#elizabeth sewall alcott

[princesssarisa]

What hair color did Beth March really have?

Well, the only surviving picture of Elizabeth Alcott is black-and-white, but it's obvious she had dark hair.

When the girls give Marmee a hair brooch for Christmas, it consists of "gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown hair." Presumably the gray hair is either some of Marmee's own hair or possibly Hannah's, while the golden hair is Amy's, the chestnut is Jo's, and the dark brown is both Meg and Beth's.

Of course in theory, Beth could have chestnut hair like Jo's, not necessarily dark brown. But based on how darkly shaded Lizzie Alcott's hair is in that black-and-white drawing – much darker-looking than her sister Louisa's chestnut hair is in photos – I assume she had dark brown hair like Meg's counterpart Anna, which they both inherited from their mother Abigail.

[fishyyyyy99]

"Reading these letters, and imagining Lizzie’s dead-eyed stare at nosy women on public transit and overbearing, fussing nurses—imagining her eating with relish and troubling herself about no one at all—I feel a kind of mourning setting in. More than thinking about beautiful, kind, faultless Beth, who chatted endlessly about goodness and piety and nothing at all, I imagine instead this wasted young woman—barely ninety pounds, her hair falling out, so goth she married death itself—calling herself a “little skeleton,” and chuckling at her own dark joke.

Lizzie’s family had a narrative about her, and it killed her. Not just once, but over and over again. A woman who lived and had thoughts and made art and was snarky and strange and funny and kind and suffered tremendously and died angry at the world becomes sweet, soft Beth. A dear, and nothing else."

[iwanthermidnightz]

What does Alcott even mean? I tried google and all I could find was some pretty 👯interesting👯 facts about a writer called Louisa May Alcott. Facts included:

- and the second of four daughters: Anna Bronson Alcott was the eldest; Elizabeth Sewall Alcott and Abigail May Alcott were the two youngest

- Alcott was an abolitionist and a feminist and remained unmarried throughout her life.

-As a child, she was a tomboy who preferred boys’ games.

This all might be totally unrelated but I’m not English/American and couldn’t find a explanation as to what Alcott means so I stumbled upon this instead

In this case, I think it’s a place rather than a persons last name. The Alcott. A physical or metaphorical place where a couple goes to relieve the glory days and to try to get that feeling back.

Reminds me of the cabin in cardigan/willow. Ivys house of stone. Cornelia Street. Big Sur. I could be going off on a completely wrong idea, so it will be interesting to see the lyrics when they come out. Can’t wait for this one! Any other ideas?

[ladyday93]

Lizzie Alcott Biography Watch Alert

Lizzie Alcott biography has a publisher! Author Susan Bailey, for whom author Louisa May Alcott (and her family) is her passion, has announced that she has found a publisher for her biography of Elizabeth (Peabody) Sewall Alcott (Alcox). It looks like it’s Mercer University Press. Mercer University, last known to me as the school that took out Duke University in the early rounds of the 2014 NCAA…

[19thcliteraryblog]

Louisa May Alcott (November 29, 1832 – March 6, 1888) was an American novelist, short story writer, and poet best known as the author of the novel Little Women (1868) and its sequels Little Men (1871) and Jo's Boys (1886). She was raised in New England, and she grew up among many well-known intellectuals of the day, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Henry David Thoreau.

It is also known that Alcott's family suffered from financial difficulties, and while she worked to help support her family from an early age, she also sought an outlet in writing. She began to receive critical success for her writing in the 1860s. Early in her career, she used pen names such as A. M. Barnard, under which she wrote lurid short stories and sensation novels for adults that focused on passion and revenge.

Alcott's most popular work published in 1868, Little Women is set in the Alcott family home, and is loosely based on Alcott's childhood experiences with her three sisters, Abigail May Alcott Nieriker, Elizabeth Sewall Alcott, and Anna Alcott Pratt. The novel was well-received at the time and is still popular today among both children and adults. It has been adapted many times to stage, film, and television.

Alcott was an abolitionist and a feminist and remained unmarried throughout her life. All her life she was active in such reform movements as temperance and women's suffrage.

