead. She married h i m out of gratitude but forever mourned her only love, Alessandro. The template for Helen Hunt Jackson's Ramona (1884) w a s the traditional, exemplary tale of saints' lives, strangely blending passive and active, strength and weakness. The girl W O N THE AFFECTION OF ALL THE SISTERS at her o w n convent school, W H O SPOKE OF

HER AS THE "BLESSED CHILD/' SHE LOOKED MORE LIKE AN APPARITION OF AN ANGEL OR SAINT THAN LIKE A FLESH-AND-BLOOD MAIDEN. SHE WAS A SIMPLE, JOYOUS, GENTLE, CLINGING, FAITHFUL NATURE. This is the standard list of saintly adjectives. She w a s especially good at the clinging part: rr WAS STRANGE H O W RAMONA, W H O FELT HERSELF

PRETERNATURALLY BRAVE SO LONG AS ALESSANDRO WAS BY HER SIDE, BECAME TIMOROUS AND WRETCHED THE INSTANT HE WAS LOST TO HER SIGHT. SHE WAS TRANSFORMED TO A TIMID, SHRINKING, DESPONDENT CHILD. Yet she found strength to defend and suffer for her husband and baby, "i A M STRONG, I C A N WORK, ALESSANDRO. I A M N O T

AFRAID TO LIE ON THE EARTH; AND GOD WILL GIVE US FOOD." Duty and love energized Ramona, and at the end it w a s the thought of n e w duties that roused her from her sickness: Though Alessandro w a s gone and happiness lost forever, she had to care for her n e w baby and her n e w l y recovered foster-brother. A s long as self-sacrifice w a s required, a w o m a n like Ramona could keep going. In the words of the old lady from Tennessee w h o befriended her, "i D O N N O BUT I SH'D COM TER BELIEVTN' I N SAINTS TEW,

EF I WUZ TER LIVE 'LONG SIDE ER THET GAL. TEARS LIKE SHE WUZ SUTHIN' MORE 'N HUMAN." Fictional girls and w o m e n were less than fully human, since they were thought to lack male strength and intelligence, but they were also more than human in devotion and self-abnegation. Innocent Ramona suffered in a cruel society. O-lan, the humble Chinese heroine of Pearl Buck's The Good Earth (1931), also

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suffered from h e r society, b u t she w a s e v e n m o r e m a r t y r e d t h a n R a m o n a b e c a u s e s h e w a s mistreated b y t h e h u s b a n d s h e served a n d reverenced. O-lan displayed typical traits of t h e female m a r tyr: w o r k i n g long d a y s i n t h e h o u s e a n d fields, t r u d g i n g w i t h a basket t o pick u p animal d u n g from t h e r o a d for fuel. H e r h u s b a n d , W a n g L u n g , felt s h e w a s a g o o d bargain, A T N I G H T H E KNEW THE SOFT FIRMNESS OF HER BODY. BUT IN THE DAY SHE WAS LIKE A FAITHFUL, SPEECHLESS SERVING MAID, WHO IS ONLY A SERVING M A I D A N D N O T H I N G MORE. E v e r y o n e h a s h e a r d a b o u t

Chinese

p e a s a n t w o m e n w h o r e t u r n e d t o t h e field after giving b i r t h — t h a t w a s O-lan. T H E D A Y C A M E W H E N S H E L A I D D O W N H E R H O E O N E

MORNING AND CREPT INTO THE HOUSE. LATER BEFORE THE SUN SET SHE WAS BACK BESIDE HIM, HER BODY FLATTENED, SPENT, BUT HER FACE SILENT AND UNDAUNTED. HIS IMPULSE WAS TO SAY, 'TOR THIS DAY YOU HAVE HAD ENOUGH. GO AND LIE UPON YOUR BED." But t h e w o r k h a d t o b e d o n e , s o h e p i c k e d u p h i s scythe a n d they w e n t o n d i g g i n g until dark. O-lan beautifully c o m b i n e d t h e m o s t desirable qualities—she s e l d o m s p o k e a n d s e e m e d s t u p i d b u t w a s clever a t solving terrible p r o b l e m s , e v e n w h e n t h e family w a s r e d u c e d to eating gruel m a d e of dirt. After d e c a d e s of h a r d s h i p a n d t h e n prosperity, she develo p e d a t u m o r a n d drifted o u t of life w i t h o u t complaint, FOR THE FIRST TIME WANG LlJNG AND HIS CHILDREN KNEW WHAT SHE HAD BEEN IN THE HOUSE AND HOW SHE MADE COMFORT FOR THEM ALL AND THEY H A D N O T K N O W N IT. (Like every w o m a n ' s fantasy: "They'll appreciate m e w h e n F m d e a d . " ) W a n g L u n g sat w i t h h e r a s s h e l a y d y i n g , H E LIT A N E A R T H E N P O T O F C H A R C O A L A N D SET IT BESIDE

HER BED FOR WARMTH, AND SHE MURMURED EACH TIME FAINTLY, "WELL, AND IT IS TOO EXPENSIVE." The a u t h o r ' s attitude is revealing. While a d m i r i n g O-lan's strength a n d d i g n i t y — s u c h a fine, lowly, h o m e l y w o m a n — P e a r l Buck also extends e n o r m o u s s y m p a t h y t o w a r d t h e h u s b a n d w h o u s e d h e r a n d n e v e r loved her. W a n g L u n g felt a v a g u e guilt a b o u t rejecting h e r b u t c o n c l u d e d , "WELL, A N D IT IS N O T MY FAULT IF I

HAVE NOT LOVED HER AS ONE LOVES A CONCUBINE, SINCE MEN DO NOT. I HAVE NOT BEAT HER AND I HAVE GIVEN HER SILVER WHEN SHE ASKED FOR IT." W e w e r e s u p p o s e d t o r e a d this a s a tale of solid p e a s a n t life, a p i c t u r e s q u e society w h e r e t h e h u s b a n d b r o u g h t a

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concubine into the h o u s e a n d t h e wife h a d n o cause for complaint, w h e r e h e took t h e one jewel h i s wife o w n e d a n d loved a n d gave it to t h e concubine. O t h e r characters p l a y t h e villains; W a n g L u n g w a s m i s g u i d e d b u t sympathetic. The a u t h o r seems t o s a y that t h e h u s b a n d ' s coldness e n h a n c e d t h e wife's nobility, W H E N H E TOOK HER HAND, DESIRING THAT SHE FEEL HIS TENDERNESS TOWARD HER, HE WAS ASHAMED BECAUSE HE COULD FEEL NO TENDERNESS. WHEN HE TOOK THIS STIFF DYING HAND HE DID NOT LOVE IT, AND EVEN HIS PITY W A S SPOILED W I T H REPULSION T O W A R D S IT. T h e a u t h o r ' s

for-

giveness of W a n g L u n g contained irony, b u t s h e d i d forgive h i m as b e i n g a creature of his w o r l d a n d s h e s e e m e d to a d m i r e herself for a d m i r i n g h i m so tolerantly. O-lan t h e e a r t h b o u n d H A D A SQUARE, H O N E S T FACE, A BROAD

NOSE WITH LARGE BLACK NOSTRILS, AND A MOUTH WIDE AS A GASH IN HER FACE. HER EYES WERE SMALL AND DULL BLACK. She w a s t h e opposite extreme from Rima t h e jungle m a i d e n , a n d I loved t h e m b o t h as a girl; I w a n t e d t o b e c o m e b o t h of t h e m . A t a r o i m d this time I b e c a m e infatuated w i t h t h e recent musical The King and I a n d p l a y e d t h e LP record over a n d over o n o u r big c h u n k y record player. M y favorite s o n g w a s " S o m e t h i n g W o n d e r f u l , " s u n g b y t h e King's first wife w h o h a d b e e n s u p p l a n t e d a n d humiliated: This is a man you'll forgive and forgive And help and protect as long as you live He will not always say /What you would have him say, But now and then he'll say / Something wonderful The thoughtless things he'll do / Will hurt and worry you Then all at once he'll do/Something wonderful, He'll always need your love/And so he'll get your love A man who needs your love/Can be—wonderful. Also, from Carousel, I a d m i r e d : " W h a t ' s t h e u s e of w o n d ' r i n ' / If h e ' s g o o d or if h e ' s b a d — / H e ' s y o u r feller a n d y o u love h i m , / That's all there is to t h a t . " These lines l o d g e d i n m y heart a n d b r a i n along w i t h that seminal s o n g from Disney's Snow White, " S o m e D a y M y Prince Will C o m e " : " A n d h o w thrilling that m o m e n t will b e , W h e n t h e Prince of m y d r e a m s comes t o m e . " I felt consciously that " T h e t h o u g h t less things he'll d o " w e r e inextricably e n t w i n e d w i t h t h e w o n derfulness, t h e thrill—that t h e h e r o i n e ' s p u t t i n g u p w i t h t h e

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thoughtless things he'll d o w a s the highest proof she deserved her heroine status. I doubt that I ever heard the w o r d "assertiveness" in m y youth; if I had I wouldn't have seen any value in such an unfemale quality. I yearned for an opportunity to s h o w I w a s capable of self-sacrifice, at least self-abasement. It's not that w e cringing types had a masochistic enjoyment of suffering, it w a s just that w e knew suffering w a s the test of female excellence, the w a y a man might prove himself by going to war. These adult romances, then, echoed the conservative, sacrificial patterns found in our w h o l e s o m e stories of y o u n g girls finding a husband. Very seldom did a y o u n g heroine act honest and independent with her beloved, as well as loving. The only clear case I can think of w a s in A Girl of the Limberlost (1909), by Gene Stratton-Porter, in which a strange and passionate girl hero refused to be a victim or a clinging vine. The teenager living with her neurotic w i d o w e d mother in the Limberlost forest w a s a stunning beauty, a brilliant violinist, and a learned naturalist w h o financed her education by collecting rare moths. Elnora's virtues had

a mythic flavor: SHE SEEMED TO POSSESS A LARGE SENSE OF

BROTHERHOOD FOR ALL HUMAN AND ANIMATE CREATURES. SHE DID NOT SWERVE AN INCH WHEN A SNAKE SLID PAST HER, WHILE THE SQUIRRELS TOOK CORN FROM HER FINGERS. HER HEAD SHONE LIKE A SMALL DARK SUN. A suitable hero came into the Limberlost, compared Elnora to his frivolous fiancee, rejoiced w h e n the fiancee broke the engagement in a fit of pique. But Elnora did not go in for pliable heroine behavior: loving Philip, she sent him away, saying she w o u l d not listen to his suit until his former fiancee w a s convinced she could not w i n him back. In a way, this resembled the sacrificial, selfdenying behavior of a traditional heroine—but Elnora's manner w a s proud and confident rather than pitiful. Considering Philip still bound to another, she refused his kisses and entreaties. When he

w h i m p e r e d , "PROMISE YOU WILL WRITE ONCE, ELNORA?" SHE

LOOKED INTO HIS EYES, AND SMILED SERENELY. "IF THE TALKING TREES TELL ME THE SECRET OF HOW A MAN MAY GROW PERFECT, I WILL WRITE YOU WHAT IT IS, PHILIP. IN ALL THE TIME I HAVE KNOWN YOU I NEVER HAVE LIKED YOU SO LITTLE. GOOD-BYE."

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When her snobbish, sneering rival attacked her, Elnora answered: "YOU INSULT MY BIRTH, EDUCATION, APPEARANCE, AND HOME. I ASSURE YOU I AM LEGITIMATE. I WILL PASS A TEST EXAMINATION ON ANY HIGH SCHOOL BRANCH OR FRENCH OR GERMAN. I WILL TAKE A PHYSICAL EXAMINATION BESIDE YOU. I WILL FACE ANY SOCIAL EMERGENCY WITH YOU. I AM ACQUAINTED WITH A WHOLE WORLD IN WHICH PHILIP AMMON IS KEENLY INTERESTED, THAT YOU SCARCELY KNOW EXISTS. I AM NOT AFRAID TO FACE ANY AUDIENCE WITH MY VIOLIN. I AM NOT REPULSIVE TO LOOK AT, AND I HAVE A WHOLESOME REGARD FOR THE PROPRIETIES AND CIVILITIES OF LIFE. PHILIP AMMON NEVER ASKED ANYTHING MORE OF ME, WHY SHOULD YOU?" Elnora w a s more than refreshing; she w a s a whirlwind of energy and principle and wit. She stood alone, though. Next to her, Jo March w a s soft and w h i n y with men; Anne of Green Gables w a s feather-brained in her numerous stupid romances; Judy Abbott acted catatonic as she wandered into the w e b of Daddy-LongLegs. Such lively girls these were, such good models for y o u n g readers—except that they crumpled so readily under the male gaze. Popular girls' fiction in the first half of the twentieth century produced n o other characters as decisive in courtship as Elnora. Only late in the century did readers start to meet girls w h o were both eager to love and brimming with personal integrity. I remember a little game which predicted your future relations with any boy: Cross out letters that match in his name and yours, then count remaining letters while repeating "Love, Marriage, Friendship, Hate." Thus, in the case of Debby Janney and John Smith (with a matching J and a matching N ) , she w o u l d find Love (nine letters remaining) and he w o u l d find Friendship (seven remaining). A s a method for determining your fate, this w a s indeed paralysis rather than action. By the age of six I had learned that boys were important and dangerous; girls should be tactful and devious. I admired a large, puffy boy named Jimmy, w h o told m e he liked Valerie best but I could be his second girlfriend. That seemed all right, and once I even forgave him for torturing m e w h e n w e were alone on a suburban train returning home from some activity (gas w a s scarce as

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World War II came to a close): Bored by the trainride, Jimmy tore up m y ticket and told m e the conductor w o u l d put m e off at the next stop because I had none. H e also invented a boys' gang at school to chase girls and lift their skirts to look at their underpants. The girls were not amused. I w a s one of the mousiest and hated the constant threat; but I w a s clever and found a w a y to avoid attacks. I told Jimmy I w o u l d be the nurse of the boys' gang—a nominal post with n o duties—if he w o u l d leave m e out of the attacks. I had learned to be responsive to the w h i m s of boys, even if that meant disloyalty to other girls. I never became one of the popular girls invited first, but at least nobody saw m y underpants. The whole situation seemed to m e to be quite reasonable. This is h o w things were.

