Chapter Thirty Two

For the last few days (the final hours of my free life, before I am sentenced to an uncertain future that could either mean the dungeon, the garrote, the gallows or the guillotine), I had been immersing myself in Kate Douglas Wiggins’ Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.

Surprisingly enough, the story was reminiscent of Pollyanna, Heidi, Anne of Green Gables, Princess Sara and other tales which involve extraordinary young ladies, their struggle to fit into conservative society, and their inspiring victories at the end, in which, for some reason or another, they somehow capture everyone’s hearts and melt it on the spot.

They also seem to be paired with a best friend – other girls who are weaker and less attractive than they are, and who have no other purpose other than to keep the main character company all throughout the novel and to further emphasize the astonishing beauty of the leading ladies.

Apart from this, these young little charmers always have their own Madame Defarge – mean, strict old ladies, usually an aunt or a governess, that makes life miserable for them.

And of course, they have a prince charming which takes the form of older men who they turn to whenever the nasty Madame had done too much damage on their sensitive little hearts.

It’s not that I abhor these stories– it’s that I find the author a little too biased on the main character. It’s as if these little girls are their own representations of themselves when they were much younger and/or someone very dear to them. Simply put, these stereotypes are what I’d like to call the classic Mary Sues.

Despite my rather negative feedback, I actually enjoy reading historical novels like these. They put me into the shoes of young women growing up in the 19th century. They describe the scenery of Edwardian America (if there is such a thing) – the lush meadows, the spaces, the farms and the simple elegance of vintage style (buff calico dresses, pink sunshades with ivory handles, pinafores, frocks, etc.)

If there is an era I would like to visit, it would be the late 1800’s and the early 1900’s. I want to experience living in New England, just like Rebecca, or maybe in the West, just like Laura Ingalls Wilder (this one wasn’t too much of a Mary Sue; she was a bit modest in describing herself in the novel). I want to wear what they wore. I want to see the undisturbed beauty of nature before it was corrupted by technology.

Although, I’m quite sure, segregation was still on its prime and dark skinned races are not as welcome to partake in such luxuries. I might end up as a scullery maid of some sort. And since there is a lack of convenient inventions during that age, I might end up pumping water and lighting fires instead of turning on the faucet and switching on the heater.

I guess I’m better off where I am. Someday, however, I’d like to spend a day – no, a week – at a ranch somewhere south or off to the west (maybe in Colorado) and just enjoy simple elegance, and nature at its best.