It’s funny what I remember about books from my childhood. I’m sure I read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books, including Little House in the Big Woods and Little House on the Prairie, dozens of times when I was a kid: I have a very strong memory of reading them at my paternal grandparents’, a set of paperbacks like the ones currently in stores except with pale yellow borders. But when I re-read these first two earlier in the year for the first time in probably twenty years, I was amazed at what I rediscovered.
First, I had the hazy recollection that they were set much, much earlier, all the way back in colonial days. (Hey, as a kid I didn’t have a really good grasp on U.S. history, okay?) The Industrial Revolution is a far greater divide than mere chronology would suggest—the author died within my mother’s lifetime! (I don’t think I realized they were autobiographical, either.)
Second, I had completely forgotten a major part of the second book, when the local Indians react to the family’s setting up a homestead on the prairie. This dominates the second half of the book, but when I saw Oyceter remark on it, my immediate reaction was flat-out incredulity. I can’t think how I managed to forget this, but there it is: I remember things like building a house and making maple syrup, but not actual plots. (To be fair, there is quite a lot of detail about making things, from houses to hats to food, which I still enjoy very much.)
Third, I’d forgotten that Laura was a tomboy. The books are mostly told in third person from Laura-as-child’s point of view, and they make no attempt to disguise that Laura wasn’t interested in proper ladylike behavior (or that she sometimes behaved badly). I probably don’t remember this because I didn’t feel very constrained by, or even aware of, gender roles as a child; but now I think it’s pretty cool. (And, conversely, find Laura’s prim sister Mary very boring, as I think Laura did at the time.)
As mentioned above, the books rarely shift point of view: in the first book, there are a few first-person stories set off in the text as “The Story of [something]”, and there are some comments from the present-day author of the type, “No one knew, in those days, that fever ‘n’ ague was malaria, and that some mosquitoes give it to people when they bite them.” From my adult perspective, this is sometimes frustrating. I would have liked to know, for instance, what Laura thought about American Indians when she grew up; I could tell that the adults around her had different views, but not what she thought as she was writing. And sometimes I would have liked a psychological explanation for events, not just a factual reporting. It’s a little thing, but what was Laura’s mother thinking, to tell blonde Mary and brunette Laura that they should ask their cousin which is best, golden or brown hair?
(I also wondered about Laura’s mother’s history. There’s a reference that she was “very fashionable” before she married, and she still likes dressing up; she must’ve been really in love to move out of town to a place where she would go weeks without seeing anyone other than her spouse and children. I am not, however, curious enough to read the prequels written by other authors.)
On the whole, I couldn’t recommend these to adults, because they’re written at a pretty low level. However, so far they hold up quite well to re-reading, and would be fine for kids or to read to kids. I just hope the rest of them continue to hold up.
(This post was written thanks to a LiveJournal poll indicating it was the most desired, rather to my surprise. Thanks, LiveJournalers, for giving me motivation to write.)
I read these probably a dozen times, too, when I was a kid, and hadn’t given them a thought in probably twenty or more years. I have no idea how they would read now…maybe I’ll find out in a few years if/when they become bedtime story fodder… I do remember something about a bear from the first book!
And the Am. Indians from later books.
I remembered the bear story’s punchline when I got to it, though I doubt that I would’ve remembered it ahead of time.
They make very nice sick reading.
Wow, it’s a bit jarring to get a different take on these books. It’s been a while since I last read them, but for me they’ve always been… well, whatever you get when you’ve reread a book so many times that it’s just part of who you are. It’s a weird sort of cognitive dissonance to realize that they’re just books-I-might’ve-read-once to someone else. 🙂
Niko: It’s also partly my personality. Even for books that I’ve read so often that they’re part of me, it’s very hard for me to completely turn off the analytic part of my brain. (Drives my mother crazy.)
I liked the “Little House” books as a kid, and I actually like to re-read the later ones (from By the Shores of Silver Lake onward) from time to time. My late father once made the interesting comment that the reading level of the books “grows” along with Laura.
Laura was definitely “the boy” of the family, and my sympathies were always with her. I vividly remember thinking that Laura’s mother was a terrible spoilsport, and that her father seemed a lot more fun.
But as an adult, I find myself thinking of the sacrifices Ma made to travel West with her husband – not just in terms of the ease of life, but in terms of the social connections she had to cut. In Little House in the Big Woods, the first book, relatives come to visit several times each year. Once they move West, there’s no more of that until they unexpectedly run into Counsin Docia in Silver Lake. And Ma spends years living where she has no social contacts beyond her husband and daughters, until the town of De Smet grows up near their claim, and they start living there during the winter. She must have been powerfully lonely – no wonder she was a little compulsive about her daughters’ behavior.
It’s interesting to contrast Ma’s personality with that of Almanzo’s mother in Farmer Boy. Mrs. Wilder is a prosperous farm wife in northern New York state, she earns considerable income on her own from the sale of butter, and can see friends and relatives weekly (at church) if not more often. She’s much more easy-going than Laura’s Ma, but how much is circumstances and how much is personality – who knows?
I always did love all the little the details about how things were done “back then,” in all the books.
– Cho
Cho, welcome, and thanks for the comments.
That’s an interesting connection, between Caroline Ingalls’ behavior and social situation. Loneliness makes sense as an explanation for that, though I don’t know if it’s something that the books would support or hint at. I’ll have to look.
Good to hear that the reading level grows, too; I think that will make the re-read easier.
I found this page after a search of “Larua Ingalls + dog”. My family met a brindled bull dog today and I wanted to confirm that was the same type as Laura’s loyal and faithful Jack. Although this page is not connecting to the “dog” I was looking for, I can’t help add my two cents.
I also read the Little House books during my childhood. I picked up the eco-pack a few years back to start reading with my children. They are perfect for 2nd and 3rd graders. I start with Farmer Boy for the boys – they get hooked on the others because Laura is a tomboy and love to hear her antics with the evil Nelly Olson.
As an adult I love the fast read and love the look on my kids faces when something exciting happens, or something crushing or Ma or Pa say something pithy. (Kids are much more willing to listen to outsiders advice, even if it’s from a book!)
These are a great American treasure.
We even tried to watch the TV show on DVD but it does no justice to the dynamic characters of the books.
Stee: welcome, and I look forward to being reacquainted with the evil Nelly Oslon (who I don’t recall at all)!
all i have to say is that i am one of laura ingills wilders great cousins i just found out today
Scathing comments on _Prairie_’s depiction of the Osage tribe, with historical details about just how egregious the Wilders’ trespassing on Osage lands was. I had taken the child-POV’s characterizations to be, well, child-POV, but that is a distinction that may elude child readers and should at least be discussed with them by adults.