I first read Little Women when I was seven. (Given to me, surprisingly, by my dad. But he’s a feminist. So that makes sense.) I was so fond of it at the time that my parents bought me the book on tape (with a full cast!) for my eighth birthday. I spent a whole summer listening to it over and over and over.
I’d forgotten most of it until I picked up the book again yesterday. Suddenly, I was remembering exact passages and dialogue. Apparently I still have huge chunks of this book memorized, even after 12 years. Wow.
I’m going to wait until I finish the entire thing (again) before I identify myself with a particular character. When I was little, however, I considered myself to be a combination of Jo and Amy. My personality matched Jo’s fairly well, and–let’s face it–I wanted to be her, just like everyone else. However, Amy is the artist, something that I also identified with. There was something about her personality that, while not always positive and frequently self-serving, also reminded me of myself. So I guess we’ll soon see who I am now….
Re-reading Little Women is eerie, in a way, because I find myself anticipating specific lines and mental images that I didn’t know even existed anymore are flooding back with each scene. I also remember the tones of the actresses in the full-cast tape version for certain lines. It’s a very weird feeling, and also slightly distracting. I find myself putting the book down every couple of pages and gazing off into space, remembering what it was like reading it before. It hasn’t changed as much as I expected it to, though the idea that it would change is irrational. Perhaps my original attitude towards it is so cemented into place that it hasn’t changed in twelve years. Hmm…