[geniogirgentano]

Per motivi squisitamente tecnici arrivo solo oggi... #Repost @alcotts_orchard_house ・・・ We lovingly remember Elizabeth Sewall Alcott, who passed away on this day in 1858. Her sister, Louisa May Alcott, wrote a poem in her honor titled, “Our Angel in the House.” We share a small portion of it here: “Henceforth safe across the river I shall see forevermore A beloved household spirit Waiting for me on the shore...” With love, we think of you, sweet Lizzie, “Our Angel in the House.” #foreverandalways #remember #love #connection #sweet #thanks

[makethecloudsdisappear]

okay so I'm spamming you all with character research and I'm sorry but this is all so interesting and now I'm even more excited to play this character. 

[fyeahlittlewomen]

My dear Beth died at three in the morning after two years of patient pain. Last week she put her work away, saying the needle was too heavy ... Saturday she slept, and at midnight became unconscious, quietly breathing her life away till three; then, with one last look of her beautiful eyes, she was gone.

Louisa May Alcott, in her journal, on the death of her younger sister, Elizabeth

[princesssarisa]

Since the March sisters are based on the real-life Alcott sisters, and we have images of their real-life counterparts, these images should be helpful for picturing the March girls:

I wonder... What are the March sisters like?

Well... I mean their hair (👩), their eyes (👀), their bodies (🚶‍♀️) and some colors of their skin

The book provides good descriptions of them, both in the first chapter of Part I and in the first two chapters of Part II, with a few further details here and there.

Meg is very pretty by the standards of her era, pale skinned and full-figured (or "plump," which in those days was a positive descriptor, it didn't mean overweight), with soft, smooth, dark brown hair, big blue eyes, and pretty white hands that she's especially vain about.

Jo is tall, thin, and angular, with a "decided" mouth and a "comical" nose, although her features soften slightly as she grows up. Whether naturally or because she spends more time outdoors, her complexion is "brown" compared to her sisters'. She's also the only sister with gray eyes rather than blue, and she has thick, wavy chestnut brown hair that's considered her "one beauty."

Beth is small, rosy, and round-figured at first, but becomes thinner and paler as her health declines. Like Meg, she has smooth, dark brown hair and big, bright blue eyes. Based on their descriptions, I'd say that of all four sisters, she and Meg look the most alike.

Amy (when she grows up) is tall, slender, and statuesque, with curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin so pale that she's called "a regular snow maiden." Only her flat nose, wide mouth, and prominent chin prevent her from being an entirely classic beauty, much to her frustration. But those features give her face character.

[princesssarisa]

"Little Women" Posthumous Reunion: Final Resting Places of the People Behind the Novel and Its Adaptations

As a fan of the YouTube channel Hollywood Graveyard and the "Posthumous Reunion" pages on FindAGrave.com, I thought I would make a similar tribute to the people behind Little Women and its best-known screen adaptations. This is a guide to the burial sites (if they exist) of all the adaptations' leading actors and creative team members who have died, as well as those of the Alcott family and their friends, for anyone who hopes to visit them someday.

@littlewomenpodcast, @joandfriedrich, @thatscarletflycatcher

Arlington National Cemetery – Arlington, Virginia, USA

John Davis Lodge (John Brooke, 1933 film)

Cementerio de Benalmádena – Benalmádena, Spain

Paul Lukas (Friedrich Bhaer, 1933 film)

Ceder Hill Cemetery – Hartford, Connecticut, USA

Katharine Hepburn (Jo, 1933 film)

Cimitero Flaminio – Rome, Italy

Rossano Brazzi (Friedrich Bhaer, 1949 film)

Cimitiére Communal de Montrouge – Montrouge, France

May Alcott Nieriker (real-life Amy) (site unknown)

Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Glendale – Glendale, California, USA

Edna May Oliver (Aunt March, 1933 film)

June Allyson (Jo, 1949 film)

Elizabeth Taylor (Amy, 1949 film)

Robert Young (Mr. Laurence, 1978 miniseries)

George Cukor (director, 1933 film)

Mervyn LeRoy (director/producer, 1949 film)

Max Steiner (music, 1933 and 1949 films)

Adolph Deutsch (music, 1949 film)

Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Hollywood Hills – Los Angeles, California, USA

Jean Parker (Beth, 1933 film)

Leon Ames (Mr. March, 1949 film)

Holy Cross Cemetery – Culver City, California, USA

Mary Astor (Marmee, 1949 film)

Inglewood Park Cemetery – Inglewood, California, USA

Samuel S. Hinds (Mr. March, 1933 film)

Kensico Cemetery – Valhalla, New York, USA

Henry Stephenson (Mr. Laurence, 1933 film)

