I read Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom yesterday. Louisa May Alcott, you know. I went off LMA for several years, after seeing Little Women done so badly by Susan Sarandon and Wynona Ryder, in fact. I know it certainly isn't the book's fault that the movie was so bad, but it put me off LMA all the same. Actually, I don't know if the movie really was that terrible or if it was just the time in my life when I saw it that left me with such a bad feeling. That would be a result of a variation on the kill the messenger theme, I guess. And at the time I think I was still on a Lucy Maud Montgomery kick; that lasted several years, I'm afraid. I still pick up Pat of Silver Bush and Mistress Pat occasionally. And I own almost all the others.
At any rate, I read LA's two Rose books yesterday and got very little else done. Surprise, surprise. But I do feel I am a better person for having refreshed those stories in my memory, and I'm glad I did it. Rose in Bloom is especially full of wholesome little quotes and sermons, and though the two stories can be on the preachy side, I don't care. I like them though they are Transcendentalist. I'm a sucker for an innocent romance, and Rose in Bloom has three engagements, a few deathbeds and orphans. What could be more romantic than that? They remind me of Gene Stratton Porter's stories.
No matter how old I get, when it comes to certain authors, I will always be about 14 at heart. At least, I hope so.