Like Jack London, some of
Louisa May Alcott’s (1832-1888) fiction was autobiographical, with Little Women being the most notable. Although
most writers don’t sell their first novel, the rest of this experience from
that book is familiar.
Little notice was
taken of her stories, but they found a market; and, encouraged by this fact,
she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her
novel for the fourth time, read it to all her confidential friends, and
submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed
of it, on condition that she would cut it down one-third, and omit all the
parts which she particularly admired.
* * *
So, with Spartan
firmness, the young authoress laid her firstborn on her table, and chopped it
up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasing every one, she took every
one’s advice; and, like the old man and his donkey in the fable, suited nobody.
Her father liked
the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got into it, so that was
allowed to remain, though she had her doubts about it. Her mother thought that
there was a trifle too much
description; out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary
links in the story. Meg admired the tragedy; so Jo piled up the agony to suit
her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo
quenched the sprightly scenes which relieved the somber character of the story.
Then, to complete the ruin, she cut it down one-third, and confidingly sent the
poor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world, to try
its fate.
Well, it was
printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it; likewise plenty of praise
and blame, both so much greater than she expected, that she was thrown into a
state of bewilderment, from which it took some time to recover.
* * *
Her family and
friends administered comfort and commendation liberally; yet it was a hard time
for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant so well, and had apparently done so
ill. But it did her good, for those whose opinion had real value, gave her the
criticism which is an author’s best education; and when the first soreness was
over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and
feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.
“Not being a
genius, like Keats, it won’t kill me,” she said stoutly; “and I’ve got the joke
on my side, after all; for the parts that were taken straight out of real life,
are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes that I made up out of my
own silly head, are pronounced ‘charmingly natural, tender, and true.’ So I’ll
comfort myself with that; and, when I’m ready, I’ll up again and take another.”
And so
will we.
__________
The quote is from “Literary
Lessons” in Part II of Little Women.
Both the picture and Little Women are in the public domain
because of their age.
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