Read Online Great Short Stories by American Women by Candace Ward (Editor) - Free Book Online
Authors: Candace Ward (Editor)
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truth and beauty. Prophetic all! Only this dumb, woful face seems to belong to and end with the night. I turn to look at it. Has the power of its desperate need commanded the darkness away? While the room is yet steeped in heavy shadow, a cool, gray light suddenly touches its head like a blessing hand, and its groping arm points through the broken cloud to the far East, where, in the flickering, nebulous crimson, God has set the promise of the Dawn.
Louisa May Alcott
(1832-1888)
FOR MANY YEARS, Louisa May Alcott was regarded primarily as a children’s author. The longstanding popularity of such novels as Little Women (1869), Little Men (1871) and Jo’s Boys (1886) attests to her talents in that genre, but these works have overshadowed Alcott’s other writing. Recent scholarship by such critics as Madeleine B. Stern and Elaine Showalter has prompted a reassessment of Alcott’s “alternative” fiction, including the sensational thrillers she published anonymously.
Alcott wrote her first book, a collection of children’s stories entitled Flower Fables (published in 1855), when she was only 16. A prolific and determined author, Alcott was often forced to put aside her writing to fulfill household responsibilities. While her father, Bronson Alcott, was a respected and popular member of the Transcendental group that included Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, he was not well suited to the role of family provider. Alcott, her mother and four sisters all worked to stave off financial ruin. Rather than abandon her writerly aspirations, however, Alcott transformed her experiences into the autobiographical fictions that earned her literary success. The widely read Hospital Sketches (1863), based on letters Alcott wrote during her service as a military nurse in Washington during the Civil War, was one such work.
“Transcendental Wild Oats” is also autobiographical, based on her family’s experience at Bronson Alcott’s commune Fruitlands, one of many utopian communities that sprang up in New England at the height of the Transcendental Movement. Alcott’s portrayal of the failed experiment has its tragic and comic sides. The depiction of Mrs. Lamb — a thinly veiled portrait of Alcott’s mother — reveals Alcott’s ambivalence toward the assumption that a woman should follow “wheresoever her husband led.” Underlying the sketch’s humor, one detects a bitterness over her father’s determination to follow his philosophical callings at the expense of his family’s well-being.
Transcendental Wild Oats
ON THE FIRST day of June, 184—, a large wagon, drawn by a small horse and containing a motley load, went lumbering over certain New England hills, with the pleasing accompaniments of wind, rain, and hail. A serene man with a serene child upon his knee was driving, or rather being driven, for the small horse had it all his own way. A brown boy with a William Penn style of countenance sat beside him, firmly embracing a bust of Socrates. Behind them was an energetic-looking woman, with a benevolent brow, satirical mouth, and eyes brimful of hope and courage. A baby reposed upon her lap, a mirror leaned against her knee, and a basket of provisions danced about at her feet, as she struggled with a large, unruly umbrella. Two blue-eyed little girls, with hands full of childish treasures, sat under one old shawl, chatting happily together.
In front of this lively party stalked a tall, sharp-featured man, in a long blue cloak; and a fourth small girl trudged along beside him through the mud as if she rather enjoyed it.
The wind whistled over the bleak hills; the rain fell in a despondent drizzle, and twilight began to fall. But the calm man gazed as tranquilly into the fog as if he beheld a radiant bow of promise spanning the gray sky. The cheery woman tried to cover every one but herself with the big umbrella. The brown boy pillowed his head on the bald pate of Socrates and slumbered peacefully. The little
Louisa May Alcott
(1832-1888)
FOR MANY YEARS, Louisa May Alcott was regarded primarily as a children’s author. The longstanding popularity of such novels as Little Women (1869), Little Men (1871) and Jo’s Boys (1886) attests to her talents in that genre, but these works have overshadowed Alcott’s other writing. Recent scholarship by such critics as Madeleine B. Stern and Elaine Showalter has prompted a reassessment of Alcott’s “alternative” fiction, including the sensational thrillers she published anonymously.
Alcott wrote her first book, a collection of children’s stories entitled Flower Fables (published in 1855), when she was only 16. A prolific and determined author, Alcott was often forced to put aside her writing to fulfill household responsibilities. While her father, Bronson Alcott, was a respected and popular member of the Transcendental group that included Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, he was not well suited to the role of family provider. Alcott, her mother and four sisters all worked to stave off financial ruin. Rather than abandon her writerly aspirations, however, Alcott transformed her experiences into the autobiographical fictions that earned her literary success. The widely read Hospital Sketches (1863), based on letters Alcott wrote during her service as a military nurse in Washington during the Civil War, was one such work.
“Transcendental Wild Oats” is also autobiographical, based on her family’s experience at Bronson Alcott’s commune Fruitlands, one of many utopian communities that sprang up in New England at the height of the Transcendental Movement. Alcott’s portrayal of the failed experiment has its tragic and comic sides. The depiction of Mrs. Lamb — a thinly veiled portrait of Alcott’s mother — reveals Alcott’s ambivalence toward the assumption that a woman should follow “wheresoever her husband led.” Underlying the sketch’s humor, one detects a bitterness over her father’s determination to follow his philosophical callings at the expense of his family’s well-being.
Transcendental Wild Oats
ON THE FIRST day of June, 184—, a large wagon, drawn by a small horse and containing a motley load, went lumbering over certain New England hills, with the pleasing accompaniments of wind, rain, and hail. A serene man with a serene child upon his knee was driving, or rather being driven, for the small horse had it all his own way. A brown boy with a William Penn style of countenance sat beside him, firmly embracing a bust of Socrates. Behind them was an energetic-looking woman, with a benevolent brow, satirical mouth, and eyes brimful of hope and courage. A baby reposed upon her lap, a mirror leaned against her knee, and a basket of provisions danced about at her feet, as she struggled with a large, unruly umbrella. Two blue-eyed little girls, with hands full of childish treasures, sat under one old shawl, chatting happily together.
In front of this lively party stalked a tall, sharp-featured man, in a long blue cloak; and a fourth small girl trudged along beside him through the mud as if she rather enjoyed it.
The wind whistled over the bleak hills; the rain fell in a despondent drizzle, and twilight began to fall. But the calm man gazed as tranquilly into the fog as if he beheld a radiant bow of promise spanning the gray sky. The cheery woman tried to cover every one but herself with the big umbrella. The brown boy pillowed his head on the bald pate of Socrates and slumbered peacefully. The little