•7T o d a y ' s

T e r r i f i c

N e w

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H e r o e s

O n e English school series w r i t t e n from t h e 1920s t h r o u g h t h e 1960s, critic Bob Dixon h a s p o i n t e d out, described a w o r l d w h e r e " t h e girls are so restricted in every w a y that, in o r d e r to create a n y activity at all, t h e a u t h o r is forced to m a n u f a c t u r e unlikely accidents a n d events. A b o u t all the girls can d o is fall d o w n / ' In o n e book, Dixon reports, " t h e r e are four falling or slipping incid e n t s w h i c h lead to d e v e l o p m e n t s in the story." I k n e w t h a t c o m p a r i n g recent girls' stories w i t h older ones like E. Brent-Dyer's school series w o u l d reveal major c h a n g e s — p r e s u m a b l y fictional girls after 1950 d o s o m e t h i n g m o r e t h a n fall d o w n . M y tentative h y p o t h e s i s w a s that s o m e of the n e w e r ones w o u l d p r e s e n t active, strong girl heroes b u t others, especially the p o p u l a r formulaic series, w o u l d p e r p e t u a t e old stereotypes that girls are flighty, flirty, fearful, a n d feeble. A s I r e a d m o r e of these recent b o o k s , I w a s pleasantly surprised. H e r e are s o m e glimpses: . . . WHILE I WAS BUILDING THE FENCE AND THE HOUSE, I ATE SHELLFISH WHICH I COOKED ON A FLAT ROCK. AFTERWARDS I MADE TWO UTENSILS. I WAS SHELTERED FROM THE WIND AND RAIN. I COULD COOK ANYTHING I WISHED TO EAT. IT WAS NOW TIME TO MAKE PLANS FOR GETTING RID OF THE WILD DOGS WHICH HAD KILLED MY BROTHER AND WOULD KILL ME SHOULD THEY EVER COME UPON ME UNARMED.

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. . . I WONDERED HOW I COULD BE SO CALM—HOW I COULD JUST STAND THERE IN THE GRAY DARKNESS WITH THE COLD TREE MOISTURE DRIPPING DOWN ON ME AND THE DEAD BODY OF MY FATHER THERE BEFORE ME AND NOT BE AFRAID OF HOW GRISLY IT ALL WAS. IT'S BECAUSE I'M TOUGH, I THOUGHT, I'M SO TOUGH THAT IF A BEAR CAME OUT OF THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN OVER THERE I COULD KNOCK HIM DEAD WITHOUT BREATHING FIARD. . . . BENGT HAD HOPED SHE WOULD GET MAD AND BEGIN TO CRY. WHEN NOTHING HAPPENED HE GAVE HER A PUSH. "I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE A VERY NICE WAY WITH LADIES," SAID PIPPI. AND SHE LIFTED HIM IN HER STRONG ARMS—HIGH IN THE AIR—AND CARRIED HIM TO A BIRCH TREE AND HUNG HIM OVER A BRANCH. THEN SHE TOOK THE NEXT BOY AND HUNG HIM OVER ANOTHER BRANCH, AND THE NEXT SHE THREW OVER A FENCE SO THAT HE LANDED IN A FLOWER BED. The girls in these p a r a g r a p h s w e r e thirteen, fourteen, a n d n i n e years old. Karana of Island of the Blue Dolphins, M a r y Call of Where the Lilies Bloom, a n d P i p p i of Pippi Longstocking lived i n a drastically different universe from t h e Little Colonel a n d Pollyanna a n d e v e n N a n c y D r e w , for all t h e m u c h - a d m i r e d liveliness of those heroines.

Brave N e w Girls, 1950 to 1975 The n e w era of girls' fiction began—fittingly i n 1950—with t h e explosion of Pippi Longstocking onto t h e scene. Despite a stilted translation from Astrid L i n d g r e n ' s Swedish, t h e b o o k w a s great fun. Nine-year-old P i p p i lived o n h e r o w n w i t h a m o n k e y a n d a horse, chatted w i t h h e r m o t h e r in h e a v e n , w a i t e d for h e r sea c a p tain father to c o m e h o m e from b e i n g lost at sea, a n d d i d w h a t e v e r she w a n t e d . School s h e dismissed as worthless after o n e d a y . H o u s e w o r k she h a n d l e d briskly: W H E N EVERYBODY H A D H A D

ENOUGH, PIPPI TOOK HOLD OF ALL FOUR CORNERS OF THE TABLECLOTH AND LIFTED IT UP SO THAT THE CUPS AND PLATES TUMBLED OVER EACH OTHER AS IF THEY WERE IN A SACK. THEN SHE STUFFED THE WHOLE BUNDLE IN THE WOODBOX. "I ALWAYS LIKE TO TIDY UP AS SOON AS I HAVE E A T E N / ' she said. Superstrong, s h e beat u p a n a n g r y bull, a n d s h e lifted h e r h o r s e to h i s b e d o n t h e porch.

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This is not entirely a feminist world: it is implied that Pippi's strength came partly from the wonderful phallic shoes her father g a v e her, BLACK SHOES THAT WERE EXACTLY TWICE A S LONG A S HER

FEET. A n d her friends were ridiculously stereotyped. But in the final chapter w h e n Pippi gave sex-linked presents to her friends, a flute to Tommy and a jeweled brooch to Annika, she also transcended these roles b y giving each one a pistol. She herself had a pistol and a sword, which she w a v e d merrily about. When told she could not defeat the strong m a n at the circus because "HE'S THE STRONGEST M A N I N THE WORLD," Pippi answered, " M A N , YES,

BUT I AM THE STRONGEST GIRL IN THE WORLD, REMEMBER THAT/' before knocking h i m flat. In the book's last sentence, Pippi challenged her readers to follow her: "I'M GOING TO BE A PIRATE W H E N

I GROW UP. ARE YOU?" There were still transitional books with mixed messages, but more and more girls' stories with non-sexist plots and character types. From 1950 to 1975 some of the best books had girl heroes w h o were spectacular survivors or rescuers. Scott O'Dell based Island of the Blue Dolphins (1960) o n the true story of a nineteenthcentury Indian girl left behind w h e n her tribe abandoned their island off Santa Barbara in order to avoid an enemy tribe. The real "lost w o m a n of San Nicolas" lived alone eighteen years until a ship rescued her. With courage and intelligence, O'Dell's fictional Karana—as resourceful as Robinson Crusoe—built shelters, made tools, weapons, and clothes, caught and gathered food. She created elaborate plans: to kill hostile animals, to endure winter, to escape b y repairing a ruined canoe. Karana couldn't have been more different from traditional survivor heroines like brave-but-passive Sara Crewe in The Little Princess. You might think that Karana's actions were not particularly enterprising because she w a s in her home territory, exercising practical skills she already knew as a member of the tribe. But her actions went w a y beyond that. Her abandonment o n the island came about b y her o w n decision rather than chance or carelessness: A s the white man's ship pulled out of the harbor to take her people to the mainland, Karana realized her six-year-old brother had been left ashore. The sailors w o u l d not turn back so she dove into the water and s w a m back to stay with h i m until the ship

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could r e t u r n for t h e m . A few d a y s later h e w a s killed b y w i l d d o g s a n d s h e b e g a n h e r eighteen-year vigil. H e r m o s t frightening challenge w a s n o t coping w i t h d a n g e r or loneliness or starvation; it w a s forcing herself to defy tribal tab o o s — t h e l a w that n o female could m a k e or u s e w e a p o n s . K a r a n a o v e r c a m e h e r conviction t h a t A B O W I N T H E H A N D S O F A W O M A N

WOULD BREAK IN A TIME OF DANGER. WOULD THE FOUR WINDS BLOW IN AND SMOTHER ME AS I MADE THE WEAPONS? OR WOULD THE EARTH TREMBLE, AS MANY SAID, AND BURY ME BENEATH ITS FALLING ROCKS? P u s h i n g p a s t t h e limits of h e r c o m m u n i t y , s h e i n v e n t e d a n d u s e d w e a p o n s successfully. She also rejected tribal v a l u e s w h e n s h e t a m e d animals as friends a n d refused to kill a n y m o r e for fur. All alone, s h e g r e w a n d changed. This 1960 b o o k is still p o p u l a r . K a r a n a ' s narrative voice is strong a n d m e m o r a b l e because it is so matter-of-fact. Far o u t from t h e i s l a n d , i F O U N D T H A T T H E C A N O E W A S LEAKING, I F O U N D T H E

PLACE WHERE THE WATER WAS SEEPING THROUGH A CRACK AS LONG AS MY HAND AND THE WIDTH OF A FINGER. I TORE A PIECE OF FIBER FROM MY SKIRT AND PRESSED IT INTO THE CRACK, WHICH HELD BACK THE WATER. Stubbornly p a d d l i n g , bailing, a n d stuffing cloth i n t h e crack, Karana m a d e it back to shore. M u c h of h e r time o n t h e island, t h o u g h lonely, she w a s h a p p y . A n o t h e r tale of survival a p p e a r e d in 1972, Jean George's Julie of the Wolves, a b o u t a thirteen-year-old Eskimo girl. A n i m a l friends h e l p e d Miyax to t h i n k a n d to act b u t h e r o w n strength a n d intelligence m a d e t h e difference, i n saving h e r from t h e n o r t h e r n w a s t e . Miyax h a d r u n a w a y o n t o t h e b a r e t u n d r a t o escape a n a r r a n g e d marriage. H e r m o t h e r w a s d e a d , h e r father t h e h u n t e r far a w a y , a n d h e r real n a m e b u r i e d u n d e r h e r n e w w h i t e n a m e , Julie. Miyax w a s n o t s t u p i d in getting lost o n t h e A l a s k a n N o r t h Slope just before winter, s h e w a s merely ignorant: t h e island s h e g r e w u p o n offered c o m p a s s signs in its p l a n t a n d a n i m a l life, a n d she t h o u g h t s h e could reach h e r destination b y a p p l y i n g t h a t k n o w l e d g e . But t h e N o r t h Slope offered n o s u c h signs. She h a d a knife, p o t , matches, a n d sleeping fur, b u t w a s lost a n d alone. M i y a x refused to p a n i c (SHE H A D BEEN CERTAIN T H A T TODAY SHE

WOULD EAT—SO I WONT, SHE SAID TO HERSELF, AND THAT'S THAT). H e r meticulous observation w o n h e r a place in a w a n d e r i n g wolf

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pack. For days she studied the w o l v e s ' behavior until she k n e w enough to prance on all fours u p to the enormous leader, make the right submissive grunting noise, and bite the wolf gently under the chin. Through sixty-six winter days with n o sun she sent and understood messages in the wolves 7 howling language; she played with them and she shared their food. Finally finding a human settlement and her father, Miyax sadly left her wolf friends and went back to the Americanized world. When she first ran away she had planned to live with a San Francisco friend w h o sent letters about television and bikinis. N o w she wanted only to stay close to her natural world and d o all she could to preserve it from harm. She ended with a song to the wolf leader: AMAROQ, AMAROQ, YOU ARE MY ADOPTED FATHER. / MY FEET DANCE BECAUSE OF YOU. / MY MIND THINKS BECAUSE OF YOU. Other girl heroes rescued and protected their families as well as themselves, notably Mary Call in Where the Lilies Bloom (by Vera and Bill Cleaver, 1969) and Meg in A Wrinkle in Time (1962). Earlier characters also helped their families in troubled times but those earlier girls stayed snugly within the family hierarchy, in a helping rather than a leading role. Mary Call Luther had n o such comfort. As her father lay coughing his life away in their North Carolina mountain cabin, she promised she w o u l d take care of the t w o younger children and the eighteen-year-old sister w h o w a s slow and "cloudy-minded." So that the authorities w o u l d not split u p the family, Mary Call and her brother kept their father's death a secret and dragged his b o d y u p to the grave he had d u g for himself on the mountainside. Then she masterminded the family secret, ran the household, and slaved at earning money by selling herbs and making Christmas evergreen ropes. Her efforts could not support the family forever, but she managed to stall long enough that a solution w a s worked out and the family stayed together in their cabin. At fourteen, to accomplish this, Mary Call Luther became a tyrant. The irascible landlord commented, "YOU'RE ENOUGH TO SKEER A MAN, STANDIN' THERE ALL SPRADDLE-LEGGED WITH YOUR JAW STUCK OUT UGLY. WHY CAN'T YOU BE SWEET AND NICE LIKE YOUR SISTER?" "BECAUSE SWEET, NICE GIRLS GET THEMSELVES RUN OVER BY PEOPLE LIKE YOU." She told her sister she w a s mean and ugly because,

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"IT TAKES TIME TO BE SWEET AND PRETTY AND FM TOO BUSY SEEING TO IT THAT YOU AND THOSE OTHER TWO DON'T STARVE AND DON'T FREEZE TO DEATH AND THAT THE COUNTY PEOPLE DON'T COME AND H A U L YOU AWAY." Things got w o r s e ; s t o r m s caved i n t h e roof s o a crazed fox l e a p e d into t h e r o o m a n d attacked M a r y Call until she w h o p p e d it t o d e a t h w i t h a b o a r d . Eventually s h e g o t w o r n d o w n a n d discouraged, thinking: I MUST HAVE MOSS GROWING WHERE MY BRAINS SHOULD BE. NOBODY BUT A POOR DEMENT WOULD DO WHAT I'M DOING, HIDING MY OLD DEAD DADDY OVER THERE. TAKING ME ON THREE SNOT-NOSED KIDS TO RAISE. IF I HAD THE SENSE OF A RABBIT I'D JUST TAKE OFF AND KEEP RIGHT ON WALKING. THEY'D MAKE OUT ALL RIGHT WITHOUT ME. She w e a k e n e d b u t h u n g o n until spring, BY THE GRACE O F THE LORD WE'RE HERE AND WHAT WE MAKE OF IT IS OUR OWN AFFAIR. MY NAME IS MARY CALL LUTHER, I THOUGHT, AND SOMEDAY I'M GOING TO BE A BIG SHOT. In b o o k s p u b l i s h e d from 1950 t o 1975, m o s t of t h e powerful girl heroes inhabited w o r l d s t h a t w e r e quite unlike t h e lives of their readers: fantasy w o r l d s o r places r e m o t e i n time o r place. U n c o n ventional behavior is less threatening w h e n it occurs far a w a y from o r d i n a r y life; nice girls i n t h e next generation after C h e r r y A m e s a n d N a n c y D r e w b r o a d e n e d their vision b y r e a d i n g a b o u t Karana far a w a y o n h e r nineteenth-century island, or M e g M u r r y w h i z z i n g a m o n g t h e planets i n Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time (1962). That science fiction a d v e n t u r e started a t t h e h o m e of a scientist couple a n d their children, t h e n e x p a n d e d t o s h o w a struggle of g o o d a n d evil t h r o u g h o u t t h e galaxies. Thirteen-yearold M e g w a s s t u b b o r n a n d s o m e t i m e s obnoxious, a n d (like M a r y Call) this h e l p e d h e r save h e r family. M e g w a s t r a n s p o r t e d along w i t h h e r friend Calvin a n d h e r telepathic brother Charles Wallace t o a sick, d a r k p l a n e t i n a n att e m p t t o rescue their c a p t u r e d father. C a m a z o t z w a s a 1984-type of p l a n e t w h e r e "EVERYTHING IS I N PERFECT ORDER BECAUSE EVERY-