Mortlake Crematorium – Richmond, Greater London, England

Pat Nye (Hannah, 1970 miniseries)

Mount Hope Cemetery – Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, USA

Lucile Watson (Aunt March, 1949 film)

Oak Hill Cemetery – Lawrence, Kansas, USA

Alf Whitman (real-life Laurie)

Pleasant View Cemetery – Lyme, Connecticut, USA

Joan Bennett (Amy, 1933 film)

Savannah Cemetery – Savannah, Tennessee, USA

Elizabeth Patterson (Hannah, 1949 film)

Shiloh Cemetery – Shiloh, Illinois, USA

Mary Wickes (Aunt March, 1994 film)

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery – Concord, Massachusetts, USA

Louisa May Alcott (author and real-life Jo)

Abigail May Alcott (real-life Marmee)

Amos Bronson Alcott (real-life Mr. March)

Anna Alcott Pratt (real-life Meg)

John Bridge Pratt (real-life John Brooke)

Elizabeth Sewall Alcott (real-life Beth)

Henry David Thoreau (possible real-life Friedrich Bhaer)

Sparkman Hillcrest Memorial Park – Dallas, Texas, USA

Greer Garson (Aunt March, 1978 miniseries)

St. Leonard’s Churchyard – Hove, East Sussex, England

C. Aubrey Smith (Mr. Laurence, 1949 film)

Valhalla Memorial Park – North Hollywood, California, USA

Mabel Colcord (Hannah, 1933 film)

Westwood Village Memorial Park – Los Angeles, California, USA

Janet Leigh (Meg, 1949 film)

Cremated, Ashes Held Privately or Scattered

Frances Dee (Meg, 1933 film)

Douglass Montgomery (Laurie, 1933 film)

Peter Lawford (Laurie, 1949 film)

Patrick Troughton (Mr. March, 1970 miniseries)

Jean Anderson (Aunt March, 1970 miniseries)

Dorothy McGuire (Marmee, 1978 miniseries)

Richard Gilliland (Laurie, 1978 miniseries)

William Schallert (Mr. March, 1978 miniseries)

Virginia Gregg (Hannah, 1978 miniseries)

Angela Lansbury (Aunt March, 2017 miniseries)

Michael Gambon (Mr. Laurence, 2017 miniseries)

Sarah Y. Mason (screenwriter, 1933 and 1949 films)

Victor Heerman (screenwriter, 1933 and 1949 films)

Merian C. Cooper (producer, 1933 film)

Donated to Medical Science

Spring Byington (Marmee, 1933 film)

Unknown (Not Made Public or No Information Online)

Ladislas Wisniewski (real-life Laurie)

Richard Stapley (John Brooke, 1949 film)

Stephanie Bidmead (Marmee, 1970 miniseries)

Frederick Jaeger (Friedrich Bhaer, 1970 miniseries)

John Welsh (Mr. Laurence, 1970 miniseries)

John Neville (Mr. Laurence, 1994 film)

David Hempstead (screenwriter, 1933 film)

Elmer Bernstein (music, 1978 miniseries)

[princesssarisa]

More "Little Women" thoughts: Beth March and ableism (warning: very long)

@littlewomenchannel, @thatscarletflycatcher, @joandfriedrich

A few days ago, I was looking for articles about ableism in 19th century literature (because some of us casually do that sort of thing) when I came across this review of Little Women. It's a sad review: the author writes that Little Women was her favorite childhood book, but now, as an adult, she can't enjoy it anymore, because she's come to recognize the "ableism" of the portrayal of Beth's illness and death. As a chronically ill person herself, she used to enjoy identifying with Beth and looked to her as a role model. But now she realizes that this probably fed her own internalized ableism and taught her to suppress her feelings about her illness, because of the way Beth is admired for never complaining while she's sick. She also objects to the fact that Beth (a) has no ambitions or dreams for the future, as if sick people "aren't allowed" to have them, (b) is portrayed as "too good and pure for this earth," and (c) is used as "inspiration porn" to teach Jo and the other sisters to be better people.

I've written in the past about how much I dislike most of the commentary I've read about Beth's character. Without a doubt, critics tend to view her in ableist ways. But only in the past year, with this review as the culmination, have I considered that maybe her portrayal in the book itself is ableist. While I'm not chronically ill, I relate to Beth for different reasons, and I wish I could argue that her portrayal isn't ableist at all: not only for my own sake, but so the above reviewer could enjoy her former favorite book again. But that's impossible to argue. Still, I'd like to take some time to look at Beth's portrayal, through the lens of disability, illness, and premature death in fiction, and the complexities of how it handles those issues.

