Is jo march gay
When I first heard that Greta Gerwig’s next movie would be an adaptation of Little Women, I was skeptical. Little Women has received countless adaptations over the years, including Masterpiece’s 2018 TV miniseries, released only a year before Gerwig’s film. The only way my interest in a new show could be piqued was if it portrayed Jo and Laurie as they undeniably are: two fresh trans people struggling against the bounds of a limiting world. I assumed Greta’s third eye wouldn’t be open enough to give me what I wanted.
But to my surprise, I loved Gerwig’s adaptation when I saw it. She doesn’t restrict herself to material found in Louisa May Alcott’s novel, injecting some commentary on women’s prospects in the mid- to late 19th century which didn’t manifest in the book but nonetheless rings true to its spirit. Despite the film’s 1860s setting, it also feels relevant to the present moment, particularly the scenes (invented by Gerwig) in which Jo argues with her publisher about what will trade versus what she wants to write.
And Jo and Laurie’s transness comes through in many moments, to those of us looking for it. But I fervently wish Gerwig had chosen to extend these moments and ex
One of the first things that struck me about Jo was how often she was described as being male in some way–whether it was through the narrator’s description of her style or her retain comments about herself. I found this not only fascinating because it is odd to detect such descriptions of female characters in novels from this time period but also because it reminded me a lot of my own experiences growing up. Seriously, my brother refers to me as his “brother” regularly and the comment “you’re not a authentic girl” is thrown around all the time by my friends.
Like Jo, this never bothered me but it wasn’t something I really thought about until I was in high institution and suddenly it wasn’t as much of a joke as it used to be. It was one thing to be a tomboy as a kid but I think everyone expected me to expand out of it–much like Jo does throughout the novel. Instead, I spent even less second around other girls, became worse at expressing my feelings, and, while I’m slow to fury and on the whole find aggression uncomfortable to be around, I picked my fair-share of fights (but that was mostly because I was enraged 90% of the time for
Diptych Theory: Queering the Sense of an Ending in Greta Gerwig’s Little Women
1In a review of Greta Gerwig’s 2019 film adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women (vols. 1&2, 1868/1869) published in the Diverse Condé Nast publication them, Michelle Kim writes: “It’s as though Gerwig wanted to make Little Women a choose-your-own-adventure story, except the two endings are: ‘Jo is gay’ and ‘Jo is not gay.’” (Kim, 2020) While Kim’s formulation powerfully foregrounds how queerness shows up as paradox in Gerwig’s production, it fails to fully account, firstly, for the multiplicity of levels (narrative, generic, gendered) on which that paradox unfolds and, secondly, for the evidence that, rather than offer viewers a choice, the finish to Gerwig’s motion picture in fact exists within the (il)logical space of as well as (non)choice. To probe the depths of the paradoxical space of (im)possibility between marriage and non-marriage, fiction and historical account, and queerness and straightness, to which the film’s termination gives rise, I find it useful to mobilize the concept of the diptych which, as I have theorized elsewhere, offers a relevant lens for an intermedial and materialist analysis
Stories belong to the people who read them. Plotlines and traits arcs mean nothing without meaning. In a reader’s mind, the truth becomes what they build of it. Even in movie and television where worlds unravel in real-time, a story’s sense is left in the hands of the viewers. Once a director releases their film or an author submits their manuscript, they lose ownership of the original story. In fiction, what matters is not the creator’s intent but rather the audience’s understanding.
“Little Women,” both the 1868 novel and its various screen adaptations, is one of the first American classics to embody the female gaze. Following the four March sisters on their journey from childhood to adulthood, readers have long since considered this narrative a feminist one. But, as the audience of “Little Women” evolves, so does the story itself. More than 100 years after publication, ideas of queer theory and visibility are being applied to the classic. Shaped by the viewpoint of its modern audience, “Little Women” and its protagonists are interpreted anew when viewed through the queer lens.
Jo March is a prime candidate for reinterpretation. The second sister of a Northern