BODY H A S LEARNED T O SUBMIT/' a s t h e c h i l d r e n w e r e t o l d b y t h e

dictator " I t " — a h u g e , bodiless brain, "THAT'S W H A T W E HAVE O N CAMAZOTZ. COMPLETE EQUALITY. EVERYBODY EXACTLY ALIKE." Defia n t M e g w o u l d n ' t b u y this: "NO!" SHE CRIED TRIUMPHANTLY,

A N D EQUAL

"LIKE

ARE N O T T H E SAME A T ALL!" S h e freed h e r father a n d

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escaped from Camazotz with him, but they seized and brainwashed her little brother. So n o w the Murrys had to rescue him, which w o u l d be an important victory in the continuing war of good g u y s against evil powers. Meg began to despair: SHE H A D FOUND HER FATHER AND HE HAD NOT MADE EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT. THERE WAS NOTHING TO GUARANTEE IT WOULD ALL COME OUT RIGHT IN THE END. It became clear that the responsibility w a s hers: n o one else w a s as close to Charles Wallace and n o one else had a chance at calling out his o w n , trapped self. Finally Meg agreed to return alone to Camazotz. "I'M SORRY, FATHER. I WANTED YOU TO DO IT ALL FOR ME. SO I TRIED TO PRETEND THAT IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT. BECAUSE I WAS SCARED, AND I DIDN'T WANT TO HAVE TO DO ANYTHING MYSELF." "DO YOU HAVE THE COURAGE TO GO ALONE?" MRS WHATSIT ASKED HER. MEG'S VOICE WAS FLAT. "NO. BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER. YOU KNOW IT'S THE ONLY THING TO DO." M e g set forth; she found that her tenacity and anger, her hatred, got her a long w a y but not far enough. To release her brother and weaken Camazotz she needed to use the power of her love for Charles Wallace. Her strength and her love, together, defeated the horrible It. This outcome m a y seem to resemble earlier stories where a tomboy girl learned she must tame her fierce w a y s and become a softer member of her society. The difference here, h o w ever, is m u c h greater than the likeness: M e g did not give u p her fierceness, her rage; rather, she added and activated and focused the positive love that she always possessed. She became herself; she did not—like those earlier sad Katys and Caddies and Jo's— abandon her central self and become somebody else's idea of what a nice girl should be. A s girl characters became bolder and more active in the 1960s, some interesting ones appeared in realistic settings. T w o popular books presented restless girls from privileged families seeking adventure in N e w York City. Harriet, in Harriet the Spy (1964) by Louise Fitzhugh, and Claudia, in From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (1967) by E.L. Konigsberg, s h o w e d initiative and met challenges in contemporary, urban ways. Harriet and Claudia were too sharp and curious to remain nice complacent private-school girls. They were true descendents of Alice—that

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wandering girl created a century before, w h o frightened softer girl readers like myself with her cool toughness in a weird world. Eleven-year-old Harriet Welsch announced "i W A N T TO KNOW EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD. I WILL BE A SPY AND KNOW EVERYTHING/' Clearly she w a s destined to become a writer: she invented a game called Town, with detailed stories for each citizen, and wrote copiously in the notebooks that were her most important possession. Each day after school in Manhattan she followed her spying route and wrote d o w n what she s a w and what she thought: studying the owners of an Italian grocery, staking out a bachelor with cats, even sneaking into the kitchen dumbwaiter of a townhouse to s p y on the w o m a n w h o lived there. Harriet's nanny, Ole Golly, encouraged her, saying "LIFE IS A STRUGGLE A N D A GOOD SPY GETS I N

THERE A N D FIGHTS." Harriet flung herself into things wildly, like rolling and bumping around the floor of her room to figure out h o w to play an onion in a school pageant. Energy and imagination could b e dangerous. After Harriet's school friends found her notebook, full of the caustic things she had written about them, they banded together to ostracize her. This w a s already a lonely time, as Ole Golly had married and m o v e d away. Would the traumatic incident tame Harriet's independence and curiosity, and make her realize that conventional behavior is kindest and most comfortable for everyone? She d i d not sell out, though she finally agreed to a compromise. At first, she w a s outraged at her classmates; her notebook had only told the truth. But a teacher lured her back from despair b y selecting Harriet to write the class newspaper. Ole Golly sent bracing advice, telling Harriet she w o u l d have to apologize to her friends and e v e n lie, because she hurt them, REMEMBER THAT WRITING IS

TO PUT LOVE IN THE WORLD, NOT TO USE AGAINST YOUR FRIENDS. BUT TO YOURSELF YOU MUST ALWAYS TELL THE TRUTH. Without sacrificing

ambition, Harriet w a s learning empathy. Her perspective opened u p in w a y s that w o u l d benefit both her writing and her relationships: I HAVE THOUGHT A LOT ABOUT BEING THINGS SINCE TRYING TO BE AN ONION. I HAVE TRIED TO BE A BENCH IN THE PARK, A CAT, AND MY MUG IN THE BATHROOM. I THINK I DID THE MUG BEST BECAUSE WHEN I WAS LOOKING AT IT I FELT IT LOOKING BACK AT ME AND I FELT

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LIKE WE WERE TWO MUGS LOOKING AT EACH OTHER. I WONDER IF GRASS TALKS. The end is gratifying because of its priorities. Harriet issued a retraction and w a s forgiven b y her friends; then she wrote in her notebook, N O W THAT THINGS ARE BACK TO NORMAL I C A N GET SOME

REAL WORK DONE. She k n e w Ole Golly had been right to say, I

HAVE DECIDED THAT IF YOU ARE EVER GOING TO BE A WRITER IT IS TIME YOU GOT CRACKING. YOU ARE ELEVEN YEARS OLD AND HAVEN'T WRITTEN A THING BUT NOTES. Talent and ambition caused her trouble and always w o u l d , but she didn't give u p o n them and she refused to see them as shameful. From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler is another recent story that s h o w e d a girl hero w h o could return to her home base and accept it, while strengthening rather than sacrificing the core of her developing self. Twelve-year-old Claudia Kincaid grew tired of her suburban, straight-A life and determined to run away. A s she liked comfort and elegance she chose for her destination the Metropolitan Museum of Art; as her finances were meager she invited her younger brother to join her and contribute his savings. For a week the children hid in the museum, sleeping in a sixteenth-century bed, bathing at night in the m u s e u m fountain, buying food with coins from the fountain. Claudia craved excitement and the crude danger of hiding out began to pale, so she began a more sophisticated quest: to solve the mystery of a statue's origin which w a s stumping the art world and the media. Studying the beautiful little angel statue at night did not bring the answer, nor did research in the Public Library. The next step w a s to take a train to the Connecticut mansion of the statue's eccentric donor, Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and confront her: Did she know the secret? Was the angel really made b y Michelangelo? Mrs. Frankweiler, a modern good fairy, put Claudia through some tests to see if she w a s worthy and then bestowed o n her the secret of the statue. She helped the girl see what she w a s really seeking: not just the excitement of running away from h o m e and being different, but the deeper excitement of having important secrets, your o w n knowledge that y o u keep inside. The adventure

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is in the knowledge. Mrs. Frankweiler told Claudia, "SOME DAYS YOU MUST LEARN A GREAT DEAL. BUT YOU SHOULD ALSO HAVE DAYS WHEN YOU ALLOW WHAT IS ALREADY IN YOU TO SWELL UP INSIDE OF YOU UNTIL IT TOUCHES EVERYTHING. IF YOU NEVER TAKE TIME OUT TO LET THAT HAPPEN, THEN YOU JUST ACCUMULATE FACTS, AND THEY BEGIN TO RATTLE AROUND INSIDE OF YOU. YOU CAN MAKE NOISE WITH THEM, BUT NEVER REALLY FEEL ANYTHING WITH THEM. IT'S HOLLOW." While riding home in Mrs. Frankweiler's chauffeured Rolls Royce w a s good, knowing important secrets about the statue and about herself w a s even better, the best outcome of Claudia's adventure. Claudia's and Harriet's stories were closer to real life than fantasy tales were, but they did not describe typical lives of ordinary girls. In the second half of the century the founding mother of that genre w a s Beverly Cleary, w h o sent four-year-old Ramona hurtling into the literary world in 1955. Ramona had dozens of descendents in the next forty years—Lowry's Anastasia, Naylor's Alice, Cameron's Julia, Greene's Isabelle and Al—and some of those series were captivating, but it w a s hard to beat the energy and conviction of the original little kid girl hero. Ramona Quimby w a s not just an interesting small girl, she w a s an interesting small child. Her thoughts and actions were hers because she w a s a unique self, not because she belonged to the category "Girl." Her odd, naughty behavior—taking one bite out of each apple in a basket, crashing her tricycle into the coffee table, squeezing out a whole toothpaste tube, playing an interminable game of smashing bricks into dust—was judged for itself, not held against a ruler measuring girlish deportment. Her best friend H o w i e never got excited but that w a s the w a y he was; he wasn't different just because he w a s a boy. If y o u compare this series to, say, the Peppers books with their stereotypes, y o u can see h o w enormous a change has taken place. By the time Ramona m o v e d from nursery school to kindergarten (in her second book, Ramona the Pest) certain things about her were clear. Her mind w a s logical so she did weird things for good reasons, such as refusing to leave her seat at school because the teacher had told her "sit there for the present" and she wanted to wait for her present. Her chief goal w a s to know w h o she really w a s and be k n o w n to others. Learning to write her name w a s not

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enough—she had to make it unique b y drawing cat ears and whiskers o n the Q in Quimby. A Halloween party frightened her because many children were wearing the exact same mask; she realized people couldn't see her individual self any more. So identity not gender w a s Ramona's theme and problem. W h e n she noticed TWO KINDS OF CHILDREN WENT TO KINDERGARTEN

she w a s not thinking boys and girls, but g o o d and bad: THOSE WHO LINED UP BESIDE THE DOOR, AS THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO, AND THOSE WHO RAN AROUND THE PLAYGROUND AND SCRAMBLED TO GET INTO LINE WHEN THEY SAW MISS BINNEY APPROACHING. RAMONA RAN A R O U N D THE PLAYGROUND. Was she a bad person? A n d w h y w a s

life sometimes unfair? It took her seven books to get such questions sorted out. Some of the incidents did involve b o y vs. girl behavior—could girls wear brown galoshes?—but these were n o more crucial and defining than gender-neutral incidents where Ramona wore pajamas to school under her clothes or scrunched u p Susan's paper o w l in a rage.

Leftover Messages in Recent Classics Even as girls were breathing fresh air with Pippi and Ramona in the 1950s, they were still exposed to the familiar polluted, sexist air in books b y some of the masters of children's fiction. "Masters" is the right word, because E. B. White, C. S. Lewis, and Susan Cooper used their broad and deep talents in support of hierarchical, gender-stereotyped societies. The female spider in Charlotte's Web (1952) is such a great character that it is painful to point out the dreariness of the girl character. Eight-year-old Fern's behavior w a s enterprising at the start; she shouted at her father until he agreed not to kill the runty pig. 'IT'S UNFAIR/' CRIED FERN, "IF I

HAD BEEN VERY SMALL AT BIRTH, WOULD YOU HAVE KILLED M£?" She raised her piglet, Wilbur, carefully, and became joyously involved in the conversations and adventures of the barn animals. Later, w h e n Wilbur's life w a s threatened again b y slaughtering season, the spider saved him with her brilliant public relations scheme of weaving captions into her w e b , such as SOME PIGI and RADIANT. Fern admired Charlotte's genius as much as the animals

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d i d b u t g r a d u a l l y s h e lost interest. In t h e last scenes, w h e n h e r Wilbur w a s a w a r d e d a special prize at t h e state fair for b e i n g r a d i a n t a n d terrific, Fern w a s n a g g i n g h e r p a r e n t s for m o n e y so she could go o n t h e ferris w h e e l w i t h H e n r y Fussy. W h e n Charlotte w a s d y i n g at t h e fair far from h o m e , h a v i n g u s e d u p h e r strength w e a v i n g messages for Wilbur, Fern w a s n o t a r o u n d . Charlotte's nobility w a s m e m o r a b l e ; so w a s Fern's callousness. W h i t e w a s w r i t i n g a b o u t t h e cycles of n a t u r e — F e r n w a s s i m p l y g r o w i n g u p , just as Charlotte w a s g r o w i n g old (for a s p i d e r ) — b u t the effect w a s nasty. The story s h o w e d that a h u m a n girl w o u l d b e self-centered, frivolous, unreliable. You c a n forgive t h e a u t h o r only because of h i s portrayal of Charlotte: witty; blood-thirsty b u t kind; g o o d at h e r w o r k a n d g o o d at m a k i n g babies, IT IS N O T OFTEN THAT SOMEONE COMES ALONG WHO IS A TRUE FRIEND AND A GOOD WRITER. CHARLOTTE WAS BOTH. C. S. Lewis's N a r n i a tales from t h e 1950s h a v e also b e e n well loved. They are stuffed full of magic a n d w a r s a n d journeys; fauns, beasts; a n d a variety of h u m a n children s o m e of w h o m b e c a m e kings a n d q u e e n s of Narnia. Asian, t h e Christlike lion, lovingly w a t c h e d over his l a n d a n d p e o p l e while other characters fumbled, d o i n g their best. T h e p r o b l e m is that t h e N a r n i a b o o k s m e a s u r e d t h e children n o t just against Lewis's Christian ideals b u t also, blatantly, against old s t a n d a r d s of g e n d e r - a p p r o p r i a t e b e havior. The girl characters t e n d e d to b e m o r e sensitive a n d n u r turing; Lucy i n particular w a s t h e healer a n d w a s t h e first t o u n d e r s t a n d Asian's true n a t u r e a n d p o w e r . The b o y s w e r e efficient in p l a n n i n g a n d b o l d in battle. Sometimes t h e girls d i d b r a v e d e e d s b u t mostly t h e y floated i n a b a t h of cliches. In a battle scene, ROUND AND ROUND THE COMBATANTS CIRCLED, AND SUSAN (WHO NEVER COULD LEARN TO LIKE THIS SORT OF THING) SHOUTED OUT, "OH, DO BE C A R E F U L / ' L u c y w a s p r a i s e d as b e i n g " A S G O O D A S A M A N ,

OR AT ANY RATE AS GOOD AS A BOY. SUSAN IS MORE LIKE AN ORDINARY GROWN-UP LADY." W h e n Peter kissed t h e furry h e a d of a helpful b a d g e r , IT W A S N ' T A GIRLISH T H I N G F O R H I M T O D O , BECAUSE H E W A S

THE HIGH KING. The a u t h o r t h o u g h t h e w a s distinguishing children w h o w e r e g o o d examples a n d children w h o w e r e b a d examples of their gender; e v e n so h e c o n d e s c e n d e d to t h e girls. It w a s n ' t just frivolous

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Lasaraleen w h o yearned for fancy stuff—"DARLING, ONLY THINK!

