“I’m Just a Woman:” Why Amy March Is Little Women’s True Feminist Role Model
Greta Gerwig’s 2019 adaptation of Little Women was well-received by both critics and viewers. Directed by a woman, written by a woman, and produced by women, it is presented as a story for everyone, regardless of gender. There has been debate on whether the original story, written in 1868 by Louisa May Alcott, is a feminist story, as it looks at the domestic lives of women during the Civil War (May). Gerwig’s film has been praised for ending on a more ambiguous note, leaving viewers to wonder whether the independent Jo (Saoirse Ronan) really married, or if the relationship we see is merely the end of her published book. Although Little Women is about the March sisters, Jo is often considered the protagonist of the story. She is autonomous, questioning the societal standard of needing to find a husband, and breaks stereotypical gender norms. However, after carefully reviewing Gerwig’s adaptation, it is clear the true heroine of the story is not Jo, but Amy March (Florence Pugh), her often-vilified younger sister.
Each of the March sisters represents a different facet of femininity. The eldest, Meg (Emma Watson), perfectly embodies the gendered expectations of a 19th century Massachusetts woman. She longs for a family, and she gets one — Meg marries a tutor, who earns a small income, and takes care of her children and home. Jo is adamant that Meg could be a great actress and is heartbroken on her sister’s wedding day, but Meg kindly reminds Jo, “Just because my dreams are different than yours doesn’t make them unimportant.” This is a key sentiment to explore, both in the story’s setting and today’s modern world. Modern feminism sometimes shames women for having domestic desires; in Little Women, the uniqueness and individuality of each of the March sisters is integral to their family dynamic, making Meg’s domesticity important.
Jo is, perhaps, the antithesis of Meg. Headstrong and stubborn, Jo is almost too independent. She rebels against any notion of domestic life and every gendered expectation. She reacts defensively to any criticism of her writing, often alienating others with her anger. She rejects Laurie’s (Timothée Chalamet) proposal, but later tells her mother that she is lonely, and that, “if he asked me again, I think I would say yes.” She acknowledges that she does not love Laurie, but instead wants to be loved and not alone. Jo’s rejection of love and connection outside of her nuclear family can be viewed as self-reliant, but this moment humanizes her. Jo’s need to rebel against the patriarchal standards of society often leaves her isolated, watching as her sisters’ lives go on around her — Meg raises her family, Amy travels Europe, but Beth (Eliza Scanlen) falls ill and dies.
Beth is shy and quiet, the kindest of the sisters. She is loved dearly by her family, especially Jo; for viewers, Beth’s role in the story is much more passive than her sisters’, as her tragic death by scarlet fever serves as the catalyst for Jo’s novelization of their lives. Of the March sisters, Beth’s character is the least fleshed out and is therefore difficult to analyze in depth. However, though her role in the story is less active than her sisters’, Beth is incredibly important to the story, as she is the glue that holds their family together.
And then there’s Amy. The youngest March sister, Amy is considered immature and bratty; she is only twelve in the first part of the story, and twenty in the second. She burns Jo’s manuscript out of jealousy and pesters her sisters relentlessly, begging to tag along to parties and the theater. She speaks of marrying rich — of being rich — and her sisters tease her. She is a child when we meet her. She dyes her shoes blue to make them look prettier, she makes a plaster cast of her foot to present to Laurie, and she complains about her nose. On the surface, Amy appears shallow, vain, and immature. However, Gerwig’s script, and Pugh’s performance, prove that Amy’s character is far more multidimensional.
One pivotal scene in the film shows Amy’s true depth of emotion. While in Paris, Amy speaks to Laurie of her expected engagement to a rich man. Laurie pokes fun at her, questioning her decision to become engaged to a man she does not love and saying, “I understand queens of society can’t get on without money, although it does sound odd from the mouth of one of your mother’s girls.” Amy responds that she is not ashamed, and in one of the most moving moments of the film, defends herself, stating:
“Well, I’m not a poet. I’m just a woman. And as a woman, there’s no way for me to make my own money. Not enough to earn a living or to support my family. And if I had my own money, which I don’t, that money would belong to my husband the moment we got married. And if we had children, they would be his, not mine. They would be his property. So don’t sit there and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition because it is. It may not be for you, but it most certainly is for me.”
In this scene, we see that Amy has undergone true growth, from an unruly child to a mature, young woman. Initially she sounds dejected, disappointed with her lot in life; as the scene progresses, her voice grows strong and defiant, and she holds Laurie’s gaze. She never stumbles or hesitates, as if this thought has run through her head a thousand times. Amy clearly understands what she can achieve as a woman, even if she has at other times seemed self-centered or vapid. It is at this moment that we realize Amy is no longer a girl, but a woman.
