Why We All Want to be Jo March
Interview any woman writer and odds are they will bring up Jo March. Everyone from Nora Ephron to J.K. Rowling to Susan Sontag to Simone de Beauvoir has claimed the bookish and bold heroine of Louisa May Alcott’s 150+ year old classic, Little Women, as a personal inspiration. They cite Jo’s literary prowess, her independence, her adventurous spirit, and her rebellious nature as having a profound impact on their young and impressionable minds.
“My favorite literary heroine is Jo March. It is hard to overstate what she meant to a small, plain girl called Jo, who had a hot temper and a burning ambition to be a writer.”
- J.K. Rowling
I can't remember my first encounter with the March family, but I also can't remember a time when I wasn't aware of them. I must have had Little Women read to me, probably by my grandmother, the person in my family who introduced me to so many beautiful fictional worlds. My grandma's favorite, however, was Maud Hart Lovelace's Betsy-Tacy series and it was these girls' adventures (along with Tib, a later addition to the series), and not the March sisters, that dominated my childhood imagination.
When I rediscovered Little Women as an adult I was enthralled. I loved Jo's courage, honesty, and big heart. Of course, like all bookish souls, I also identified with her determination to write and her lust for adventure.
The feminist angle - a bold young woman resisting traditional roles and making her way in a man’s world - is the obvious modern appeal of Jo.
“I like adventures and I’m going to find some.”
- Jo March
But I would argue that Jo’s appeal is deeper and more constant than that. These “deeper elements” of Jo’s character are evident in a number of pivotal moments in Little Women, but I’ll focus on two instances. Probably the most famous scene (other than Jo’s controversial rejection of Laurie), is when Jo cuts her hair and sells it for twenty-five dollars. A telegram has arrived with news that shocks the March family: Mr. March, away fighting in the Civil War, has been gravely injured - Mrs. March (Marmie) must get a train right away to be at his side. Jo steals off during the general mayhem and sells her hair.
“Your one beauty!” the dramatic and vain Amy cries when Jo takes off her bonnet. Jo brushes off the concern and shock. After all, it’s only hair and it will grow back. We as readers are all bowled over by this self-sacrificial gesture and Jo’s apparent detachment from her appearance. Yet we quickly learn that Jo is not quite as confident as she appears. That night her sister Meg hears her crying and assumes she is weeping with worry over their ailing father. The truth is that Jo is mourning the loss of her lustrous mane after all.
“My — my hair!” burst out Jo, trying vainly to smother her emotion in her pillow. . . .
“I’m not sorry,” protested Jo, with a choke. “I’d do it again tomorrow, if I could. It’s only the vain, selfish part of me that goes and cries in this silly way.”
Jo March, confident, witty, and bold on the outside, is actually a very sensitive soul.
Here is a heroine who is not perfect. In fact, Jo is incredibly flawed. She is often selfish and thoughtless. Jo berates her more traditionally-minded sister, Meg, for having fallen in love with the young tutor, John Brooke, and for wanting to ‘abandon’ the family. For all her talk of big adventures, Jo actually doesn’t want much in her life to change. She loves having all her sisters at home with her and resents Meg for wanting to pursue a family life of her own. When Meg’s engagement is announced, Jo can hardly eat her dinner she is so upset.
When petulant Amy burns Jo’s manuscript, Jo vows she will never speak to her sister again. While her rage is certainly understandable, the strength of Jo’s hatred is intense. Her mother warns her not to let a passing moment ruin her relationship with Amy, but Jo is inconsolable. Ultimately Amy, distraught and filled with regret, nearly drowns under the ice when trying to keep up with Jo and Laurie. Luckily Amy survives and Jo is spared the regret of having disowned a sister for a momentary lapse of judgement.
And while no one in the family can fault angelic Beth, Jo ultimately must realize that her grief over her sickly sister’s illness and impending death have much more to do with her own heartbreak than her sister’s well-being. She also must come to the realization that no matter how much money she earns from her stories and no matter how many restorative seaside holidays she can pay for, Beth is still going to die. Jo’s need for control over situations and people often suppresses her ability to love them completely.