There's no denying that the book uses Beth's illnesses as a device to inspire growth in the other characters. In Part I, her scarlet fever is written chiefly as an ordeal for Meg, Jo, and Amy, which serves their coming-of-age journeys, and in Part II, her final illness and death once again serve the others' development. Namely by teaching Jo to be kinder and more patient, by reviving Jo's writing career as she works through her grief by turning back to her pen, and by finally bringing Amy and Laurie together as a couple. Of course using a sick or disabled character's suffering and death mainly to serve the healthy, able-bodied characters' personal growth is an ableist tradition, just like the "women in the refrigerator" trope (sacrificing female characters for male characters' development) is sexist.

There's also the fact that Beth is admired, both by Jo and by Louisa May Alcott's narrator voice, for being patient and uncomplaining throughout most of her sickness (though not through all of it– more on that below), rarely even asking for help or care, and "trying not to be a trouble" even as she nears death. Of course we should question the old tradition of glorifying people, especially women and girls, who efface themselves for others and who never complain no matter how much they suffer. Whether their suffering is illness, abuse, poverty, or anything else, the old-fashioned model of "bearing it cheerfully" should definitely be questioned. A chronically ill person should be allowed to fully express their pain and anger. And Beth's real-life model, Louisa May Alcott's sister Elizabeth "Lizzie" Alcott, was angry about her fatal illness – allegedly she became prone to uncontrollable rages in her painful last year of life, which her sister left out of Beth's decline to give her a more socially acceptable "good Christian death." The pressure to never complain, to "try not to be a trouble," and to be a role model of bravery for friends and family is a burden that no sick or disabled person needs! Yet as the above book review made clear, Beth's portrayal can potentially put that pressure on a sick or disabled reader. Just because it was common and accepted in the 19th century to portray illness and death this way doesn't make it any less ableist than it would be from a modern author.

Yet Beth's storyline is more than just a string of ableist 19th century illness tropes. To view it that way requires ignoring its context, both in Alcott's personal life and in the literature of her era.

First of all, there's the fact that Beth is based on a real person, Alcott's beloved sister. She's an idealized portrait, but she's still based in truth. Alcott didn't create a sickly fictional character just to kill off for the sake of the other characters' growth; Beth becomes chronically ill because Lizzie became chronically ill, and she dies because Lizzie died. By idealizing her as Beth and by portraying her life and death as inspiring her family and friends to become better people, Alcott meant to pay tribute to her sister – and maybe it also filled a need within her to find some meaning in her sister's suffering and in such a terrible, unfair loss. Of course just because Alcott loved her sister doesn't mean she couldn't have been ableist toward her, and just because she meant Beth's portrayal as a tribute doesn't mean it can't include problematic tropes. But the context is important to remember.

Besides, while Beth might seem like a figure of old-fashioned, syrupy sentimentality by modern writing standards, I would argue that compared to similar sweet, doomed female characters in other books of the same era, her portrayal is fairly progressive.

19th century fiction is full of angelic young girls, either children or teenage maidens, who, after short lives of gentle, selfless piety, waste patiently away from a drawn-out illness, and then die a "good Christian death," leaving their loved ones to become better people by their example. Two others I know besides Beth, and whom Alcott knew too, are Helen Burns in Jane Eyre and Evangeline "Little Eva" St. Clare in Uncle Tom's Cabin. (Anyone who calls Beth's death "the most maudlin death in 19th century literature" hasn't read Eva's!) Another famous example would probably be Charles Dickens' Little Nell from The Old Curiosity Shop, but I haven't read that book yet. Fairly often these characters seem to have been written as tributes to young girls in the authors' own families who had died: for example, Charlotte Brontë based Helen Burns on her sister Maria, while Dickens based Little Nell on his teenage sister-in-law Mary Hogarth. In some ways Beth is a classic example of this trope: that I'll grant. But I would argue that she's a complex example. I sincerely think Alcott set out to portray her as less of a romanticized paragon who exists to inspire others and more of a real human being than earlier authors' doomed angel-girls.

