Although it seems merely picturesque at first, the story of the March sisters unabashedly addresses timeless and important truths and experiences in the lives of young ladies — or “little women” as Mr. March calls his daughters. From peer pressure, pride, and bad temper, to birth, marriage, and death, few stones are left unturned. One particular stone worth turning concerns how the novel — and the 2019 adaptation — deals with death and grief.

Partway through the novel, Beth contracts scarlet fever while visiting a poor family nearby. Although she comes close to death, Beth nevertheless survives her illness. While the disease does not take Beth’s life, it seems to take her strength, and even after her convalescence, she remains frail and weak. Her older, headstrong sister Josephine (commonly called Jo) takes it upon herself to care for Beth, sparing nothing in the hope that her sister will again grow strong.

Despite the efforts lovingly lavished on her, Beth’s health eventually deteriorates, and she passes away. The depiction of her death, though, is infused with a sense of hope; although the process of dying is clearly painful, both for Beth and for her family as they care for her, it is not without a certain sense of peace. Here, in fact, is a very intimate glimpse into the traditional Christian worldview: although Beth’s family mourns her, they realize that death is not the enemy. Rather, they look upon her leaving this world as a sort of home-going, a carefully prepared-for journey understood as a flight from her loving temporal family to the best of Fathers in eternity. That is, while Beth’s passing definitely causes pain to those who love her, they receive great consolation from their hope in the promise of Heaven and in Beth’s peaceful repose with Christ, like those gone before her in faith. This hope, however, is a precious gift that is sadly lost in our modern society, a loss that is apparent in the 2019 film version of Little Women.

Firstly, as stated by the film’s Daily Volcano editor, an assumption is made that the original novel requires marriage or death of all of its heroines merely for reasons of social propriety: the novel’s heroine is expected to be dead or married by the end of the book because that’s what people expect to read, and because polite society considers it unthinkable for an unmarried woman to be successful and happy. This is because members of society at large are all under the thumb of repressive social mores. In short, had Alcott not been brainwashed by the Victorian worldview, she would have done things this way.

On the contrary, this interpretation exposes the filmmakers’ deep misunderstanding of Alcott and her novel. The real Louisa May Alcott was no prim China aster, raised on governesses and high-buttoned collars. In fact, her parents were heavily involved in the Transcendentalist movement, with her father frequently beginning new idealistic ventures that rarely, if ever, bore fruit. Among these were an integrated school for boys and girls that was forced to close when it began to welcome children of color, and a short-lived vegetarian commune where a young Louisa and her sisters were encouraged to wear short tunics and pants, rather than the customary dresses. As a result, when the famous author was yet a young girl, her family often faced grinding poverty as well as gossip; far from being well-respected, Alcott herself was accustomed to being considered odd. It is unlikely that Alcott was overly worried about appearing strange to her neighbors or to American society at large. Could societal expectations have had some influence on her decision to give Jo a rather conventional ending? Certainly; conventional endings do sell, and authors understandably want to make money and feed their families. Thus, Alcott’s choice of happily-ever-after may, upon its writing, have been nothing more than a smart business decision. In this case, however, what sells books also communicates a deeper truth.

Far from being repressed or stuck in a conventional box, Jo, like the author who created her, continually asserts her independence: she rejects a terrible marriage proposal, lives on her own in New York, and even finds some limited success as a writer. Jo’s friendship with Professor Bhaer during this time in New York also brings her great joy and, in short, we may perhaps consider Josephine March a “liberated woman.” This independence, however, does not make her happy, and she longs for her family and her home. When Beth’s illness and eventual death strikes, Jo puts all of her fierce determination into providing for her sister and her family: Jo becomes Beth’s primary caregiver and, after Beth’s passing, Jo takes over her sister’s former place in the house, doing much hard domestic work. Beth’s death is, of course, devastating to Jo. The excruciating pain of losing her sister forces a change in Jo: her grief colors everything in her world, at least temporarily. This is to be expected; it would be a cruel and bizarre person who remained completely unaffected at the death of a beloved sister, especially one on whom she had lavished so much love and care. The threat for Jo, however, is that she will abandon her hopes for future joy. That is, there exists a danger of Jo allowing her grief to have too strong a pull over her, closing her off to divine grace. Again, Jo’s resilience here shines through, as our heroine does not remain paralyzed.

Even before Beth dies, Jo takes the first step towards healing when she writes the poem “My Beth”, and uses the talents God has given her to channel her pain into something beautiful. After the funeral, Jo’s healing continues in her close relationships with both her parents; in sharing their sorrow, all three find hope and consolation. Finally, when Jo allows the memories, both happy and painful, to wash over her in her writing of the novel about the March girls’ childhood, she faces her grief head-on with the hope of eternal life. Beth is not gone forever; she is merely gone on before the rest of her family. Sending such a precious story out into the world to be published, read, and critiqued exemplifies the fact that grief no longer holds sway over Jo, and that hope now helps to sustain her. Professor Bhaer, though at a great geographic distance, recognizes this action of grace when Jo’s writings again begin to be published.