THREE PALACES, ONE ON THE LAKE. ROPES OF PEARLS. BATHS OF ASSES' MILK/' Even Lucy behaved as a real girl w a s supposed to: Back in the palace she w e n t off w i t h a friend TO TALK ABOUT ARAVIS'S BED-

ROOM AND BOUDOIR AND ABOUT GETTING CLOTHES FOR HER, AND ALL THE SORT OF THINGS GIRLS D O TALK ABOUT. With this regressive gar-

bage still in their heads in the 1950s, girls needed books like Island of the Blue Dolphins and Julie of the Wolves. Narnia in the 1950s w a s followed b y Susan Cooper's Dark Is Rising series in the 1970s. Here, things had not improved for female characters, w h o were even more thoroughly relegated to supporting roles. Of the five children involved only o n e w a s a girl, an uninteresting one at that. Dozens of characters appeared in Cooper's five-volume series about the the Old Ones' struggle to defend the Light against the rising of evil forces of the Dark. Only three of the good guys and bad guys were w o m e n , and the neutral nature deity w a s female, the Greenwitch. Everyone else w a s male; they were the players. A n ancient manuscript that turned u p to guide the Old Ones referred to "HEATHEN MEN OF EVIL" and "THE MAiV WHO FINDS THE GRAIL...." Will Stanton, an ordinary eleven-year-old w h o w a s the last of the circle of Old Ones, developed heroic qualities throughout the series, pursuing a terrifying magic quest with Bran, the Welsh heir to King Arthur. Jane, the one girl, w a s an important character only in one book of the series, where she w o n the Greenwitch over to the side of the Light b y showing a spontaneous sympathy for the Greenwitch's loneliness. So readers learned that a girl could help the cause through feminine instinct, not b y brains and courage. The only time Jane took decisive action, her action w a s disastrous: she revealed secrets to one of the enemy in disguise. A girl should have k n o w n better than to take the initiative. All the children were frightened w h e n things went wrong, but Jane surpassed the boys in whining and snivelling. She remarked about little Barney, "I'M GLAD HE'S SO BRIGHT ABOUT IT ALL. I WISH I WERE. IT'S AS IF THERE'S SOMEONE WAITING BEHIND EVERY CORNER TO POUNCE ON US. I ONLY FEEL SAFE WHEN I'M I N BED." Once again, the girl felt safest w h e n she w a s horizontal.

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Recent Series Even in the third quarter of this century, then, strong girl heroes did not dominate girls 7 fiction; they still competed with stereotyped characters and plots in books b y some of the best writers. If E. B. White and C. S. Lewis were so obtuse, could w e expect anything better from feeble formula series? Some sleazy sexist books did continue to appear. One popular series from the 1980s, Sweet Valley High, trained children to become the kind of w o m e n w h o read Harlequin romances. (One Sweet Valley girl noticed THERE WAS A MANLIKE HARDNESS TO HIS BRONZED BUILD SHE FOUND DANGEROUS AND EXCITING ... IN HER NEW RED STRING BIKINI SHE WAS A MATCH EVEN FOR "MS. 10," IF SHE DID SAY SO HERSELF.) The heroines of Sweet Valley H i g h were twin sisters, lovably bad Jessica and impossibly good Elizabeth. Their adventures couldn't be more shallow, predictable, and boy-crazy—somebody got in trouble for staying out all night; somebody w a s jealous of her boyfriend's attention to a rival; somebody wasn't chosen queen of the prom. The author made a few gestures suggesting n e w attitudes towards girls: Elizabeth wrote for the school newspaper, took an interest in schoolwork, avoided heavy makeup and sexy clothes. But Elizabeth w a s really the old good-girl stereotype and nobody read the Sweet Valley books to hear about Elizabeth's ambitions as a journalist—it w a s those bronzed manlike bodies and cute cheerleading outfits that appealed to the ditzier kind of preteen girl. Many girls read Sweet Valley books in a brief silly phase, aware of their limitations, then m o v e d on to more solid books. By the 1980s, even in the saccharine world of Sweet Valley, there w a s at least a pretense of respect for sensible, interesting girls. The same tokenism appeared in an awful book called Just Another Gorgeous Guy b y Irene Bennett Brown (1984). Forced to spend her seventeenth summer in an old-fashioned Oregon village, spoiled Hillary learned to discard materialistic values, love children and old folks, and date nerdy boys. Since the book's energy (such as it is) lay in Hillary's frivolous "Before" character, the would-be-feminist message is singularly unconvincing, ALL SUMMER LONG SHE HAD BEEN AWARE OF THIS FEVERISH DESIRE TO KNOW HERSELF. TO MAKE GOOD, TO FEEL SOLID AGAIN, A REAL PERSON; yeah,

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sure. W h o could believe in such sentiments after a hundred pages of this other stuff?—A ROCK TUNE P O U N D E D THROUGH THE WINDOW

OF A CAR CRUISING BY. HILLARY TURNED FROM SCOPING THE DRIVER TO CATCH SIGHT OF ANOTHER DREAM, ALL TAN MUSCLES AND SUNBLEACHED HAIR, LICKING A STACKED ICE CREAM CONE. SHE ALMOST DROOLED, AND NOT BECAUSE OF THE ICE CREAM. SHE WASN'T GOING TO GET INTO TROUBLE. BUT SHE DID PLAN TO MAKE GOOD USE OF HER TIME, A LA MEETING GORGEOUS GUYS. It's rather sweet, t h o u g h lu-

dicrous, that the same Hillary suddenly developed plans to work for historic preservation and low-income housing; at least the author means well. The most jarring set of girls 7 books with a mixed sensibility is the Deathbed books of Lurlene McDaniel, written in the 1990s. Building o n the popularity of realistic stories about serious problems, McDaniel created a world of teenagers w h o were dying a n d / o r disabled or deformed. (This isn't a series—you can't sustain a cast of characters w h e n people die all the time.) But she avoided real realism and undercut the seriousness of her subjects b y writing superficially, in the cliches of romance fiction. A character might have cystic fibrosis or her boyfriend might have terminal leukemia, but she still w o u l d think about A N AWESOME TAFFETA DRESS, A MUSCULAR PHYSIQUE TO DIE FOR. (The latter being

an unfortunate turn of phrase under the circumstances.) In the more upbeat McDaniel stories, pleasant things happened, like a girl with a facial deformity getting together with a blind boy; but most of the books had witless morbid touches that make the 1960s' Love Story look cheerful. Julie in Don't Die, My Love (1995) w e n t into a terrible depression after her football-player boyfriend died of leukemia in the fall. Then in the spring a friend of Luke's took Julie to the top of the stadium and made her look d o w n . Lo! a bright message from the heavens w a s spelled out in the grass o n the football field: I LOVE YOU, JULIE. Luke had planted tulip bulbs in the fall, presumably staggering out of his hospital bed with a trowel to d o so. Julie w a s then able to accept her loss and, as they say in such circles, get o n with her life. It's hard to k n o w what to make of these books and the girls w h o read them. Certainly teenagers want to explore all emotions, morbid along with scary, violent, and sexual. McDaniel's books

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are unusually horrible because they stir u p a prurient delight in the weakness and sickly wretchedness of y o u n g girls: they encourage the kinds of emotion that the Victorians so enjoyed in the deaths of Dickens's Little Nell and Stowe's Little Eva. Poe's conviction is still abroad in our culture: that the most beautiful and virtuous girl is, like Carol in The Birds' Christmas Carol, immobilized. Lurlene McDaniel's characters are not y o u n g w o m e n responding actively to terrible medical problems, they are old-time heroines steeped in a romantic world of death. The g o o d n e w s is that these sickly stories are distinctly a minor note in the reading girls are exposed to today. A n d I have been told by teachers and librarians in several states that the Sweet Valley High books have peaked. When y o u look at other mass-market series popular in recent years, the picture is surprisingly bright. Apparently American society has changed enough that gross female stereotypes are not acceptable to most parents and daughters. They won't b u y rankly sexist books, so publishers are not producing them. A s always, to make money, run-of-the-mill series s p e w forth improbable plots and undeveloped characters. But n o w at least girl characters do not shrink from danger and exertion; they d o not let others tell them h o w to think and act; and they d o not constantly sacrifice their o w n plans and wishes. The old barrage of weak-maiden messages has virtually stopped in girls' books, and while this change alone will not produce a nation of brave n e w girls, it will surely help y o u n g readers to think of themselves as competent, active people. Something healthy started happening in the 1960s and 70s. Despite resistance to clumsy terms such as "Ms." and "his/her," changes were taking place in the language of reasonable people and publications. The nagging of determined souls gradually created an awareness that "he" does not properly describe half the world's population; and that gender stereotypes are harmful, not humorous. Just as it became clear to most (even those w h o didn't care) that ethnic slurs were not going to be tolerated, it also became clear that remarks about dumb blondes, bullying wives, and eager rape victims were made only by idiots. Even the most or-

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dinary, formulaic children's series benefited from this changing perspective. Reading around in these series I found that even superficial, uninspiring stories avoided the gross kind of "girlish" behavior that w a s taken for granted before 1950. Judy Blume w a s the star of this mass-market realm in the 1970s. Her characters had messy problems similar to those her y o u n g readers were living through: One w a s involved in the bullying of a fat girl; one w a s confused by her mixed religious background; another worried that friends w o u l d find out about her phobias. One had a depressed grandmother; another had white parents w h o didn't like a black family moving next door. The stories are pleasant but thin, the characters created from a menu, not understood from within. These were typical problem-cases rather than unique characterizations—but at least they were not based on old conventions of proper girlhood. With Judy Blume, even those books that described sex-linked problems like first menstruation or w e t dreams were reasonably matter-of-fact: these were just another kind of problem that y o u n g people had to handle. That w a s comforting. A n eleven-year-old girl character (and reader) could worry equally about buying a bra and choosing a religion, while a boy could worry about family quarrels and erections in math class. Life included all this, and it could all be coped with or survived. Judy Blume's books were not great contributions to literature but they did avoid the old girls'-book miasma of guilt and sacrifice and anxious virtue. Judy Blume problem books, and dozens of other recent series like the American Girl history stories, have brought pleasure to little girls and income to publishers. Even more lucrative and titillating are the horror books that swept the publishing world in the 1980s. While booksellers and librarians say that the fad is cooling, children still pore over dozens of books in the various scary series—for instance, R. L. Stine's Goosebumps for younger readers and his Fear Street for middle-level children, and the more recent weird series called Animorphs in which child characters turned into animals and then back again. You might expect that these plot-dominated horror books w o u l d play mostly to boys and that they w o u l d contain stereotyped images of frightened, feeble girls

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being saved by stronger boys, yet even in these trashy stories of recent years a fairer picture of girls does prevail. I haven't read many books by R. L. Stine—my devotion to children's literature has some limits—but the four I read s h o w girls to be at least as brave and resourceful as boys. They are definitely more than victims and sidekicks. In Stay out of the Basement (1992), one of the silly, supernatural Goosebumps books, the girl and boy children were equally frightened to learn that their scientist father's plant experiments were turning him into a murderous vegetable w h o ate plant food and slept on a bed full of dirt and worms. Margaret and her brother worked together to break into the basement full of mutant plant-people, and Margaret w a s the one w h o identified the real father by cutting his arm to see the red blood flow (the evil clone bled green sap). She didn't faint at the blood, either. In Fear Street stories The Wrong Number and The Sleepwalker (both 1990) girl heroes refused to be paralyzed b y events; they found clever, risky w a y s to solve mysteries that were baffling everyone else. The Sleepwalker nicely reversed the familiar Gothicromance plot where a girl w o u l d drift helplessly, while terrible things were done to her. In this story a teenager found herself sleepwalking night after night, wandering e v e n to the deep lake's edge. The story started like this: AS PALE AS MOONLIGHT, MAYRA SEEMED TO FLOAT ACROSS THE LAWN. HER LONG COPPERY HAIR BILLOWED IN THE NIGHT BREEZE. HER SILKY WHITE NIGHTGOWN SHIMMERED. Yes, typical. But instead of giving in like a Gothic maiden, Mayra investigated until she figured out what w a s happening. Then she set a trap for her boyfriend, w h o had been hypnotizing her into forgetting a car accident in which he had killed somebody. "WHEN YOU OPEN YOUR EYES YOU WILL FEEL COMPLETELY CALM," WALKER SAID SOFTLY. MAYRA, HER EYELIDS CLOSED, NODDED SLOWLY. "AND YOU WILL CONTINUE TO FORGET ABOUT THAT NIGHT ON RIVER RIDGE. YOU WILL HAVE NO MEMORY OF THE ACCIDENT/' MAYRA OPENED HER EYES. SHE LEAPT TO HER FEET AND GRABBED WALKER'S SWEATSHIRT WITH BOTH HANDS. "YOU FILTHY CREEP!" SHE SCREAMED. "I KNEW THAT'S WHAT YOU DID TO ME THAT HORRIBLE NIGHT! MY SLEEPWALKING—IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT!" N o t graceful behavior (or writing), but satisfying.