And even in her moments of self-sacrificing heroism (like when she cuts her hair), Jo is often much more scared and conflicted than she lets on.
Yet it is in these moments that she earns our adoration most of all. Here is a young woman plagued by so many recognizable flaws - selfishness, egoism, a need for control - and yet, she fights valiantly against the darker parts of her own nature, insisting on creating a life of meaning, purpose, and authenticity.
“I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle—something heroic, or wonderful—that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all, some day.”
- Jo March
The second instance of profound importance in the development of Jo’s character is the initial criticism she receives from Professor Bhaer and her reaction to it. Having moved to New York for a taste of la vie boheme Jo has been writing frantically. She has made new friends and is enjoying actually earning a decent amount of money from her writing. She has been selling stories of high drama involving fainting ladies, monsters, vampires, and exciting duels. Yet, during a German lesson with her new friend Professor Bhaer, she learns what he thinks of stories like hers. He dismisses a local newspaper for publishing sensational rubbish and actually accuses such writers of moral delinquency, filling young people’s heads with nonsense. Jo is deeply hurt. The Professor sees her blush and realizes his faux-pas.
Most modern readers hate this scene. They see the professor as an old fuddy-duddy trying to put Jo, a forward-thinking young woman, in her place. But while I may enjoy a good Gothic romance every now and then, I understand the Professor’s point. He knows Jo is a remarkably intelligent and capable woman. He knows she can do better.
While Jo’s initial reaction to the Professor’s comments is shock, anger, and bitterness, she ultimately is able to read her own work with fresh eyes. She realizes that while she may be paying the bills, she is not advancing as a writer. She knows she is capable of deeper, truer works of art. Jo is always pushing herself to do better and ultimately she appreciates those people in her life who challenge her.
I’m not going to attempt to tackle the Laurie v. Professor Bhaer debate here (I’m team Bhaer), but the important point here is that Jo is a woman who needs honest, challenging people in her life. I think many women, writers in particular, recognize this need for authentic mentors. Jo didn’t need someone to pat her on the back and tell her she did a good job; she needed someone who would give her an honest critique.
“Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.”
- Nora Ephron
So while many readers identify with Jo’s ambition and drive, ultimately it is her kindness, tenacity, and self-sacrificial nature that makes Jo March such an enduring literary figure.
Jo’s heroism is the normal sort. She may dream of fighting duels in foreign lands, but ultimately her greatest battles are with the very ordinary evils of anger, selfishness, and fear. I would argue it is this valiant battle in the realm of the mundane that makes Jo March everyone’s favorite heroine.
And when at last Jo and Professor Bhaer realize their love for one another, he is deeply moved -
"Ah! Thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty hands," cried the Professor, quite overcome.
Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, "Not empty now," and stooping down, kissed her Friedrich under the umbrella.
How we adore Jo in this scene! Her delightful boldness - for she ‘never would learn to be proper’ - and her insistence that all life’s burdens can be redeemed by open hands and open hearts. While Louisa May Alcott famously intended Jo to end up unmarried (like Alcott herself), I don’t think this scene detracts from Jo’s strength or independence. Even if Jo had ended up a successful single writer, her character development would still hinge on the love she was willing to give and receive. Jo’s vulnerability is part of what makes her brave.
Jo teaches us that our words have meaning. The stories we tell and the stories we live matter. With each adaptation of Little Women new audiences are rediscovering the endless allure of a woman in pursuit of greatness. Jo gives us permission to pursue authentic art and authentic love in a world often opposed to both.
“I like good strong words that mean something.”
- Jo March
We all want to be Jo March because in many ways,
in the most important ways, we already are.
This essay was originally published online on my website in 2020.
Listen to the Born of Wonder Podcast Episode: ‘Why We All Want to be Jo March’
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