Posts Tagged ‘anne of green gables’

I love talking shop with other writers.  So I was honored when fabulous New York Times bestselling author (and awesome friend/holder of #ebpower) Eleanor Brown asked me for a one-line piece of writing advice for her next blog on The Debutante Ball.

My contribution:  “done is better than fun.”

Pithy?  Probably.  True?  Absolutely.  I had to make up this phrase while writing The Heroine’s Bookshelf, in fact.  You see, long ago and far, far away I bought into the myth that a writer’s life is strewn with roses, that words flow like the champagne that follows each pearl on a long string of bestselling book releases.  Cue a great gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair when it turned out that writing, for me, seemed incomprehensible, mysterious and downright frustrating.

Turns out I wasn’t the only person who struggled to find time, will, and wherewithal to write.  Here’s an excerpt from a letter Lucy Maud Montgomery wrote in 1932:

No, I haven’t yet ‘tackled my adult novel.’ It is impossible under present conditions. I keep hoping I shall ‘have more time later on’ but ‘later on’ I have even less. It is all pretty well shaped out in my mind but I can not write it by fits and starts, as I do my Annes and Emilys.

This might discourage some.  After all, isn’t Maud decrying her lack of time or ability to work on the book of her heart?  But I find comfort in the latter…the knowledge that even this very canny and incredible writer wrote her most famous books in little snippets, pressing onward despite the early twentieth-century version of the taunting blinking cursor.  I am reminded that whether we love every moment of the process, we can create something that is worthy of love anyway.  At least that’s what I’m telling myself today.

“Marilla, isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?”
Anne Shirley, Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery

It’s that time of the year.  The time when your impossibly put-together friends announce that they are going to accomplish a Huge Goal in 2011 and then proceed to do so with a minimum of stress, pain, or evident strife.  I usually fall on the other side of the spectrum, looking toward goals but nervous about announcing them, doing what I can and lamenting what I can’t and somehow accomplishing a bunch in the middle.

However.

It has come to my attention that I’m in need of some next steps in terms of my literary career.  (I just almost typed that phrase, moved away from the keyboard, did some busywork, returned, and typed it slowly.  Oh, dear.)  Nothing earth-shattering…it’s just time I looked at what I really want, what’s next, and how I can get from Point A to Point B.

I was talking to a friend about it last night and she said “2009 you would weep over the Facebook status updates of 2010 you.”

She’s right:  2010 was a hugely productive, accomplished, and important year, and though it whipped me down it also built me up in many unexpected ways.  The best part?  Discovering my literary tribe through the readers, bloggers, book-lovers, reviewers, and allies flung all over the world…the people to whom I owe my greatest debt.  Now I get to take all of you into consideration as I ponder my literary future, too, and that is a privilege.

Anyway, my conversation with my friend reminded me that I have other allies, too…the women who wrote my favorite books and whose lives I was privileged to study and write about in The Heroine’s Bookshelf. As I look forward, I can remember that Charlotte Brontë wrote her way through grief and took an active role in her publishing career; that Betty Smith used her writing to catapult her out of the slums of Brooklyn and as a window back in.  My literary heroines spent less time agonizing over the direction of their careers than finding work they couldn’t not do.  Armed with that work, you guys, and a whole history of female writers, I think I’m well-equipped for a new day.

Footnote:  If you haven’t seen it yet, check out The Heroine’s Bookshelf as reviewed on the front page of The Washington Post’s BookWorld.  And stay tuned…I’ve got something really fun up my sleeve for February!

By Guest Blogger Darren Garnick

This is the first in a series of guest posts on heroines featured in The Heroine’s Bookshelf.  My guests?  Honored authors, writers, experts, historians, and more.  First up is Darren Garnick, an unlikely adherent of everyone’s favorite Anne with an e.  Want to combine some winning with your reading?  Click here to win a galley of the book (and for links to other contests featuring the book).

I grew up reading Judy Blume’s “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing” series, which was heavily promoted during my elementary school librarian’s story hour. Many of the same themes of awkward adolescence are now the bedrock of Jeff Kinney’s “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” series, which I’ve been reading aloud with my 8-year-old son. I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing Kinney for a newspaper column, and was happy to learn that he’s been using his fame to encourage boys to embrace reading and writing for fun.

For some bizarre reason, as students get older, writing is considered more of “a girl’s thing.” And so is reading “the classics,” which is a theme that pops up in the fourth Wimpy Kid book, “Dog Days.”

Maybe because there’s no braids, but that’s the most masculine-looking Anne I’ve ever seen.

Well, except for this Anne…

That’s me in the green dress at the beginning of my Prince Edward Island vacation last summer. For the record, I did take the costume off a few days after the photo and mostly traveled around the province in my street clothes. But before planning my family trip, I had never even heard of “Anne of Green Gables” or Lucy Maud Montgomery. I’m not sure why this is, because I had been aware of other “girl’s books” when I was a kid. I just didn’t read them.