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A n n Martin in the 1980s had a good idea for an updated kind of girls'-group series. Her Baby-sitters Club books followed an old pattern: a gang of likable characters had mild adventures and solved not-too-threatening problems. Nonetheless, the girls' club w a s impressive. Creating and running a babysitting service challenged the responsibilty and imagination of five junior high school girls. If y o u compare the members of the Baby-sitters Club to the "Big Six" children in the Maida books, y o u can see h o w far formula writers have advanced. Maida and her friends could not plan a backyard stroll without the help of servants and mentors; the Baby-sitters deftly managed finances, schedules, public relations; they cared for children and reassured parents; they expanded into playgroups and au pair vacations. These books did include dull descriptions of clothes and giggling gossip about boys, and Judy Blume-like problems were added in predictable amounts: a spoonful of dyslexia, a touch of diabetes; a sprinkling of divorced parents, jealous siblings, dying pets. You can't fault a series for following its formula, though, and these little girls created for themselves a useful, enterprising kind of fun. It w o u l d be even more enterprising if they were involved in a business less traditionally girlish than babysitting— bicycle repair, perhaps—but nobody's perfect. Some people believe that being alert to sexist (or racist or homophobic or xenophobic) images is faddish and unnecessary, a knee-jerk response. But w e are constantly hit with so many millions of verbal messages that it seems obtuse or malicious to deny their potency. Little girls w h o read a lot are n o w being soaked in the Baby-sitters' cheerful work ethic and the gushing enthusiasms of other series such as The Gymnasts and Girl Talk. Certainly no normal adult could enjoy shallow stories and cute language of the "incredibly cool," "major hunk!" sort of writing. Yet if a child is going to have a phase of reading flimsy stories, it's better she should read healthy flimsy stories than the old sacrificial, guilt-laden kind.

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After 1975 N o w that t h e u n d e r b r u s h of girly stereotypes h a s b e e n p r e t t y m u c h cleared a w a y , there is space for n e w k i n d s of b o o k s to g r o w , a n d they h a v e i n d e e d b e e n g r o w i n g . In t h e 1980s a n d 90s, girl characters in g o o d children's stories h a v e b e c o m e wonderfully original, thick w i t h reality a n d ambiguity. I can't b e g i n to list all the interesting n e w girls 7 b o o k s a n d a u t h o r s . Stories set in o u r o w n w o r l d h a v e girls w h o are n o t distorted b y old a s s u m p t i o n s a b o u t fragile females. Stories set in other times a n d places h a v e complex girls w h o fight against powerful social forces; they lose particular battles b u t n o t their strong selves; they believe in their o w n v a l u e a n d their o w n values. Shabanu, Daughter of the Wind (1989) tells of a desert family in Pakistan a n d a girl w h o tried to d e v e l o p a n i n d e p e n d e n t self w i t h i n t h e family. Eleven-year-old Shabanu, w h o t e n d e d camels a n d t a u g h t h e r favorite o n e to dance, loved h e r n o m a d i c life b u t w o r r i e d a b o u t t h e future: a girl h a d to b e m a r r i e d at p u b e r t y to a n a r r a n g e d suitor. H e r family w a s traditional b u t kind, n e v e r m a k i n g h e r feel u n w a n t e d e v e n t h o u g h their culture defined girls as inferior. W h e n a d e a d l y feud threatened t h e family, h o w e v e r , t h e father b r o u g h t t h e m safety a n d w e a l t h b y m a r r y ing his older d a u g h t e r to S h a b a n u ' s i n t e n d e d , beloved suitor, a n d selling S h a b a n u as fourth wife to a fifty-year-old rich m a n w h o fancied her. This m a n sent h e r p r e s e n t s , " H O W C A N I ACCEPT A GIFT FROM

HIM?" I ASK QUIETLY, "IS HE BUYING ME?" "SHABANU," SAYS DADI, HIS VOICE STERN. "HE ALREADY HAS BOUGHT YOU. HE HAS PAID MORE THAN A FAIR PRICE FOR A TROUBLESOME GIRL LIKE YOU. CANT YOU SEE HE WANTS YOU TO BE HAPPY?" I AM SMALL AND STRONG WITH TOO MUCH SPIRIT, AND I THINK TOO MUCH. I AM LONELY AND FEARFUL, AND I LONG FOR THE DAYS WHEN I WAS FREE IN THE DESERT. I DO RESENT HIS TRYING TO BUY MY HEART. BRIDE PRICE IS COMMON HERE IN THE DESERT. I DONT BEGRUDGE MAMA AND DADI THAT. THEY WON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT DROUGHT OR ANYTHING ELSE EVER AGAIN. BUT MY HEART.... The author, S u z a n n e Fisher Staples, d i d n o t oversimplify or d e monize. Family c u s t o m s w e r e w a r m , desert life w a s difficult b u t

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beautiful. Even so doubts grew in Shabanu about her life and she thought of a cousin w h o w a s beaten b y her husband, then built u p her o w n herd of goats and left home with her child. Shabanu tried to run away to live with the cousin, Sharma, but w a s caught b y her enraged father, HE C A N BEAT ME TO DEATH IF HE LIKES, THE

PAIN GROWS WORSE AS THE BLOWS STRIKE ALREADY-BRUISED FLESH. BUT I TAKE SHARMA'S ADVICE. I RECALL THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS IN MY WORLD AND, LIKE A BRIDE ADMIRING HER DOWRY, I TAKE THEM OUT, ONE BY ONE, THEN FOLD THEM AWAY AGAIN DEEP INTO MY HEART. In the future her only hope w o u l d be to keep her strong self hidden but alive, locked away from her husband and master. Lyddie (1991, b y {Catherine Paterson) followed a nineteenthcentury Vermont farm girl w h o met challenges boldly. Her family split u p and she went to work in a Lowell factory noted for tuberculosis and injuries. Thirteen-year-old Lyddie, PLAIN A S PLOWED SOD and ORNERY AS A N OLD s o w , w a s tough. She stared

d o w n a bear in the family cabin. When a coach stuck in m u d she p u s h e d aside the floundering m e n , FOUND A FLAT STONE A N D PUT

IT UNDER THE MIRED WHEEL. THEN SHE WADED IN, SET HER OWN STRONG RIGHT SHOULDER AGAINST THE REAR WHEEL, AND CALLED OUT "ONE, TWO, THREE, HEAVE!" Tending her looms thirteen hours a day in terrible conditions, she became the best factory worker; studying Oliver Twist, she became a good reader. Moral challenges were harder. Saving to pay farm debts and reassemble her family, she w a s tempted to turn in an escaped slave for a hundred dollars but instead lent the man all her money. Later, saving money seemed meaningless after Lyddie's mother went to an asylum, her brother w a s adopted, and the farm w a s sold. So Lyddie did not despair at being fired from the factory. She had d u m p e d a water bucket o n her overseer to prevent h i m from raping a friend of hers. Before she left Lowell she confronted the overseer: if he punished the other girl, Lyddie w o u l d tell his wife what happened. Then she set off for the West with her savings, determined to become one of the female students at Oberlin College. After a few years she might—or might not—return to Vermont and marry the kind farmer w h o had been courting her.

"I'M OFF . . . " TO STARE D O W N THE BEAR! SHE W O U L D

STARE DOWN ALL THE BEARS!

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* ** Many recent books about twentieth-century American children go deeper than the Judy Blume-type stories. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry and Let the Circle Be Unbroken (by Mildred D. Taylor, 1976 and 1981) present the Logans, a black family in Depression Mississippi. Eleven-year-old Cassie w a s a no-nonsense girl w h o wanted to take part in whatever w a s going on, even w h e n the goings-on were terrifying. A s she grew u p into a dangerous world of lynchings and white-only water fountains, she learned h o w to survive without losing pride and independence. Her family helped her, and s o did her o w n boldness. When the white schoolbus driver once too often splashed m u d o n the black children w h o had n o bus, to amuse his little riders, Cassie and her brother d u g a ditch in the dirt road s o the b u s broke d o w n and its children got drenched in the mud. When a rich white girl's teasing went too far, Cassie planned a long campaign of pretending to b e her respectful little helper; she eventually discovered Lillian Jean's secrets, then beat her u p and threatened to tell the embarrassing secrets if Lillian Jean complained. Cassie's story did not follow the old plot pattern where a feisty girl gets tamed and weakened. She stayed her o w n self but from experience gained self-control and perspective. From her family she learned love and loyalty. Her father told about w h e n she w a s bom—"I SAID TO MYSELF: 'WHAT I GOTTA WORRY 'BOUT THESE WHITE FOLKS FOR? OR MONEY I AIN'T GOT? THIS LITTLE GIRL RIGHT HERE, SHE'S WHAT'S IMPORTANT. AIN'T NEVER GONNA BE NOTHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN THIS LITTLE GIRL.' " Katherine Paterson specializes in children coming to terms with ambivalent feelings, love mixed with bitterness; she creates fine, strong girl characters. In her Bridge to Terabithia (1977) Jess, a tenyear-old farm boy w h o liked to draw, made friends with a girl from the city w h o opened n e w worlds of courage and culture. Leslie and Jess found a secret spot in the forest, where she told him stories from books like Narnia and pronounced him a King of Terabithia. THERE I N THE SHADOWY LIGHT OF THE STRONGHOLD

EVERYTHING SEEMED POSSIBLE. Jess w a s jealous because Leslie could run faster and wasn't afraid of things, like swinging across the creek o n a rope. But w h e n the rope broke and Leslie w a s killed,

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Jess w a s able to u s e the strength he had gained from her. H e d e c i d e d TERABITHIA W A S LIKE A CASTLE WHERE Y O U CAME TO BE

KNIGHTED. AFTER YOU STAYED FOR A WHILE AND GREW STRONG YOU HAD TO MOVE ON. FOR HADN'T LESLIE TRIED TO PUSH BACK THE WALLS OF HIS MIND AND MAKE HIM SEE BEYOND TO THE SHINING WORLDHUGE AND TERRIBLE AND BEAUTIFUL AND VERY FRAGILE? SHE WASN'T THERE, SO HE MUST GO FOR BOTH OF THEM. Elizabeth in Autumn Street (by Lois Lowry, 1980) experienced an even more shocking loss, which did not destroy her and helped her to grow. She w a s only six w h e n her father went off to World War II and she went to live with rich Pennsylvania grandparents. There she found n e w kinds of understanding—about the labels people put o n each other of rich and poor, black and white, master and servant; about the masks people wear to hide their real feelings. She found that cruelty could be anywhere, even in herself— once she lost her temper at her dearest friend Charles, the housekeeper's grandson, and shouted "Nigger." Frightening spaces lurked inside and outside of people, Elizabeth discovered; she w a s terrified of the w o o d s beyond the house and the caves that were rumored to lie within them. I WAS FRIGHTENED OF CAVES, OF DARK PASSAGES WITH CONVOLUTED TURNINGS. YOU COULD CALL OUT AND YOUR VOICE WOULD RETURN TO YOU. YOUR VOICES, COMING AT YOU, MURMURING; AND YOU WOULD HAVE TO STAND THERE ALL ALONE AND LISTEN TO THE ANSWERS THAT CAME AT YOU FROM INSIDE YOURSELF. This w a s not the self-satisfied

world of earlier girls' stories, and w h e n Elizabeth made a s m u g Pollyanna-like remark she sounded unconvincing, false: Talking about the dirty, crazy m a n w h o wandered through the t o w n muttering and taking handouts, Elizabeth announced, "i WOULDN'T BE SCARED OF HIM. I WOULD PROBABLY SMILE AT HIM SO HE WOULD FEEL BETTER.,, I PRACTICED A SMALL, SAD, PITEOUS SMILE. In fact, it WUS Sad and piteous—and more realistic—that in Autumn Street the girl character could not dissolve hostility with a sweet smile. After an incident where white boys hit and taunted little Charles, the child ran off into that dark, convoluted w o o d and got killed, his throat cut b y the crazy man. When Elizabeth's father came h o m e from the war with part of his leg missing, he reassured her that "BAD THINGS W O N T HAPPEN A N Y MORE/7 She k n e w that w a s not true; she

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had family love and other comforts but she w o u l d always have a hollow place in her, a cave, after that year in A u t u m n Street with Charles. Whereas newer children's books like these take on the same old themes—family and friends, individual identity, loss, coping and growing—they allow girl characters freer choices. N e w e r fictional worlds are often more terrible than the old ones but they are bigger. Female characters are less confined by convention, and also authors are less confined to a tiny segment of society: much of the excitement of today's children's books is that they represent a larger range of social and ethnic groups. Readers are n o longer stuck with stories about little white girls in big houses. Publishers have discovered it is good business to allow good books about different types of people (although formula series still have mostly white, suburban settings). So readers meet wonderful characters like those in Virginia Hamilton's Arilla Sun Down (1976). Arilla, a confused twelve-yearold, learned to handle ambivalence, complexity. She w a s comfortable in her black community but troubled about the Native-American part of her heritage. Arilla's handsome brother flaunted his Indianness aggressively; their hardworking father broke out of his city life every so often and ran away to his Indian hometown. Arilla had to work out her feelings about all this, and h o w to like her family and herself. She had to reconcile her t o w n self with her past self, the little girl w h o listened to the Indian tales of old James. James had named Arilla "Wordkeeper" and "Talking Story." When he died, she asked his spirit, "is IT FARGOING?" IT IS ONLY GOING IN A CIRCLE. "YOU COMING BACK AGAIN?" I AM HERE AND NOW, THEN AND THERE, IN ALL THINGS. AND WORDKEEPER? "I HEAR YOU." REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE. T w o of the most striking creations of the 1980s are Cynthia Voigt's Dicey and Brock Cole's Celine, girls w h o struggled to grow up—and succeeded. In Celine (1989) the sixteen-year-old heroine spoke in a unique, funny and serious voice as she dealt with divorced parents, obtuse teachers, her o w n artistic talent, and an annoying boyfriend. When Celine's friends told her that DERMOT IS A "HUNK," VISIONS OF CHEESE, RAW MEAT, BLUBBER STRIPPED FROM LIVING WHALES, DANCE BEFORE MY EYES. HUNKS. DERMOT IS ONE