Beth is framed as a co-protagonist with her three sisters, not as a supporting character like Helen Burns or Eva St. Clare. This gets lost in the adaptations that focus more exclusively on Jo, but the book is called Little Women and not Jo for a reason. In Part I, despite idealizing her more than the other sisters and sometimes holding her up as their role model, Alcott still makes a point to say that Beth was "not an angel but a very human little girl." Just like her sisters, she dislikes tedious chores. She can be irresponsible, namely when her pet bird dies after she forgets to feed him for days. She can be moody, though it tends to manifest as tears or headaches instead of the angry snapping her sisters indulge in. And she has one big "burden" that she actively struggles with: her overwhelming shyness. She isn't a static character who inspires growth in others without needing to grow herself. Even though her flaws are minor, the idea that Alcott meant her to be a symbol of perfect goodness, too pure for this earth, doesn't ring true.

Her illnesses are also portrayed with a degree of harsh realism that sets her apart from the saintly dying girls in other books. The tuberculosis that kills both Helen Burns and Eva St. Clare is just a slow, gentle weakening with occasional coughs. But Beth's scarlet fever is frightening, both for her sisters and for herself, and her final illness, although vaguely described, is emphatically painful. Her body becomes a "prison-house of pain," as Jo writes, and her formerly calm, uncomplaining demeanor crumbles in a "rebellious" period of physical and emotional torment, horrible for her family to watch. This was clearly the phase when in real life, Lizzie Alcott became prone to fits of rage and dependent on drugs to manage both her pain and her moods; even though Little Women cuts those uglier details, we still feel the tumult, which isn't negated by the fact that it eventually passes and Beth's last days are peaceful.

More importantly, even though Alcott admires Beth for rarely complaining, she still allows her to be miserable about her condition, and the journey of coming to terms with it is Beth's own journey, not just her family's. Helen Burns and Eva St. Clare both serenely embrace death and look forward to heaven. But Beth? She's distraught to have her happy life cut short. True, she tries to resign herself and hide her sadness from her family, but it's clear that she's deeply depressed, and in two different scenes she breaks down crying in Jo's arms (first in bed, before she admits the reason why, and later at the beach after her reveal that she knows she's doomed). Only gradually, over the course of a year and after the above-mentioned period of anguished "rebellion," does she find inner peace, partly thanks to her religious faith, but thanks even more to the loving care and support her family gives her. She's not just a brave role model who makes peace with her fate all alone.

Now, about her lack of dreams and ambitions... This is entirely personal, but never once have I viewed this aspect of Beth's character as Louisa May Alcott "not allowing her" to dream and aspire the way her sisters do. I've always seen it as just a part of her personality, probably taken straight from Lizzie Alcott. Of course I don't know if this is true or not: for all I know, Lizzie did have grand plans for her future which her failing health shattered, and Louisa just chose to give Beth no ambitions to make her a better foil to Jo and/or to make her death less cruel. But why assume that? It's more than possible that even if Lizzie had been healthy and lived long, she really would have been content to stay with her parents until they died, then gone to live with one of her sisters afterward, and chosen to devote her life to taking care of her family.

This is probably a good time to discuss why I relate to Beth. I've written about it before, but it's important, and it explains why I've never viewed her a just a cardboard saint, nor viewed the portrayal of her illness and death as just "inspiration porn."

Even before she becomes chronically ill, Beth is different, and not just by being angelic. "She lived in a happy world of her own," Alcott writes in Part I, "only venturing out to met the few whom she trusted and loved." As late as age fourteen, she still plays with dolls, treats them as if they were alive, and has imaginary friends. She's also been homeschooled, because her social anxiety made the classroom unbearable for her; Alcott describes her shyness as "her infirmity," implying that it's not just a character flaw, but a disability. She never wants to get married, and not only does she have no worldly ambitions, she never even wants to leave her parents' house. Her fondest wish is to "stay at home safe with Father and Mother" forever – a wish that comes true in the saddest possible way, as she dies without ever having left the nest. Yet she's not just a childlike figure, as she has high emotional intelligence from a young age, and she even composes her own music to play on the piano. From a modern perspective, it's easy to read her as neurodivergent, and it seems more than likely that Lizzie Alcott would be diagnosed as neurodivergent if she lived today. As an autistic person, I see so much of myself in Beth... and that includes her lack of ambition. Leave the safety and familiarity of home? Live far from my family, the only people who really understand me? Go out into the big, unknown, anxiety-causing world? Give up my comfortable daily routine to make massive life changes? Not me, unless I have no choice!