So along with my wife, son and daughter, I listened to the first Anne book on CD during our endless drive through New Brunswick, Canada. By the time we reached the Confederation Bridge to PEI, I knew Anne was an imaginative, stubborn, ambitious, and melodramatic girl who had the courage to stand up to bullies — and was also someone who appreciated the nuances of every blade of grass. The story kept the attention of everyone in the car.

(I’m fully aware that listening to the audiobook gives me zero literary street cred, but reading at the wheel is far deadlier than texting. Marilla wouldn’t approve!)

When I arrived in PEI, I was blown away by how much a children’s book character can impact a community. Sure, there’s usually the obligatory museum or bronze statue at the birthplace of a famous author, but nothing like this.

At the Cavendish Figurines photo booth, tourists are encouraged to pose in group shots as Anne, almost like a scene from a Lucy Maud Montgomery-inspired science fiction movie. Co-owner Jeannette Arsenault told me that despite the availability of Gilbert (Anne’s boyfriend and hubby) and Matthew (Anne’s guardian) costumes, more than 90 percent of visitors want to be Anne. Even the guys.

Now, that’s quite the star power for a fictitious female character. You don’t see many boys rushing to be Belle, Princess Jasmine or Arielle at Disney World.

Anne Shirley is iconic. Her optimism and upbeat attitude is something that all Canadians are proud to identify with.

A friend of mine who actually has read “Anne of Green Gables” in its original book form told me she was extremely disappointed by the commercialism surrounding the character on the island. I couldn’t disagree more. Take a look at the marketing display on this refrigerator for Raspberry Cordial soda:

Merchants are not slapping Anne’s image on random items, such as toilet paper or breakfast cereal. There’s a literary basis to everything. Sure, the Avonlea Village theme park is rather pricey. But for fans who want to lip sync scenes of the book while they are being performed live, this is their “Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

A little bit down the road from Avonlea is the Fantazmagoric Museum of the Strange & Unusual, which also runs a snack bar and mini golf course. It is here where you will find the only remotely negative portrayal of Anne. And even so, it appears to be a tribute to her, in the satiric spirit of Mad Magazine or Wacky Package stickers:

It’s all fine and dandy when children’s books have life lessons, role models and spark discussion. But if the story doesn’t entertain first, then the book is going to have all the charm of a church sermon. I say this as a former fan of the Davey & Goliath animated series — was that claymation? — which was the only cartoon on TV on Sundays when I was growing up. As an adult, I realize that the producers were attempting to shove a syrupy lesson down my throat from the very first frame.

On a secular note, the Pixar movie “Cars” accomplishes the same feat. Kids will watch an endearing love story between a sportscar and a racing car with a goofy tow truck tossed in for comic relief. But us adults realize the movie is a warning not to ignore our personal relationships in the mad pursuit of our career goals — and a simple plea to appreciate the journey as much as the final destination.

“Anne of Green Gables” succeeds on this level. As a journalist and a stickler for spelling (please tell me there are no errors here), I love Anne’s militant defense of the “e” at the end of her name. I also resent the adults in her life who advise her to tone down her gregarious personality. But I appreciate the mindless sitcom plots, such as Anne accidentally giving Diana red wine instead of raspberry cordial, and Anne mistakenly dyeing her hair green in an attempt to get rid of her natural red.

Decades after Lucy Maud Montgomery came up with those stories, I saw them duplicated on The Flintstones (Pebbles’ birthday party guests accidentally got served “cactus juice”) and The Brady Bunch (Greg accidentally dyed his hair green, resulting in multiple embarrassing trips to his mom’s beauty parlor).

For the record, Anne is also a lot tougher than Greg, the star of the Wimpy Kid series. If author Jeff Kinney is managing to score a surprising 40 percent female readership, maybe the Anne books can increase their male market share. Bribing boys with sugar might not be the most ethical way to boost readership, but I suspect it might be the most effective:

(Darren Garnick is a freelance journalist and documentary filmmaker obsessed with travel and pop culture. He also happens to be fascinated with Little House on the Prairie, having seen practically every episode as a childhood TV ritual with his grandparents.  If you have ever taken funny travel photos related to your favorite literature, please contact him at darrengarnick (at) gmail.com)

Wintry Colorado can be an unforgiving place, especially with single-digit temperatures and March (usually our snowiest month) still ahead.  I’ve got tea to warm my fingers, but my thoughts are turning to food…the kinds of food my literary heroines would have enjoyed.  This morning I saw an article featuring a Mock Cherry Pie (recipe below) attributed to none other than Lucy Maud Montgomery of Anne of Green Gables fame.  It made me wonder what other recipes actually attributed to “my” authors could be found online?