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OF THOSE PEOPLE WHOM LOVE TURNS INTO A BULLY. BECAUSE HE HAS THIS GREAT PASSION FOR ME, I AM UNREASONABLE AND SELFISH IF I DON'T ACT AS IF I LOVE HIM. IT LOOKS AS IF I WILL HAVE TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE BEING SENSITIVE TO DERMOT'S GREAT NEEDS AND HAVING THESE REALLY TEDIOUS CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HOW DIFFICULT LIFE IS. T h e n there w a s the s t e p m o t h e r Celine lived with. "I LIKE MY D A D AND ALL, BUT HE'S MARRIED THIS LITTLE JERK WHO'S ONLY SIX YEARS OLDER THAN I AM, AND I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT SHE COMES FROM PATERSON, NEW JERSEY, EVEN THOUGH SHE HAS THIS PHONY ENGLISH ACCENT AND KEEPS TALKING ABOUT DERRIDA ALL THE TIME." Interesting a n d complex things h a p p e n e d in Celine's h e a d as she w o r k e d things out. Taking a y o u n g neighbor to a shrink a p p o i n t m e n t , she w a n d e r e d into a psychologist's office a n d e m e r g e d , after a free session, w i t h a medical excuse to get o u t of a semester of h a t e d g y m classes. It w a s clear that Celine w o u l d k e e p m o v i n g t o w a r d that " m a t u r i t y " h e r father w a s a l w a y s talking about, w i t h o u t sacrificing her o w n ideas of w h a t m a t u r i t y is. She w o u l d figu r e o u t h o w to deal w i t h the p r e s s u r e a n d w e i r d n e s s a r o u n d her. She came to tolerate her h u m o r l e s s stepmother; she s u r v i v e d a p a r t y from hell (where she h e l p e d the hostess m a k e "seafood d i p " b y mixing catfood a n d mayonnaise); a n d she even got rid of the bullying Dermot. Dicey's challenges w e r e m o r e frightening a n d primitive t h a n Celine's. The core of her story a p p e a r s in Homecoming (1981) a n d Dicey's Song (1982). Driving the four children from C a p e C o d to a relative in Connecticut, Dicey's m o t h e r s t o p p e d in a p a r k i n g lot, told the kids to b e good, a n d w e n t into the mall. She n e v e r came back. Dicey suspected her m o t h e r h a d just given u p ; she h a d b e e n silent a n d hopeless since losing h e r m e a g e r s u p e r m a r ket job. Thirteen-year-old Dicey, the eldest, feared that the family w o u l d b e split u p if she told the police. She decided to follow the m a p a n d w a l k t h e m all to the great-aunt's a d d r e s s in Bridgeport, t h o u g h they h a d n e v e r m e t the w o m a n . The j o u r n e y w a s epic, pitiful—four children t r u d g i n g d o w n commercial Route 1 for w e e k s , sleeping in p a r k s a n d b e h i n d e m p t y h o u s e s — b u t it w a s b r a v e a n d sometimes fun a n d they w e r e together. W i t h seven dollars a n d earnings from toting grocery b a g s , they b o u g h t milk

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and bananas and stale bread. Dicey let the children keep a stolen picnic bag, but w h e n her brother stole m o n e y from a boy w h o had helped them, she lectured him fiercely and explained the difference. The family w a s threatened in less obvious w a y s w h e n they reached Bridgeport and found only a stiff distant relative w h o took them in out of duty and turned their education over to rigid nuns. Slow Maybeth w a s diagnosed as retarded and Sammy labeled a troublemaker, so Dicey knew they had to m o v e on. She worked at a job long enough to save train fare to Maryland; then left a note and all four set off to see the grandmother w h o w a s estranged from their mother. Dicey's wanderings were not passive and random like Oliver Twist's, or even Alice's. She knew what she wanted to d o and figured out h o w to d o it and she knew about dangers and limitations. When she found the reclusive grandmother living on a derelict but beautiful riverside farm, Dicey didn't expect to melt her stony nature with childish sweetness. Instead, like a hero of legend, she earned the woman's respect by performing difficult tasks around the farm and proving her value. She used strength, not girl's weakness, to batter her w a y into the bitter old woman's life. Dicey is a many-dimensional character w h o had to learn, in later books, trust as well as independence, flexibility as well as stubbornness. She is a Jo March of the late twentieth-century, a tough, resourceful Jo without Jo's guilt and self-flagellation. Some parents and teachers think children today face so many problems that their reading should lead them for a while into a gentler world. Others believe that reading about children with difficult lives can bring a child insight and perspective and give her a greater sense of control and freedom. Stories that describe the lives of girls like Shabanu and Lyddie, Cassie and Dicey and Celine, can d o much for a child, w h e n they are told with honesty and imagination. Many of the good n e w books about girls w o u l d be classed as fantasies. In a fantasy the author can work out any theme in any w a y that works, creating a world with its o w n rules and possibilities. Some of these are about girls dealing with a harshly pa-

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triarchal society. They may triumph over the system, like MenoUy in Anne McCaffrey's Dragonsong stories, w h o became a leader in the powerful Harpers' Guild even though it w a s taboo for w o m e n to be musicians; and like Alanna in Tamora Pearce's Song of the Lioness series, w h o wanted so to become a knight that she disguised herself as a boy for the grueling three-year period of training and testing at court. The hero of The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, a ripping tale by Avi (1990), w a s different from girls like MenoUy and Alanna: she did not start out challenging the male system she lived in. A docile thirteen-year-old in 1832, Charlotte Doyle had to sail from England h o m e to America under the charge of some worthy travelers. The guardians were unable to join the ship and Charlotte w a s forced to sail anyway, the only female on board, WHAT COULD I DO? ALL MY LIFE I HAD BEEN TRAINED TO OBEY. "PLEASE LEAD ME/' I MUMBLED, AS NEAR TO FAINTING AS ONE COULD BE WITHOUT ACTUALLY SUCCUMBING. Charlotte scorned the sailors as beneath her, and ignored their warnings about the cruel captain. Through her snobbish blindness, she betrayed plans for a just rebellion and caused the death of a crew member. Remorseful about the harm she'd done, Charlotte offered to become one of the overworked crew; she discarded her petticoats for the trousers of a ship's boy. Despite terror and aching muscles, she w a s soon climbing around in rigging and doing all the tasks of a y o u n g sailor. Enraged that he could not control her and afraid that she w o u l d expose him on land, the captain framed Charlotte for the murder of another sailor and sentenced her to hang. The formerly dainty maiden pushed the captain overboard; the crew named her temporary captain until they landed. They then told the world sadly that the captain had been swept overboard in the hurricane. Charlotte w a s reunited with her family but found she could n o longer tolerate their repressive ways. She ran off into the night in her sailor-boy clothes and happily rejoined the crew of the Seahawk, to live the life she had come to love. I FOUND MYSELF ATOP THE FOREMAST, MY BARE BROWN FEET NIMBLY BALANCING ON THE FOOT ROPES. MY HAIR, UNCOMBED FOR DAYS, BLEW FREE IN THE SALTY AIR. I WAS SQUINTING INTO THE SWOLLEN FACE OF A BLOOD-RED SUN.

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MESSAGES

AND THERE I WAS, JOYOUS, NEW-MADE, LIBERATED FROM A PRISON I'D T H O U G H T W A S MY PROPER PLACE! This m u s t b e t h e first real girl's Treasure Island. P e r h a p s t h e m o s t t o u c h i n g tale of a girl fighting a hostile w o r l d is Karen C u s h m a n ' s The Midwife's Apprentice (1995). Gradually, painfully, t h e s c r a w n y b e g g a r girl called Brat or D u n g Beetle created herself o u t of nothing. She forced a g r u d g i n g midwife to teach h e r h e r profession. She g a v e herself a real n a m e — A l y c e — a n d s h e created a family o u t of a stray cat a n d a little b e g g a r b o y . She took revenge o n cruel neighbors b y frightening t h e m w i t h devil footprints s h e m a d e w i t h carved w o o d e n hooves. She learned to sing, laugh, a n d read. W h e n asked b y a friendly scholar, " W h a t d o you w a n t ? " — a question s h e h a d n e v e r conside r e d b e f o r e — s h e finally a n s w e r e d , "i K N O W W H A T I W A N T , A FULL

BELLY, A CONTENTED HEART, AND A PLACE IN THIS WORLD/' The m o s t s w a s h b u c k l i n g a d v e n t u r e is Cynthia Voigt's Jackaroo (1985). If Charlotte Doyle is t h e girls 7 Treasure Island, Jackaroo is a terrific girls' Robin Hood. A n i m a g i n a r y feudal k i n g d o m w a s in chaos. T h e p e a s a n t s w e r e w r a c k e d b y famine, p r e y e d o n b y thieves, neglected b y w a r r i n g nobles. G w y n , sixteen-year-old d a u g h t e r of a n innkeeper, chafed u n d e r t h e rules of h e r society: her life w o u l d consist of conformity a n d obedience. But G w y n w a s g o o d at grabbing opportunities. Fascinated b y legends of Jackar o o — a m a s k e d h e r o w h o r e t u r n e d in b a d times to p u n i s h thieves, h e l p p o o r p e o p l e , a n d r o b n o b l e s — s h e s a w possibilities w h e n s h e found a n old c o s t u m e in a n a b a n d o n e d cottage. W e a r i n g t h e r e d cape, black boots, a n d m a s k of Jackaroo, a n d riding a b o r r o w e d horse, G w y n b e c a m e Jackaroo. She delivered gold coins to a d e s p e r a t e father, goats to a p o o r old w o m a n , a n o r p h a n b a b y to a childless w o m a n . She forced c o r r u p t officials to execute thieves a n d m u r d e r e r s . G w y n ' s story u s e d old conventions of heroic m a l e exploits. A t t h e s a m e time it challenged those conventions in a n e w w a y : D u r i n g o n e of h e r Jackaroo rides, G w y n w a s astonished to see another m a s k e d , c a p e d rider s w o o p onto t h e scene, confusing h e r p u r s u e r s a n d allowing h e r to escape. That t u r n e d o u t to b e h e r friend a n d future h u s b a n d Burl, b u t a third Jackaroo a p p e a r e d o n another occasion to d o m o r e good deeds.

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Is this supposed to be farce? N o , it is a n e w type of heroic tale, and it is a kind that accepts female heroes more easily than the old heroism did. This kind of heroism k n o w s that individual action is important but also admits that truly useful action must be multiple, communal. Goals are never accomplished all at once, by one person. G w y n loved the thrill of acting alone, winning and helping; she also came to love the pattern of a whole harmonious society, which she w a s helping to create: "THE LAND SERVES THE PEOPLE, THE PEOPLE SERVE THE EARLS, THE EARLS SERVE THE KING, AND THE KING SERVES THE LAND." EVEN JACKAROO, GWYN THOUGHT TO HERSELF, FIT INTO THAT CIRCLE. HE SERVED THE PEOPLE. HE SERVED THEM OUTSIDE OF THE LAW, BUT WITHIN THE TURNING OF THE WHEEL. ... IT WAS ODD THAT DRESSED UP AS JACKAROO SHE FELT MORE LIKE HERSELF. SHE LIKED HERSELF, AND IN DISGUISE SHE WAS FREE TO DO WHAT SHE REALLY WANTED TO DO, MUCH FREER THAN WAS GWYN, THE INNKEEPER'S DAUGHTER. A friend of mine once said apologetically that as a child she had a ridiculous fantasy of being a girl Robin Hood. Imagine h o w many girls today are being confirmed and expanded, not truncated, by reading books like Jackaroo. They don't think it's ridiculous. Perhaps the best sign of progress away from sexist stories is that today many books show strong girl characters doing important things as a matter of course, with no fuss about their being girls. Philip Pullman has written t w o books in an ambitious fantasy series for y o u n g people—The Golden Compass (1995) and The Subtle Knife (1997). They are about parallel worlds, innocence and knowledge, religion and science. They are set in nineteenthcentury and also twentieth-century Oxford, the North Pole, and other intertwined universes. The fate of all these universes depended on the actions of the main characters. The most central of those main characters w a s a little girl named Lyra, a daring but sensible child w h o simply did what she had to do. Adult characters knew she w a s a crucial figure in the wars of the worlds and tried either to protect her or to harm her—but they didn't much notice that Lyra w a s a girl rather than a boy. She w a s merely a y o u n g person of importance. Natalie Babbitt's Tuck Everlasting (1975) seems equally unconcerned about the gender of its hero. After ten-year-old Winnie ran

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away from her dry, fenced yard and fussy parents, she w a s seized by the Tuck family, w h o grabbed her away from a woodland stream so they could explain their secret. Eighty-seven years earlier the parents and t w o sons had happened to drink from that stream. Over the next years they found they were no longer changing; they did not age. They realized the world w o u l d collapse into chaos if people learned about the magic water that stopped death, so they desperately hid this knowledge, moving to a n e w place w h e n their unchanging appearance started to cause talk. The Tucks were kind, earnest people, and Winnie came around to their viewpoint. She willingly got herself in trouble helping them escape a situation that w o u l d expose the secret. Jesse Tuck invited her to drink from the stream w h e n she turned seventeen and then join the Tucks in their wanderings. But, as Pa Tuck said, "EVERYTHING'S A WHEEL, TURNING AND TURNING, NEVER STOPPING. THE FROGS IS PART OF IT, AND THE BUGS, AND THE WOOD THRUSH, TOO. AND PEOPLE. BUT NEVER THE SAME ONES. ALWAYS COMING IN NEW, ALWAYS GROWING AND CHANGING. DYING'S PART OF THE WHEEL. YOU CAN'T PICK OUT THE PIECES YOU LIKE AND LEAVE THE REST." Winnie chose to stay on the wheel, pouring into the dirt her bottle of magic water. Winnie is presented as a person w h o happened to be a girl just as she just happened to be a person w h o had brown hair and a person w h o liked toads. So children's stories may at last have m o v e d beyond their traditional, dreary preoccupation with the compulsory girlishness of girls. A girl character n o w can d o whatever things a boy can do, taking part even in the most dangerous adventures. Jane Yolen managed something remarkable in The Devil's Arithmetic (1988) and Briar Rose (1992): she tried to present the truth and horror of the Holocaust in a form that y o u n g people could grasp without total despair. In both books Yolen distances the horrible events but does not avoid describing them. In The Devil's Arithmetic present-day Hannah in N e w York resented her grandfather's constant talk of his time in the camps. Then she found herself transported in time and space to a Polish village just before Jews were rounded u p and imprisoned. Even with her knowledge of what w a s to come she w a s helpless, but she w a s able to make a choice that made a difference in her family's history. In Briar Rose