This is why, when I first read the book, I found it beautiful that this odd, shy, sickly homebody of a girl, so easy to overlook or dismiss, is ultimately so adored and admired. Even though she doesn't sparkle in society, or defy gender norms, or have grand ambitions, or win any man's romantic love, and even though she dies so young and would probably have never "achieved" much or lived a "normal" life anyway, she's still valuable. Her kindness, her selflessness, and the love she gives to others are enough. Her low self-esteem ("stupid little Beth") and her regret for not doing more with her life are proven wrong, as during her sickness her family and friends reveal just how much she means to them, and even after her death she still makes a positive impact, as her sisters resolve to follow her example of selfless kindness and as she inspires Jo's writing. Of course it's not her job to inspire them, but is it really so problematic that she does?

Still, I've struggled with one possibly ableist aspect of Beth's characterization: the fact that, when she confesses to Jo that she knows she's dying, she suggests that "it was never intended that I should live long." Because she's never had any desire to leave her parents' home and live a "normal" adult life, she reluctantly views her impending death as "for the best." At least it's only Beth herself who says this and not Alcott's narrator voice or any other character; but unfortunately, no one argues against it either. I'd like to think that this speech only voices Beth's low self-esteem (possibly her own internalized albleism), which her family's love, care, and gratitude toward her refute. But the possibility stands that Alcott did rationalize Lizzie's death by thinking she wouldn't have been suited to a long life because she never quite "grew up," and that she expected us to view Beth's death in the same way.

Last spring, I had my first real health crisis since early childhood. For reasons I still don't fully know (probably genetics combined with weight gain and anxiety from two years of living in a pandemic), my blood pressure went dangerously high, and I spent two days in the hospital and still have to take stabilizing pills. In my hospital bed, afraid for my life, I found myself thinking "Maybe I'm like Beth. Maybe I'm not meant to live long. I've never held a full-time job, I can't even drive, socializing is hard, I still depend on my parents and I don't know what I'll do when they're gone, I'm oversensitive, and I feel so much younger than I am. I want to live, but maybe I'm just not suited to this world." Of course that was irrational, fear-based thinking. But it showed me that I have some internalized ableism, and that Beth's view of herself as destined to die young because she's different... doesn't exactly make it better. Just like her self-effacing patience and her role of serving her sisters' character development fed the internalized ableism of the linked review's author. While it hasn't made me dislike Beth or Little Women, it did force me to view her storyline as more of a "problematic fave" than I did before.

At any rate, though, I think the book's portrayal of Beth is much less ableist than most commentary written about her. From critics who insist that she is a symbol of perfect, ethereal goodness that can't survive on earth, to those who wholeheartedly agree that she dies because she's "unable to grow up," to those who view her sisters' admiration for her as inherently anti-feminist, I've read more bad remarks about Beth than I can stand! The worst is when so-called feminist critics conflate Beth's frail health both with her home-centered life and with her gender presentation, and think they're being progressive by saying, for example, "She's killed by her traditional femininity, which makes her too weak to survive," or "She has to die because her life has no meaning outside the home and a modern woman's life needs more meaning than that." Comments like those will always make me angry, but I don't blame Alcott's writing for them. I don't think those were the messages she meant to send.

So what conclusion should I draw from all this? Well, for one thing, I have to admit that Beth's storyline is a "problematic fave" for a disabled or chronically ill reader. I can't claim it's free from ableism and I understand why there's backlash against it. But I won't join fully in the backlash just yet. Alcott's use, and arguable subversion, of ableist tropes in Beth's characterization is complex. I think it's a topic that deserves to be discussed and explored, not used as a reason for readers who relate to Beth to dismiss Little Women altogether.

[ladyday93]

Lizzie as you have never seen her before

Lizzie as you have never seen her before

There is an author who is presently writing a bio of Elizabeth (was Peabody until Daddy changed it to Sewall) Alcott. Long known as the shy sister who died first and forever immortalized as Beth in her sister’s novel ‘Little Women, ‘ Susan Bailey seeks to uncover the hidden depths of this overlooked Alcott sister in a biography-likely the 1st to be done that focuses on her. I’ve followed this…

[makethecloudsdisappear]

historians call Elizabeth Sewall Alcott (the "real-life Beth") the "shadow sister" because she's much harder to research than her other sisters because her letters and journals are not as detailed 

just so you all know, I am adopting the nickname "shadow sister."