The yummy results follow.  Each is directly attributed to one of my favorite authors or one of her family members.  Also, how awful is it that I’ve given up sweets for Lent?  I know what I’ll be preparing Easter Sunday.

Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Mock Cherry Pie

Food fakery is a vital heroine skill.  Don’t have cherries?  Cranberries and raisins will do just as well!  This recipe is attributed to Maud, whose Marilla admonishes:  “You’ve got to keep your wits about you in cooking and not stop in the middle of things to let your thoughts rove all over creation.” (Prefer raspberry cordial or some other dishes mentioned in the Anne books?  This link’s for you.)

Pastry for a double-crust 9-inch pie
2 cups cranberries, chopped
1 cup raisins, chopped
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1 cup cold water
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

Line a 9-inch pie plate with half the pastry. Make a lattice crust with remaining dough.  In a saucepan, combine cranberries, raisins, sugar, flour and water; bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and let cool slightly. Stir in vanilla.  Turn filling into pastry-lined pie plate. Moisten edge with water and top with lattice crust.  Bake at 425 degrees F for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees F and bake another 20 to 30 minutes, or until crust is nicely browned and filling is bubbly. Serves six.

Louisa May Alcott’s Blancmange

Did you ever read Little Women and wonder, like me, what the heck blancmange is?  I am led to believe that it is a kind of sweet, white flan, as sweet and white as the plump hands of Meg March, whom I can imagine creating this blancmange and complaining over her unfashionable gowns.  You will recall that Jo brings a blancmange to Laurie when he is sick as a sort of wedge into his house and heart.  She succeeds.  This recipe is attributed to Abba Alcott, Louisa’s mother.

2 tbsp arrowroot
1 quart milk
1/2 cup sugar, more to taste
1 pinch salt
Something savory – orange water, rose water, or lemon peel

Take two tablespoonfuls of arrowroot to one quart of milk and a pinch of salt. Scald the milk, sweeten it with sugar to taste and then stir in the arrowroot, which must first be wet with some milk. Let it boil once. Orange water, rose water, or lemon peel can be used to flavor it. Pour it into molds to cool.

Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Gingerbread

Whenever I gain a pound, I blame Laura, whose description of crackling pig tails, bountiful pies, and tables laden with the goodness of hardy, sensible pioneer cooking are enough to drive any girl face-first into a pile of biscuits.  Though it’s easy to find recipes inspired by the Little House books, it’s harder to find ones directly attributed to Laura that aren’t protected by copyright.  Here’s one to start with:

1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup lard (fine, shortening will do)
1 cup molasses
2 tsp baking soda
1 cup boiling water
3 cups flour
1 tsp ginger
1 tsp allspice
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs

Blend brown sugar with lard.  Mix in molasses until well-coated.  Dissolve baking soda in boiling water (be sure cup is full of water after foam runs off into cake mixture).  Mix well.  In a separate bowl, mix flour with spices and salt.  Sift into wet mixture and mix well; mixture will be “quite thin.”  Finally, add two well-beaten eggs and bake in a moderate (350 degrees) for thirty minutes.

One of the most gratifying parts of writing The Heroine’s Bookshelf was discovering the backstories behind the women who wrote some of my favorite books.  And it wasn’t all fun and friends.  During the course of the book, I got to look at the underbelly of some of these women’s lives:  depression, chronic illness, opium addiction, adultery, even suicide.   And you know what?  I loved every minute.

Why embrace the serious sides of my literary heroines when many of them left such happy, pert, intelligent women as their legacy?  (Anne of Green Gables or Lizzie Bennet, anyone?)  Why not just focus on the picture they wanted to present to the world…the picture of the productive, happy writer who left her dirty laundry between two covers and moved on with life?

I was reminded of this question when reading this article about Louisa May Alcott and Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s dirty little opium secrets (or not-so-secrets, as the case may be).  For me, the answer is all about context.  When we look at the real lives of these writers, their accomplishments in the face of great trials and hardships are even more impressive.  Louisa May Alcott wrote her books in a state of constant, crushing financial worry…and if she hadn’t known what it was like to be poor, she could never have given us the image of four sisters sewing their way through dire straits and attempting to burden the load they must shoulder.  Could Charlotte Brontë have made Jane Eyre‘s Lowood School so terrifying if she herself had not survived a similar experience?

Now that I know the backstory behind my favorite books, I feel even more grateful that these women took time out of their lives to give something to us, people they never met or even imagined.  Not that I subscribe to the thought that writers must be tortured (that’s probably material for a whole ‘nother post), but I think they’re at least allowed to be human.  When we deny a Jane Austen or a Frances Hodgson Burnett her humanity, we miss out on the rest of the story.