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a y o u n g American w o m a n tracked d o w n the history of her melancholy grandmother, uncovering Holocaust stories of good and evil so extreme as to be almost unbelievable. Becca, like Hannah in the other book, happened to be female, but femaleness is certainly not the point of the story—except that w o m e n are s h o w n to be as courageous as men. I started this project knowing a lot about children's books before 1950 but not much about later books, and I made a guess about the later ones that proved to be too pessimistic. I am happy to find that I underestimated the recent changes in girl characters, their minds and their actions. By and large, recent stories s h o w girls as active not passive; loud not silent. Even in books about both boys and girls, girls are central, not peripheral. They are competent not limited, assertive not submissive. They act for themselves, not just for and with their community. They have goals other than romance and marriage, though these are important to many of them. Instead of "Sit Still/' their motto is "Don't Just Sit There, D o Something." If the old images have disappeared, then w h y should w e examine the old stories at all? Because the old images are still strong in many parts of our culture, openly or covertly; because children's books are only one of the forces helping to form y o u n g girls, and many of the others have gotten not better but more harmful in recent years. As Mary Pipher, Carol Gilligan, Emily Hancock, and others have argued, girls today face great emotional and physical danger, especially at puberty. The girl culture is full of depression, eating disorders, self-mutilation, drugs, pregnancy, family disruption, sexual and other violence. Pressures tend to silence girls—pressure to conform, to be perfect, to be popular, to be beautiful. Even ii fictional girls have become stronger and more confident, today's real-life girls are often like yesterday's girls; and they k n o w they are objectified and judged by their appearance, which they feel is never good enough. The ghosts of old sacrificial storybook heroines are still floating in the air (and on the airwaves), whispering sit-still, look-good messages. Many groups of people are trying in many w a y s to encourage girls to develop into strong individuals; but boys are mostly not

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happy about this. Research like the Sadkers 7 in Failing at Fairness (1994) s h o w s that boys in classrooms still demand most of the attention, squashing the participation and ideas and confidence of girls. Barrie Thome's Gender Play (1993) tells of the fear little boys have that girls are "polluting": "Girls as a group are treated as an ultimate source of contamination." She says boys consider girls 7 objects polluting—if y o u touch them; y o u get cooties or some other kind of pollution, such as "girl stain." Girls do not fear boys 7 objects the same way. The saddest expression of boys 7 feelings about girls appears in Failing at Fairness. Schoolchildren in different states, in the 1980s and 90s, were asked to write d o w n h o w they w o u l d feel if one morning they w o k e u p and found they had switched to the other sex. Girls responded with a realistic sense of their place in the world: If I wake u p to find I am a boy, "People will listen to what I have to say and will take m e seriously 77 ; and "When I grow u p I will be able to be almost anything I want. 77 But the boys responded with panic: When I w o k e u p and found I w a s a girl, " N o cat liked me. N o animal in the world. I did not like myself. 77 "My friends w o u l d treat m e like dirt.77 Some boys said they w o u l d kill themselves. "I w o u l d stab myself in the heart.77 Their reactions s h o w e d deep contempt and loathing for girls. A s adolescent girls look to boys for approval and popularity, it is not surprising if they have problems of self-esteem. Girls 7 confidence and autonomy are also damaged w h e n behavior that departs from gender norms is still, in some circles, punished severely. Gender Shock, a shocking book by Phyllis Burke (1996), tells of a disorder listed in the 1980 and 1994 editions of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of the American Psychiatric Association—"GID," Gender Identity Disorder. This includes among its disease symptoms "intense desire to participate in stereotypical games and pastimes of the other sex. 77 A girl w h o reacts intensely against wearing dresses may be diagnosed as having GID, and so may one w h o prefers "rough-and-tumble play and traditional boyhood games. 77 Since the 1970s hospitals and clinics in California, Florida, Chicago, and other places have engaged in behavior modification, sometimes including drug therapy, on children with unconventional behavior. In 1978 in

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Florida an eight-year-old girl w a s sent to a treatment program by her parents, w h o worried about her "masculine" behavior. With headphones giving instructions in her ears in the lab and at home, Becky learned over seven months to shun boys' toys and clothes and act more like a girl. (The checklist marked it feminine to stand with feet together, masculine with feet apart, for instance.) Becky w a s eventually pronounced cured; she w a s n o w asking for jewelry and perfume. Boys in parallel cases were deemed disturbed w h e n they were "interested in arts and crafts" or w h e n they "liked neat hair and color-coordinated clothing." Becky's program w a s funded by the federal government. It can hardly be claimed that today all girls are comfortably free to be themselves, and need no encouragement. People are coming to recognize the destructive forces pushing at girls in their developing years, and various movements are springing u p to support them. There are books suggesting rituals to make girls realize their importance and celebrate themselves; techniques to help them counter gender stereotypes; programs to provide mentoring support and career exploration. There are groups in the educational world seeking w a y s to encourage girls so they will take part more actively in class and so they will study math, science, and technology, traditionally male fields that foster success and independence. There are more and better sports and outdoors opportunities for girls, because sitting still doesn't create strong people—only motion can d o that. Fathers are taking a larger part in childraising. Books are less influential n o w than they were in m y childhood; mine w a s the last generation to live all or most of childhood without television. But girls can still be profoundly affected by books. At least three reference books appeared in 1997 alone suggesting book lists for girls and book clubs for girls and their mothers. Kathleen Odean presents a sensible viewpoint in Great Books for Girls: In children's stories "the problems the girls solve m a y seem commonplace, but the very act of a girl having an adventure, or puzzling out her o w n solution, sets her apart from more traditional fictional girls. Girls don't need any more lessons in being nice; they need lessons in making decisions for themselves." Books soak into the mind; they don't flicker past in a dazzling

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confusion like TV images. A girl can brood her w a y into the soul of Cassie Logan or Jackaroo-Gwyn. She can see herself as Harriet the Spy or Julie of the Wolves. Books can be one influence helping a girl get u p from the chair where she is sitting still (perhaps staring at her imperfect appearance in a mirror) and take a step or two. Through stories, she can explore good w a y s to develop a self and examine bad w a y s that hinder the self. She needs all the help stories can give her, so she will not be damaged by boys w h o grow u p still thinking "I'd rather be dead than be a girl"; so she will not be damaged by her o w n suspicion that she is worthless. I did m u c h of m y childhood reading in an old scratchy green armchair in a little hot room called "the maid's room"—as w e had no maid, the room w a s mostly a storeroom. Once m y visiting cousin Peter came in while I w a s reading, noticed the flat roof outside covering a back porch, and hopped out the w i n d o w to stroll around on it. Such alien behavior!—I w o u l d n o more have climbed out on the roof than I w o u l d have tried to fly. But m y niece's six-year-old daughter plans to be Pippi Longstocking next Halloween, "because she is so strong she could pick u p your house." Pippi is her favorite book. Emily also likes Alice, but thinks she wasn't very smart about one thing. W h y didn't she just go back up the rabbit hole if she wanted to go home?—she could eat a piece from the side of the mushroom that makes y o u big and climb out of the hole, and then once she's out, eat a piece from the side that makes y o u little, which she w o u l d be carrying with her, and then she w o u l d be back to normal again. Clearly, n o one has been telling Emily that girls don't develop problem-solving skills. I ask her: D o y o u ever read stories about girls w h o get scared of everything, and think boys are stronger and smarter? She smiles and shakes her head. "]eb gets scared of a lot of things," she says thoughtfully, "but I don't." In a 1976 essay P.L. Travers, creator of Mary Poppins, suggests that "the hero is one w h o is willing to set out, take the first step. Perhaps the hero is one w h o puts his foot u p o n a path not knowing what he may expect from life but in some w a y feeling in his bones that life expects something from him." Recent children's stories turn this stepping-out hero into a "she." In "The Moon Ribbon" (1976), a modern fairy tale, Jane Yolen describes

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t h r e e stages of Sylva, A PLAIN BUT GOODHEARTED GIRL. O r p h a n e d

Sylva suffered at t h e h a n d s of a cruel s t e p m o t h e r until o n e night a magic river carried h e r to t h e shining h o u s e of h e r real m o t h e r ' s Spirit. A SILVER RIVER RIPPLED IN THE MOONLIGHT. SHE FLOATED LIKE A SWAN AND THE RIVER BORE HER ON. AT LAST SHE WAS CARRIED AROUND A GREAT BEND IN THE RIVER AND DEPOSITED GENTLY ON A GRASSY SLOPE. This first j o u r n e y m o v e d h e r p a r t w a y t o w a r d h e r goal b u t it w a s n o t e n o u g h : s h e w a s only passive, floating, like the girl heroines w e h a v e r e a d a b o u t for centuries. A n o t h e r n i g h t a silver h i g h w a y a p p e a r e d before h e r as s h e sat o n t h e g r o u n d , SYLVA G O T U P A N D STEPPED O U T O N T O T H E R O A D

AND WAITED FOR IT TO BRING HER TO THE MAGICAL HOUSE. BUT THE ROAD DID NOT MOVE. "STRANGE/' SHE SAID TO HERSELF. "WHY DOES IT NOT CARRY ME AS THE RIVER DID?" SYLVA WAITED A MOMENT MORE, THEN TENTATIVELY SET ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER. AS SOON AS SHE HAD SET OFF ON HER OWN, THE ROAD SET OFF, TOO, AND THEY MOVED TOGETHER PAST FIELDS AND FORESTS, FASTER AND FASTER. F r o m s u c h stories, p e r h a p s , o u r o w n d a u g h t e r s are learni n g to set o n e foot in front of t h e other, a n d set off o n their o w n d o w n their o w n silver h i g h w a y s . If they d o this they will n o t b e lying a b e d all their lives like crippled Carol Bird in h e r p r e t t y b o w e r in 1886, g r o w i n g stiller a n d stiller a n d d y i n g at last of h e r o w n excessive virtue.

I n d e x

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Twain), 53 female characters in, 51, 86 independent characters in, 40 male alliances in, 114 popularity of, 26, 38 Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The (Twain), 26 danger in, 102 female characters in, 51-52, 86 independent characters in, 40 Alcott, Louisa May, 96-97, 130 groups of girls in books of, 119, 126 popularity of works of, 79, 150-51 romance in works of, 155-56 Alice books (Carroll), 84, 204 propriety and courtesy in, 101, 136 strong females in, 34 Allen, Betsy, 80 "Alpine Idyll, An" (Hemingway), 19 American Girl history series, 187 Animorphs series (Applegate), 187 Anne of Green Gables (Montgomery), 169 marriage in, 144, 154-55, 157, 158 sacrifice in, 40, 78-79, 103 stern adult in, 104 Anne of Ingleside (Montgomery), 79 Anne of the Island (Montgomery), 157 Arilla Sun Down (Hamilton), 194 Auerbach, Nina, 34

Autumn Street (Lowry), 193-94 Avi, 197 Babbitt, Natalie, 199 Baby-sitters Club series (Martin), 189 Bagnold, Enid, 55 Bambi (Salten), 53 Barrie, J. M., 16, 73 Bastables, The, 91 Baum, L. Frank. See Wizard of Oz, The Beautiful Story of Doris and Julie, The, 24-25 Beauvoir, Simone de, 33 Betsy, Tacy and Tib (Lovelace), 122, 132 "Billy Smith, Exploring Ace," 45 Birds' Christmas Carol, The (Wiggin), 25,164 helpless female in, 186, 205 saintly heroine in, 60, 68 suffering character in, 11-12, 14 Black Beauty (Sewell), 53, 54-55, 57 Blackmore, R. D., 48 Black Stallion, The (Farley), 54, 58, 64 Blume, Judy, 187 Blyton, Enid, 115 Bobbsey Twins series (Hope), 116 "Boy Ranchers," 45 Brent-Dyer, E., 171 Briar Rose (Yolen), 200-201 Bridge to Terabithia (Paterson), 192-93

