Louisa May Alcott: Eccentric Artist or Centric Genius?
Transcendentalist. Feminist. Spinster. When it comes to the concept of the Centric Genius, Louisa May Alcott, the author of Little Women and many other novels, is not a neat and tidy case study. As discussed in a recent episode of the Believe to See podcast, after looking into Louisa’s life and temperament, one can make arguments from both sides of the Centric vs. Eccentric divide. The Alcotts, after all, were far from a “normal” 19th century family.
But that itself raises an important question: Are the most “centric” artists often products of profoundly countercultural communities?
While the greater danger for our time is the glorification of the eccentric, The Artist who stands on the fringes of society, there is another danger to avoid at the opposite extreme: the idea that in order for an artist to become “centric,” their life must be lived “correctly” in all areas and at all times. In other words, the centric artist is someone who experienced a healthy childhood and ideal family life, holds all the right convictions, and is a contributing member of a strong community. Their “good art,” therefore, is an extension of their own “goodness.”
But where does such a portrait of the artist leave those whose lives look a bit messier? And where does this ideal leave the door open for the unmerited work of the Holy Spirit and the outpouring of grace?
This isn’t to say that an artist shouldn’t be concerned with seeking Christ or moving toward goodness, truth, and beauty—or that right belief and moral conduct don’t matter (they do)—but what the opposite view can potentially miss (if taken to a rigid extreme) is the reality that great art is sometimes part of an artist’s way through dysfunction and disappointment.
In other words, it can be a way through the broken world as it actually is. Viewed in this light, the creative work itself may be a stop on the road from chaos to order, as well as one of the ways the sub-creator experiences healing and God’s mercy.
This is what makes Louisa May Alcott so intriguing. She, like all of us, is a broken vessel, but her particular brokenness is also what made her capable of writing a centric, timeless, and life-giving work like Little Women. Alcott was unorthodox in many ways, but in other areas (as an abolitionist and advocate for women’s suffrage, for example), she was likely moving toward a “center” that may have been considered radical at the time but was, in reality, more counterculturally Christian.
So, what do we make of this woman who created a wholesome classic, but whose actual life was often darker and more complicated? A woman who (intentionally) never married or gave birth, yet raised her sister’s orphan and was more committed to her immediate family than most? A woman who is known for her beloved children’s stories, but also wrote seedier pulp fiction on the side (and apparently enjoyed it)? Finally, how should we understand the Alcott family and their radical devotion to Gospel values like charity and justice—which they often took bold measures to live out—when their religious beliefs weren’t exactly orthodox Christianity?
For those of us who consider ourselves artists and writers, perhaps we can look at such an unusual life and find encouragement in the realization that Louisa May Alcott was a lot like us—searching for truth, but making mistakes along the way; seeking a community to commit to despite setbacks and relational disappointments; aiming to find a balance between making art that has meaning and earning an income that might support her impoverished family.
In fact, it’s in Alcott’s family that we are most likely to reach the root of any “centricity” in her creative work. Although Little Women is largely autobiographical, it’s an idealized version of Alcott’s childhood and relationships. While she did have three sisters and was close to her mother, Abigail (whom she really called Marmee, the basis for the pet name used in Little Women), her father, Amos Bronson Alcott, was much further down on the eccentric spectrum. An education reformer and Transcendentalist who hung around with New England thinkers like Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bronson Alcott was constantly looking for work, which meant his family moved about thirty times and lived in a state of perpetual poverty.
Just as Amy March bemoans in the recent Greta Gerwig film, “As a woman, I have no way to make money,” Louisa May Alcott also felt the pressure to ease her family’s financial burdens. When she realized she could make a decent income writing sensational stories for magazines, she began publishing under the pseudonym A.M. Barnard.
Perhaps the big lesson here is that spending your teenage years taking cold baths on a vegan commune your dad started (before veganism was even a thing) is bound to make a girl desperate to earn a living with her art!
In all seriousness, Bronson Alcott did acknowledge Louisa’s intelligence and independent spirit from an early age, and he did care about cultivating his daughters’ minds, just as he would have educated his sons. In addition to receiving this unusual education as a girl—one that included access to Emerson’s personal library—the bonds of love Louisa forged with her mother and sisters through the challenging life they endured is undoubtedly part of Little Women’s lasting ability to enchant.
So, is Louisa May Alcott an Eccentric Artist or a Centric Genius?
Maybe the answer is she’s a bit of both. For although Alcott challenged many social norms of her day, it doesn’t appear that she relished in being “an outsider.” And while her work isn’t explicitly motivated by an exalted ideal such as giving glory to God, it’s clear she was driven less by self-expression and more by the desire to both honor the quirky people she loved and give them a better life.
For most of us, that is a decent starting point on the journey toward the center.
Ashlee Cowles is the author of three novels that seek to inspire modern readers to find value in “old things.” She blogs on writing in the midst of motherhood at The Most Creative Thing.
Read More from the Centric Genius series
The modern romantic ideal of the artist is the eccentric genius; a loner, an outcast, different from everyone else. But no Christian exempted from the call to love his neighbor. This series explores the ingredients and avenues with which artist Christian can be a thriving part of the Body of Christ. View the whole series.
