What I Learned from Greta Gerwig's Little Women
Graphic by: Daija (@freshed__squeezed)
I’ve never wanted kids. It’s not that I hate them, but I don’t feel close or connected to them, and I don’t find them cute or adorable. Even the idea of marriage has always seemed restricting and burdensome to me. I don’t want to have to compromise on huge life decisions and freedoms, even for the sake of someone I love. Still, as a teenager I was led to believe that both of these things were mandatory steps in a woman’s life. Phrases like “you’ll understand when you become a mother” or “wait until you get married, then you’ll see” (not if, when) were constantly thrown around not just by my own family but also other acquaintances, so I thought these things were imperative. Because of this, when I thought about my future it was always with a pinch of dread. I thought maybe I’d warm up to the idea once I got older, but talking to friends my age who already knew for a fact that marriage and kids were something they wanted in the future made me realize that that might not be the case.
I was about sixteen when it occurred to me that I could simply not choose to participate in the whole nuclear family thing. As soon as I heard a friend of mine express the same feelings, I felt validated, and a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I started picturing a different, more exciting future: one where I was happy and successful, unburdened by societal expectations. One I actually looked forward to.
I’m explaining all of this, because if I didn’t have that friend to make me realize my options, it would have probably taken me a long time to come to terms with how I felt. That is, until I inevitably saw Greta Gerwig’s 2019 film, Little Women. What I needed when I was sixteen was somebody to tell me I had a choice, that I had agency over my own future. Little Women does exactly that. Even though the novel that the film is based on was written in the 19th century, it contains some universal lessons that are crucial for women like me to learn. Greta Gerwig, in her brilliance, makes these lessons relevant and accessible to 21st century women, giving voice to thoughts and feelings that we are often either too confused about or too afraid to express. I believe this masterpiece of a film can have the same effect on people who feel as lost and confused as I did. With that in mind, here is what stood out to me, and what I took away from the story.
Spoilers ahead!
Most people are probably familiar with Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. It has been a steadily popular coming-of-age novel since its debut in 1868, with several stage, film and TV adaptations throughout the years. What Gerwig does is rejuvenate the story and make it ready for a contemporary audience in several ways. First, she shakes things up a bit by telling it in non-chronological order. For a story so well-known and well-loved, it is important to keep the audience interested, and this achieves just that. It also allows Gerwig to draw attention to parallels within the narrative, such as the two instances in which Jo can’t find Beth in her bed and rushes downstairs — the first ends in a pleasant surprise, the second in tragedy. It’s these small but significant touches that breathe new life into an old story.
Secondly, Gerwig incorporates Alcott herself into Little Women, blending her life with Jo’s. Gerwig has said, “As a child, my hero was Jo March, but as an adult, it’s Louisa May Alcott”. Some lines in the film are not from the novel but from Alcott’s private correspondences, such as Jo’s “money is the end and aim of my mercenary existence”. By the end, the film diverges greatly from the novel as Jo is watching her own book, entitled Little Women, get published. Much like Alcott in real life, Jo has to negotiate with the publisher to keep the rights to her own work in exchange for marrying the heroine off. Meanwhile, Alcott’s novel ends with Jo expressing her wish to write a book one day, but since she is now happily married to Professor Bhaer, “it can wait”. Gerwig’s ending seems to take a strong stance against the idea that marriage is the ultimate goal and source of happiness in life. Jo doesn’t choose between two men; she chooses herself and her independence, her dreams. Gerwig discloses that “Jo getting her book would make the audience feel like you usually feel when the heroine is chosen by the hero. I wanted to see if I could create that feeling, but with a girl and her book.” Personally, the sense of pride and delight I feel seeing Jo smiling as she clutches her finally-published book trumps any feeling that comes from seeing her run into a train station chasing some man she barely knows just so she can finally be married off. For this reason, while I understand why Alcott ended her novel the way that she did, I identify a lot more with Gerwig’s Jo than Alcott’s.
There are other, smaller changes that Gerwig makes to the dialogue to drive her point across. For instance, Amy telling Laurie that she wants “to be great or nothing” when it comes to art and that after she’s fulfilled her potential as an artist she will “polish up [her] other talents and be an ornament to society” is true to Alcott’s novel. The discussion of marriage that follows, however, is added by Gerwig:
AMY
Well. I’m not a poet, I’m just a
woman. And as a woman, I have no way
to make money, not enough to earn a
living and support my family.
Even if I had my own money, which I
don’t, it would belong to my
husband the minute we were married.
If we had children they would
belong to him, not me. They would be
his property. So don’t sit there
and tell me that marriage isn’t an
economic proposition, because it
is. It may not be for you but it
most certainly is for me.