208

Index

Daddy-Long-Legs (Webster), 143, 169 passive female in, 146-49, 150 Daly, Maureen, 158, 159-62 Dark Is Rising series (Cooper), 183 David Copperfield (Dickens), 47, 53 Davis, Lavinia, 62 Deathbed books (McDaniel), 185 Deerslayer, The (Cooper), 41-42 Defoe, Daniel, 32 Caddie Woodlawn (Brink), 85-86, 119 Desiree, 162 Call of the mid (London), 36, 53, 54, 57 Devil's Arithmetic, The (Yolen), 200 Dicey's Song (Voigt), 194,195-96 Captains Courageous (Kipling), 46 Dickens, Charles, 186 Carousel (stage musical), 167 Dixon, Bob, 21, 77, 171 Carpenter, Humphrey, 77 Doll's House, The (Godden), 18 Carroll, Lewis, 136 Catching Them Young: Sex, Race and Don't Die, My Love (McDaniel), 185 Class in Children's Fiction (Dixon), Don't Tell the Grown-ups (Lurie), 2221,77 23 Celine (Cole), 194-95 Douglas, Ann, 14 Chalet School series (Brent-Dyer), 171 Dragonsong series, 197 Charlotte's Web (White), 181-82 Dujardin, Rosamond, 158-60 Cherry Ames, Visiting Nurse (Wells), Dumas, Alexandre, pere, 37 98 Cherry Ames series (Wells), 36, 85 Eight Cousins (Alcott), 96, 97 career women in, 97-98 marriage in, 154-55 sacrifice in, 103 sacrifice in, 103 Chestry Oak, The (Seredy), 91 Elsie Dinsmore (Finley), 22, 24 Children's Literature: An Issues marriage in, 150 Approach (Rudman), 81 masochistic female in, 24, 92-94, Clarissa (Richardson), 19 150 Classic American Children's Story, The stern adults in, 108 (Griswold), 139 submissive girls in, 1-9, 96 Class Ring (Dujardin), 159-60 Emerald City of Oz, The (Baum), 109Cleary, Beverly, 143, 180 10 Cleaver, Vera and Bill, 175 Enright, Elizabeth, 117 Clemens, Samuel. See Twain, Mark Estes, Eleanor, 118 Coatsworth, Elizabeth, 119 Cole, Brock, 194 Failing at Fairness (Sadker), 202 Collodi, Carlo. See Pinocchio, The Fear Street series (Stine), 187-88 Adventures of Femininity (Brownmiller), 27 Communities of Women (Auerbach), "Feminist Look at Children's Books, 34 A" (Feminists on Children's Connie Blair series, 80-81, 82 Media), 76-77 Coolidge, Susan, 16 Feminization of American Culture, The Cooper, James Fenimore, 41, 50 (Douglas), 14-15 Cooper, Susan, 31, 33 Field, Rachel, 17 Finley, Martha, 92 books of, 181, 183 Fitzhugh, Louise, 177 Cushman, Karen, 198 Brink, Carol Ryrie, 96 Brooks, Walter R., 133 Brown, Irene Bennett, 184 Brownmiller, Susan, 27 Buck, Pearl, 165, 166 Burke, Phyllis, 202 Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 15 Burroughs, Edgar Rice, 38

Index

209

Five Little Peppers series (Sidney), Heidi series (Spyri et al.), 14, 26, 69 132, 133 danger in, 102-3 family life in, 89-90, 118 fearlessness in, 135 marriage in, 144, 151, 153-55 marriage in, 144, 145-46 poverty in, 24, 73 passive females in, 78, 82, 135, 145 stern adult in, 107-8 stern adults in, 107, 109 Five Little Peppers Grown Up (Sidney), Heilbrun, Carolyn, 31, 32-33 151, 153-54 Hemingway, Ernest, 19 Flicka series (O'Hara), 64 Henry, Marguerite, 36 Forever Amber (Winsor), 162 Henry Esmond (Thackeray), 87 Foster, Shirley, 138 Hidden Staircase, The (Keene), 79 Freddy the Pig series (Brooks), 133 Hitty, Her First Hundred Years (Field), From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. 17 Frankweiler (Konigsberg), 177,179- Hobby Horse Hill (Davis), 62-64 80 Homecoming (Voigt), 194 Hope, Laura Lee, 116 Huckleberry Finn. See Adventures of Gender Play (Thorne), 202-3 Gender Shock (Burke), 202-3 Huckleberry Finn George, Jean Craighead, 174 Hudson, W. H., 163 Gilligan, Carol, 121, 133, 201 In the Closed Room (Burnett), 15 Girl of the Limberlost, A (StrattonPorter), 105, 168-69 Irwin, Inez Haynes, 69 Girl Scout Handbook, The, 74-76 Island of the Blue Dolphins (O'Dell), Girl Talk series, 189 172, 173-74, 183 Godden, Rumer, 18 Island Stallion, 59-60, 64 Golden Compass, The (Pullman), 199 Ivanhoe (Scott), 41, 50 Gone with the Wind (Mitchell), 160 bad girls and good girls in, 162 jackaroo (Voigt), 198-99 romance in, 144, 149 Jackson, Helen Hunt, 165 Good Boys and Dead Girls (Gordon), 25 James, Henry, 155 Good Earth, The (Buck), 165-67 James, Will, 59 Goosebumps series (Stine), 187-88 Jane Eyre (C. Bronte), 149 Gordon, Mary, 25 Janeway, Elizabeth, 77 Grahame, Kenneth, 34 Jill Came Tumbling After (Showalter), Great Books for Girls (Odean), 203 31 Green Grass of Wyoming (O'Hara), 65- Johnston, Annie Fellows, 126, 130 67 Jo's Boys (Alcott), 150 Green Mansions (Hudson), 163-64 Julie of the Wolves (George), 17^-75,183 Griswold, Jerry, 139 Jungle Books (Kipling), 26, 42 Gymnasts series, 189 male alliances in, 114 Just Another Gorgeous Guy (Brown), Hamilton, Virginia, 194 184-85 Hancock, Emily, 201 Keene, Carolyn (Mildred Wirt Benson Hardy Boys series, 26, 36, 99 male alliance in, 114 et al.), 79 Harriet the Spy (Fitzhugh), 177-79 Kidnapped (Stevenson), 43, 53 male alliance in, 114 Heidi Grows Up, 78,145-46 violent action in, 39, 40 Heidi's Children, 82

210

Index

mothers and mother figures in, 85, 86,87 saintly characters in, 127, 140 tomboy-turned-lady in, 77-78, 169 London, Jack, 32, 53 Lorna Doone (Blackmore), 46-49, 52 Lovelace, Maud Hart, 122 Lowry, Lois, 193 Lurie, Alison, 22-23 Lad: A Dog (Terhune), 59 Lyddie (Paterson), 191 Laird, Helene, 71 Lassie Come-Home (Knight), 53-56, 59 Lyons, Dorothy, 64, 124 Last of the Mohicans, The (Cooper), 50 McCaffrey, Anne, 197 L'Engle, Madeleine, 175 McDaniel, Lurlene, 185-86 Let the Circle Be Unbroken (Taylor), Maccoby, Eleanor, 21 192 Maida series (Irwin), 131-32 Letters to Jane (Shultz), 143 groups of girls in, 121, 133, 189 Lewis, C. S., 181, 182, 184 passive females in, 130-31, 132 Lindgren, Astrid, 172 Maida's Little House (Irwin), 69-71, 73, Linger-Not stories, 123-24, 125, 133 121 Little Colonel series (Johnston), 25, 71, Maida's Little Shop (Irwin), 130-31 85, 172 Mark Twain. See Twain, Mark bad girls in, 127 Martin, Ann M., 189 group of girls in, 121, 126-29, 132, Mary Poppins (Travers), 84, 95 133 propriety and strength in, 136-37 marriage in, 154r-57, 158 protected children in, 102 racism in, 130 silly men in, 100 stern adults in, 108-10 Mason, Bobbie Ann, 138 uplifting messages in, 128-30, 134 Little Colonel's House Party, The, 126- Meeting at the Crossroads (Brown and Gilligan), 133 27, 129 Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding, Midnight Moon (Lyons), 65, 103 The, 156-57 female bond in, 67, 125 Midwife's Apprentice, The (Cushman), Little House series (Wilder), 143 198 marriage in, 144r45 Miller, Agnes, 123 passive female in, 89, 145 Milne, A. A., 33-34 Little Lord Fauntleroy (Burnett), 108 Misty (Henry), 36, 53, 54, 55 Little Maid of Philadelphia, A, 104 Little Men (Alcott), 74, 150 Moffats, The (Estes) Little Princess, A (Burnett), 84-85 family life in, 26, 117-18 stern adult in, 14, 106 passive female in, 102, 173 Montgomery, L. M., 78 wicked adults in, 109 Littlest Rebel, The (Peple), 106 Moon Ribbon, The (Yolen), 204-5 Little Women (Alcott), 26, 107, 152 My Friend Flicka (O'Hara), 36, 54, 58, family life in, 118, 119-20 64,67 female alliances in, 24, 115 Mystery and Adventure Stories for Boys, guilt in, 139^1 Four Complete Books, 44-45, 123 marriage in, 150, 158-60 Mystery Stories for Girls, Four Complete Books (Miller), 44, 122-24 men as guides in, 88-89 Kim (Kipling), 42, 53 King and I (stage musical), 167 King Arthur stories: male alliances in, 114, 132 Kipling, Rudyard, 32, 42, 46 Knight, Eric, 55 Konigsberg, E. L., 177

Index Nancy Drew series (Keene), 115-16,138 independent female in, 13, 135-36, 172 popularity of, 26, 36, 79-80 sexism in, 79, 99 Nancy Keeps House (Laird), 71-72 Narnia tales (Lewis), 182-83 National Velvet (Bagnold), 53, 66-67 female characters in, 55, 56, 95 Nesbit, E., 118 O'Brien, Jack, 53 Odean, Kathleen, 203 O'Dell, Scott, 173 O'Hara, Mary, 36, 58, 64 Old Curiosity Shop, The (Dickens), 186 Old-Fashioned Girl, An (Alcott), 28 marriage in, 151-53, 155 sacrifice in, 152-53 Old Yeller (Gipson), 55, 58 Only Connect (Janeway), 77 Oz series (Baum), 34, 36, 95, 101 Paterson, Katherine, 191, 192 Pearce, Tamora, 197 Pease, Howard, 21, 44 Penny Torrey, 104 Penrod (Tarkington), 87-88 Peple, Edward, 106 Peterkin Papers, The, 23 Peter Pan (Barrie), 16, 73 silly males in, 100-101 Peter Rabbit, The Tale of (Potter), 23 Pinocchio, The Adventures of (Collodi), 17,36 Pipher, Mary, 63, 121, 201 Pippi Longstocking (Lindgren), 172-73, 204 Poe, Edgar Allan, 20, 186 Pollitt, Katha, 32-33 Pollyanna (Porter), 172 marriage in, 144, 152, 155 stern adults in, 105, 107, 109-10 Pollyanna Grows Up (Porter), 151 Pooh series, 33-35, 84, 119 silly males in, 101 Porter, Eleanor, 151 Portrait of a Lady, The (James), 155

211

Potter, Beatrix, 15-16 Psychology of Sex Differences, The (Maccoby and Jacklin), 21 Pullman, Philip, 199 Railway Children, The (Nesbit), 88 family survival in, 89, 118 Ramona (Jackson), 164-66 Ramona Quimby series (Cleary), 143, 180-81 Ransome, Arthur, 132 Rawlings, Marjorie Kinnan. See Yearling, The Rebecca (du Maurier), 144, 149 Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (Wiggin), 72-73, 104 broken spirit in, 40, 78 sacrifice in, 103 Reinventing Womanhood (Heilbrun), 31 Revolution from Within (Steinem), 27 Robinson Crusoe (Defoe), 26, 46 male alliance in, 114 resourceful male in, 37, 40 Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry (Taylor), 192 Rose in Bloom (Alcott), 96, 155-56 Rudman, M. K., 81 Sadker, Myra and David, 202 Salten, Felix, 53 Saturdays, The (Enright), 26, 117 Scott, Walter, 50 Secret Garden, The (Burnett), 15, 91, 137-38 group of children in, 114, 138 independent female in, 23, 137 popularity of, 26 stern adults in, 107, 108 Secret Gardens (Carpenter), 77 Secret of the Old Clock, The (Keene), 79 Seredy, Kate, 91 Seventeenth Summer (Daly), 160-62 Sewell, Anna. See Black Beauty Shabanu, Daughter of the Wind (Staples), 190-91 Sherlock Holmes series (Doyle), 36 male alliance in, 114 Showalter, Elaine, 31

212

Index

Shultz, Gladys Denny, 143 Sidney, Margaret, 118, 151 Silas Marner (G. Eliot), 104 Silver Birch (Lyons), 64-65, 67, 133 group of girls in, 121, 124-25, 132 Silver Chief (O'Brien), 36, 53, 60 noble males in, 57, 58 Simmel, Georg, 113 Simons, Judy, 138 "Sleeping Beauty" (folk tale), 19 Sleepwalker, The (Stine), 188 Smoky (James), 59 "Snow White" (folk tale), 19 Snow White (movie), 167 Song of the Lioness series (Pearce), 197 Spyri, Johanna, 78 Staples, Suzanne Fisher, 190 Stay Out of the Basement (Stine), 188 Steinem, Gloria, 27 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 32, 39 Stine, R. L., 187-88 Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 186 Stratton-Porter, Gene, 168 Subtle Knife, The (Pullman), 199 Sue Barton series, 36 Sunbonnet Twins, The (Uncle Milton), 76 Swallows and Amazons series (Ransome), 132-33 Sweet Valley High series, 184, 186 Swiss Family Robinson (Wyss), 88

Thunderhead (O'Hara), 54, 65, 67 Tom Sawyer. See Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Tom Swift series, 36 Travers, P. L., 204 Treasure Island (Stevenson), 43,121 absence of women in, 46, 127 danger in, 102, 114 popularity of, 26, 38 violence in, 38-40 Trudy and the Tree House (Coatsworth), 119 True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, The (Avi), 197 Tuck Everlasting (Babbitt), 199-200 Tunis, John: sports books by, 114, 132 Twain, Mark, 43, 51-52, 86 Uncle Tom's Cabin (Stowe), 15, 186 Verne, Jules, 36 Voigt, Cynthia, 194, 198

Wait for Marcy (Dujardin), 159 Webster, Jean, 146 Wells, Helen, 85 What Katy Did series (Coolidge), 119, 124, 132 powerless female in, 16, 133 Where the Lilies Bloom (Cleaver), 172, 175-76 White, E. B., 181-82, 184 White Fang (London), 53 Tale of Two Bad Mice, The (Potter), 15- Wiggin, Kate Douglas, 12, 72, 78, 104 16 Wilder, Laura Ingalls, 84, 85 Tarkington, Booth, 87 Wind in the Willows, The (Grahame), Tarzan series (Burroughs), 41, 43 34-35 female characters in, 49-50, 52 Winnie the Pooh series, 33-35, 84, violence in, 38, 49 101, 119 Taylor, Mildred D., 192 Wizard of Oz, The (Baum), 101, 102-3 Terhune, Albert Payson, 53, 57, 59 wicked adult in, 109, 140 These Happy Golden Years (Wilder), Wrinkle in Time, A (L'Engle), 175-76 144-45 Wrong Number, The (Stine), 188 Thompson, Ernest Seton, 53 Wuthering Heights (E. Bronte), 149 Thorne, Barrie, 202 Wyss, J. D., 88 Three Musketeers, The (Dumas), 37-38 "Through the Air to the North Pole," Yearling, The (Rawlings), 55, 56 45 Yolen, Jane, 200, 204