Doing Nothing

Just over a hundred pages into Little Women we encounter a scene that has resonated with me throughout the various stages of my life. Only recently, upon rereading the novel, did it also surprise me. The resonance resides on the narrative surface, the surprise in a single, gruesome detail. Because of this, I have come to think of this scene as a perfect encapsulation of Alcott at her very best.

The chapter is called "Experiments," and the drama is set in motion by the time of year—it's June, and each of the March girls is freed from the drudgery of the duties that consume her the rest of the year. They decide, as many overworked people do, that they want to "do nothing" on their vacation (92). In Meg's words, "I've been routed up early all winter, and had to spend my days working for other people; so now I'm going to rest and revel to my heart's content" (92). After getting permission from Marmee, the girls embark on their "experiment" (92), with Marmee's prediction that "by Saturday night you will find that all play, and no work, is as bad as all work, and no play" (93).

Even a first-time reader of Little Women knows where this is going. Because Meg sleeps late and goes shopping, Jo reads books all day, Beth plays the piano and cares for her dolls, and Amy draws, the house is messy and the days begin to feel too long. When Marmee also takes to her room and gives the servant the day off, there is the added disaster of no fire and badly prepared food. And so, in the end, the lesson is learned. "Work is wholesome," Marmee says, "and there is plenty for every one; it keeps us from ennui and mischief; is good for health and spirits, and gives us a sense of power and independence better than money or fashion" (99). All the girls agree.

Every time I so much as glimpse a break in my work life, I react like a March girl, saying I would give anything to stay in bed all day and do nothing. And every time I do this, I think of Marmee and want to prove that her lesson is flawed. I won't get bored, I tell myself. And I won't care if the papers, emails, and requests pile up. Her "work is wholesome" lesson is annoyingly know-it-all, and I resist the way it flattens out the reality of all kinds of labor. And so, of course, I also hate that after about forty-eight hours, as I haul myself back to my desk, I think of Marmee and the kernel of truth in her otherwise simplistic lesson.

But if it ended there, this wouldn't be Little Women. Smack in the middle of the "experiment," Beth's bird dies. When I recently reread the book, I nearly gasped out loud. I had to go back and read it again, for fear I hadn't read it right. I had forgotten, or blocked it out. The bird dies because, during their week of resisting household labor and thinking only of their own pleasure, Beth forgot to feed it. And Alcott doesn't tiptoe around this. She writes: "Jo hurried into the parlor to find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage, with his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food, for want of which he had died" (96). Although the girls hold a funeral for the bird and Jo composes a short poem in its honor, Pip's death does not feature explicitly in Marmee's final lesson. She doesn't ever say that if women don't do their work there will be dire consequences. She doesn't say it, because she doesn't have to.

All of which is to say, Alcott meant business. We might remember this scene, if we remember it at all, as a light and funny lesson that contributes to Marmee's mission to build the characters of her little women. But...