A novel that dares to answer the question: What would the March sisters be like if they lived in the 21st century? What activities would they have, what friends, and would Jo really refuse Laurie?
An overall lighthearted retelling of Part One of an enduring and beloved classic. It is not intended to replace Alcott’s book, but rather to be a fun companion piece to it, with a serious side as well. In fact, if you have not read Little Women, it is likely that you won’t get this one.
Disclaimer: Adolescence is a 20th-century invention. Before then, you were a child, then you were an adult. There was no transitional period, at least not officially. In another one of Alcott’s books, an older female character remarks, “In my day…we were little folks till eighteen or so; worked and studied, dressed and played, like children; honored our parents…” Books, back then, were written for children, or for adults. Teens read children’s books, and some read adult books. Nowadays, of course, it’s different. Teens (Young Adults or YA) from 13 to 18 have books written specifically for them, while preteens from ages 9 to 12 (Middle Grade or MG) have books aimed at them. Books specifically for teenagers were not written until the 1940s. Most preteens aren’t likely to read YA, and older teens rarely read MG books. Little Women was written to appeal to girls, period, without such divisions. But here in the 21st century, I’ve chosen to write my update for YA, since the protagonists are in their middle to late teens, and so it may be deemed unsuitable for preteens. There are some situations, issues, language, and concerns that may be above their level of understanding or be considered inappropriate. So, Watchers & Dancers should be considered a YA book, and chosen as such.
Excerpts:
“Looks like he’s gone back in,” Jo said as she and Meg approached the Laurence house. It was the largest on the street, made of stone with tall columns out front, set well back from the sidewalk. Huge oaks stood about, and cedars dusted with snow, but the prospect of the house looked anything but inviting. Not a holiday decoration in sight–tacky or otherwise.
By contrast the March house, a very old wooden one in the classic New England style, had a snow family out front, even a snow dog with a collar made of holly, lots of foot tracks, and a bright red ribbon tied about the antique lamp-pole in the yard. One of the trees had a tire swing on it, and there was a swing on the porch as well, which had colored lights hung over it. And a big pile of firewood on it next to the door.
“The Scrooges and the Cratchits,” Jo remarked upon comparing the two houses. “Poor old Theodore. And I can smell those cookies already. Life is good.”
****
Jo tried working on her novel in between times, but found it hard to concentrate. She thought of the boy across the street. She had never met the old man, only glimpsed him from time to time, heard his voice once. She supposed him to be some bitter old miser who tyrannized his servants and had some dark, unthinkable secret. Maybe he had a wife he had murdered and buried below the cellar steps. Or a mad one he kept in the attic. Or a daughter who had refused to marry the man he wanted her to, so he had imprisoned her and fed her on bread and water. Maybe she had escaped and Theodore was her son. Or he was some wicked scientist who carried out unspeakable experiments, or a wicked wizard with a book that could cause madness in anyone foolish enough to look into it…or a vampire….
“Yeah, right,” she said to herself after a while. “He’s probably just some boring old coot who spends all his time in his study, poring over his ledgers and thinking back on the good ole days.” She turned back to her writing, which she was doing in a primitive spiral notebook with an antiquated lead pencil, which she was pleased to call her “lexicographical materials.”
****
True to their tradition, the sisters performed their play on Christmas Eve. The dining room served as stage, with the furniture moved into the kitchen, and the sofa and chairs moved before the wide arched doorway. Jo, as the villain Erronius, showed up sporting an enormous Salvador Dali mustache, her hair slicked back with Crisco, and a black opera cloak made from a trash bag, which kept clinging to her in all the wrong places. When her mustache fell off in the middle of a line, she calmly picked it up and stuck it back on, and went on, ad-libbing a good bit. It elicited plenty of laughs, especially from Mrs. Mathers, their next-door neighbor, who was there with her widowed daughter, Mrs. Wells, from Boston. Uncle Charles and Aunt Carol also came, although this year their daughter Flo did not come, having to work late.
There was also Beth’s best friend Emily Prescott, along with her parents and eight-year-old brother Mickey. Emily played the villain’s dim-witted henchman, Ergo. When Jo said things like, “That goody-goody Prince Fidelio doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance against my ingenious plot; ergo the fair Princess Estrellita shall be mine, all mine!” or “The time is at hand, ergo I shall sally forth,” Ergo would show up saying “You called, master?” until Erronius in fits of frustration beat him over the head with a tightly rolled newspaper, bellowing, “NO, you blithering idiot!” at which Mickey would screech with laughter, bouncing up and down like a rubber ball. Mr. Prescott rather predictably said Jo stole the show, while Mrs. Wells said Meg did excellently also–very princely and gallant, even if her long hair did fall out of her hat during the swordfight with Erronius…who took so long to expire when stabbed by Fidelio, what with moaning and groaning and gasping and rasping and clutching his breast melodramatically, rolling and twitching about, that Mickey hollered out, “DIE already!” at which Jo said, “Okay,” letting her head fall with a plop, hands folded on her bosom. It was a while before the laughter subsided enough to finish up the play. The girls sang some carols afterward, and Emily had a flute solo, accompanied by Beth. It went over very well, although Mickey said the piano sucked, at which his mother threatened to play “Little Drummer Boy” on his behind if he didn’t watch his mouth.
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