The cinematography in this scene is incredibly effective. During their conversation, the camera cuts between Amy and Laurie in the standard shot/reverse shot that is used in film to show dialogue, but the moment her monologue begins, the camera stays on Amy. It tracks her movement as she slowly moves towards Laurie, never cutting to get his reaction shot. The shot starts as a medium shot and, as she moves, ends in a medium close-up, bringing us closer to Amy and her emotions. For thirty-five seconds, we see only her.
This is because this moment is, truly, about Amy. She is expressing her frustration, and the strategic decision to view marriage as “an economic proposition” that will help her get further in life than she could on her own. She is a talented artist, but Amy realizes she is not good enough to make a living to support herself. She knows and accepts the limits of being a woman in the 1800s, but this proves she is doing everything she can to give herself — and, by extension, her family — the best life possible. She is not shallow; she is clever. In maintaining this shot, Gerwig creates a connection between the audience and Amy. We see her emotions and we do not get a break, the same way that Amy, much like her sister, cannot get away from the reality of her class and gender.
The source of conflict between Amy and Jo comes not from their differences or jealousy over Laurie, but their similarities, and how they navigate the world despite those similarities makes Amy the story’s true heroine. They both feel things passionately, and although they often bicker, they love each other with that same intensity. Amy burns Jo’s manuscript in anger but exhibits genuine remorse when she sees how badly she has hurt her sister. Though still angry, Jo helps Laurie save her sister from drowning in a frozen pond. Both are devastated when Beth dies and make life-altering decisions — Amy cuts her trip to Europe short to return home, and Jo leaves New York to move back in with her parents. They feel Beth’s loss deeply.
Similarly, both girls are deeply passionate about their art, although Jo writes for fame and money, whereas Amy is ambitious and desires greatness. Before her moving monologue in the aforementioned scene, Amy declares to Laurie: “…talent isn’t genius, and no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great or nothing.” Amy is driven by ambition, and she travels to Europe to learn and grow as an artist. Though Amy eventually gives up her artistic dreams, it can be argued that she is more successful than Jo, as “Amy’s creative talent can be seen as more authentic than Jo’s, because Amy does recognize and accept and even enjoy her own sexuality, which is the core of the creative self” (Hollander, 33). She has grown up with a sister who embraces conventional, gendered expectations of femininity, and a sister who has absolutely rejected those expectations; Amy is the middle ground.
Jo’s independence is her identity. She rejects help and refuses to conform to society’s expectations, but in doing so she makes things difficult for herself. Amy, on the other hand, “succeeds not by rebelling against the patriarchal system that requires women to assume social value,” but by using her femininity to her advantage (Blackford 21). She is a realist; she has not settled, but instead accepted the limitations placed on her by her gender. She is chosen to accompany Aunt March to Europe over Jo because Jo’s attitude is off-putting. Her marriage to Laurie not only fulfills her emotional desires, but her economic and societal goals as well. Though both girls recognize that patriarchal system, Jo chooses to rebel without thought, while every choice Amy makes is calculated.
Consider Amy’s eventual marriage to Laurie. Although she has always loved him, her view of marriage suggests that his family’s wealth contributes to her decision to accept his proposal. Earlier in the film, she turns him down angrily, stating, “I have been second to Jo my whole life, and I will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.” Amy knows that she is Laurie’s second choice, but she marries him regardless. This is because their marriage not only fulfills her emotionally but fulfills her economic and societal goals as well. She does love Laurie, but she also knows him. Ultimately, she does marry a wealthy man who can give her everything she wants and needs — it just happens to be a wealthy man she has trusted and loved for years.
Amy’s story comes full circle: she is married to someone she has loved since childhood, someone who is able to provide for her and their family, and she has grown as an artist, even if she is not the great artist she hoped to be. Aside from Beth, the other March sisters get what they want as well, but Amy undergoes true development as a character. Amy is the most human of the March sisters: she is flawed, capable of jealousy and anger, but she is also intelligent, observant, and caring. Her portrayal as an imperfect woman is what makes Amy the true heroine of Gerwig’s Little Women.
References:
Blackford, Holly. (2011). Chasing Amy: Mephistopheles, the Laurence Boy, and Louisa May Alcott’s Punishment of Female Ambition. Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, 32(3), 1–40. Received December 5, 2020 from https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5250/fronjwomestud.32.3.0001
Hollander, Anne. (1981). Reflections on “Little Women.” Children’s Literature 9, 28–39. Retrieved December 5, 2020, from http://www.anne-hollander.com/?page_id=52
May, J. (1994). Feminism and Children’s Literature: Fitting “Little Women” into the American Literary Canon. CEA Critic, 56(3), 19–27. Retrieved December 5, 2020, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/44378244
Pascal, A. (producer) & Gerwig, G. (director). (2019). Little Women. Columbia Pictures.