As a woman, Amy’s worth is defined not by her talents or contribution to society, but by her relationships with men. Marriage at the time was seldom about love and more often about economics, and thus was a limiting and oppressive force against women. This is why both Amy and Jo would prefer to make their own way in the world and try to earn money independent of a husband. Gerwig’s added part sums up centuries of oppression that sadly still prevails in many parts of the world. In places like the United States where the story takes place, the economic pressure on women to get married has lessened as laws have changed, but it is by no means eradicated. Without a career, women are still dependent on their husbands for money and access to health insurance. Because of this, Amy’s speech is not too far-fetched for contemporary women, and through it, Gerwig encourages and applauds women who are able to make money on their own without the need to rely on a husband.
That said, Gerwig by no means condemns women who actively choose to get married and start a family. We see this in Meg and her decision to marry John, which evidently upsets Jo. Meg defends her choice by saying she genuinely wants to get married and have children, and says, “Just because my dreams are not the same as yours doesn’t mean they’re unimportant.” It’s a powerful and important line that makes it clear that Meg’s chosen path in life is no less feminist than that of Jo’s. Feminism is not about making women conform to one idea of what it means to be feminist; it’s about giving women a choice. Gerwig’s acknowledgement of this adds a depth to the story that feels more honest and inclusive.
Keeping Gerwig’s commentary on marriage in mind, the pivotal scene in the film for me is Jo and Marmee’s conversation in the attic. Jo is at her most vulnerable here, and her exploration of her innermost wants and feelings is as inspirational as it is heartbreaking:
MARMEE
But do you love him?
JO
(tearing up)
I know that I care more to be
loved. I want to be loved.
MARMEE
That is not the same as loving.
JO
(crying, trying to explain
herself to herself)
Women have minds and souls as well
as hearts, ambition and talent as
well as beauty and I’m sick of
being told that love is all a woman
is fit for. But... I am so lonely.
This scene puts into words what I believe many of us feel but can’t express: the desire to be loved more than to love, to be seen and understood the way Laurie sees and understands Jo. Despite not being the marrying type, Jo’s longing for love is valid, and something I can relate to personally. Greta Gerwig has said that she pulled Jo’s monologue directly from the book, and added the line: “But I am so lonely”. To me, this is the most poignant moment in the film, made all the more impactful by Saoirse Ronan’s haunting delivery. It shows that Jo is struggling to reconcile two parts of herself: one that rejects marriage as the only goal women can aspire towards, and another that wants to find love. It’s a struggle that continues to affect many of us today. Love comes in many forms, but we have been conditioned to think that only romantic love can give us the intimacy we seek, even though we can also find it in friendships. Today’s society is in many ways just as much obsessed with marriage and the nuclear family as Jo and Alcott’s, and the fact that many still see these as obligatory accomplishments in a woman’s life is what keeps us from what we truly want: simply, to be loved and cared for.
Beyond these incredibly profound scenes, there is one last thing that drew my particular attention. I should say that I’m not sure if I really want to be a writer or not, but the thought has crossed my mind, and this scene towards the end of the film genuinely inspired me to start writing:
JO
Who will be interested in a
story of domestic struggles
and joys? It doesn’t have any
real importance.
AMY
Maybe we don’t see those things as
important because people don’t
write about them.
JO
No, writing doesn’t confer
importance, it reflects it.
AMY
I’m not sure. Perhaps writing will
make them more important.
I’d always wondered if what I wrote would be of any significance because I believed I didn’t have anything important or worthwhile to say. However, Amy’s comment has changed my outlook on writing. Unlike what Jo says, domestic struggles and joys are arguably what’s most important in life. You don’t have to have had an eventful, remarkable life to be able to express your feelings and experiences artistically. You can write about anything. It’s not necessarily the story, but rather how it makes you feel that makes it important and timeless. This is why Alcott’s Little Women, first published in 1868, is still widely read today, and why Gerwig’s film about a 150-year-old story is still relatable. The film functions as a long-awaited response to Alcott; through her novel, Alcott asks, “This is how I feel. Does it make sense to you?” and through her film, Gerwig answers, “Yes, I feel that way too.”
It’s not often that a film touches you and makes you discover truths about yourself. Gerwig’s Little Women is such a film for me, and I hope for a lot of people. Having seen the film, I feel more comfortable with my feelings towards marriage and kids than ever and confident in the choice I’ve made. Of course, I’m not saying never — I know that the self is ever-changing and dynamic, and I’m open to the idea that I might change my mind later. It is simply the pressure and the societal expectations that I’ve chosen to leave behind, and I can rest easy knowing I’m completely in charge of my own future. I sincerely hope that one of the lessons you take away from Little Women is exactly that: that you have a choice over what you want out of life. It’s okay to not want what others do and expect you to, as long as you are true to yourself. I’ve loved Gerwig’s work since I saw her 2017 film Lady Bird, and I am very glad she revived the story of Little Women the way she did, making it accessible to an entire generation that might not have been familiar with Alcott’s novel. No character has ever made me feel seen the way Jo has, and for that, I want to say: thank you, Louisa May Alcott, and thank you, Greta Gerwig.
By Eda S.
(she/her)
Edited by Paola Duran (@wintrytokyo)