Louisa Alcott - Little Men - Life at Plumfield with Jo’s Boys

Little Men

In Little Men (1871), Alcott has effectively written a sequel to Little Women. However, this time Alcott investigates the rite of passage from boyhood to manhood and how masculinity is expressed and interpreted.

The plot covers a six-month period as a number of boys attend the recently established Plumfield boarding school, run by Jo from Little Women. They are a motley crew of varying personalities, and Alcott experiments with the interplay of their relationships. The book demonstrates Alcott’s concept of an ideal school, in which children are treated as individuals and encouraged to express themselves. One such example of this is that the children each have their allotted gardens and their own pets, as if they are young adults.

A character named Dan is brought into the story to mix things up. He is a streetwise orphan who decides that the other boys need to experience a few vices, so he introduces them to drinking, smoking, and gambling. He also encourages them to swear and fight one another. He is consequently expelled, but his rough edges are eventually rounded off and he takes the role of curator in the natural history museum at the school.

As with all of Alcott’s material, Little Men is not a literary novel, but it does make some degree of social comment, especially as it demonstrates that children from disadvantaged backgrounds can be turned into achievers if given the right environment and encouragement. This was in marked contrast to the general Victorian view that the underclass only had themselves to blame for their circumstance.

This humanitarian view, espoused by Alcott, was important in reforming the consensus on the role of education in society and the government’s responsibility for delivering that education. In 1870 the Elementary Education Act was passed in England, which set the ball rolling. Then the Education Acts of 1902 and 1918 established the basic framework upon which state schooling is run to this day. Schooling went from something only the privileged classes could afford to a legal right for all in society. The bottom line was a realization that society is better served when all people have the potential to learn the basics, such as reading, writing, and arithmetic. In addition, individuals with useful talents are rendered able to demonstrate their abilities and enjoy success.

By placing her characters in such a school, Alcott had set parameters to contain them, both physically and psychologically. It was rather like seeding a Petri dish to see how organisms would grow and interact within the confines. This was a useful devise for Alcott, as it enabled her to manage her characters as if they were players entering and exiting a stage.

“Please, sir, is this Plumfield?” asked a ragged boy of the man who opened the great gate at which the omnibus left him.

“Yes. Who sent you?”

“Mr. Laurence. I have got a letter for the lady.”

“All right; go up to the house, and give it to her; she’ll see to you, little chap.”

The man spoke pleasantly, and the boy went on, feeling much cheered by the words. Through the soft spring rain that fell on sprouting grass and budding trees, Nat saw a large square house before him a hospitable-looking house, with an old-fashioned porch, wide steps, and lights shining in many windows. Neither curtains nor shutters hid the cheerful glimmer; and, pausing a moment before he rang, Nat saw many little shadows dancing on the walls, heard the pleasant hum of young voices, and felt that it was hardly possible that the light and warmth and comfort within could be for a homeless “little chap” like him.

“I hope the lady will see to me,” he thought, and gave a timid rap with the great bronze knocker, which was a jovial griffin’s head.

A rosy-faced servant-maid opened the door, and smiled as she took the letter which he silently offered. She seemed used to receiving strange boys, for she pointed to a seat in the hall, and said, with a nod:

“Sit there and drip on the mat a bit, while I take this in to missis.”

Nat found plenty to amuse him while he waited, and stared about him curiously, enjoying the view, yet glad to do so unobserved in the dusky recess by the door.

The house seemed swarming with boys, who were beguiling the rainy twilight with all sorts of amusements. There were boys everywhere, “up-stairs and down-stairs and in the lady’s chamber,” apparently, for various open doors showed pleasant groups of big boys, little boys, and middle-sized boys in all stages of evening relaxation, not to say effervescence. Two large rooms on the right were evidently schoolrooms, for desks, maps, blackboards, and books were scattered about. An open fire burned on the hearth, and several indolent lads lay on their backs before it, discussing a new cricket-ground, with such animation that their boots waved in the air. A tall youth was practising on the flute in one corner, quite undisturbed by the racket all about him. Two or three others were jumping over the desks, pausing, now and then, to get their breath and laugh at the droll sketches of a little wag who was caricaturing the whole household on a blackboard.

In the room on the left a long supper-table was seen, set forth with great pitchers of new milk, piles of brown and white bread, and perfect stacks of the shiny gingerbread so dear to boyish souls. A flavor of toast was in the air, also suggestions of baked apples, very tantalizing to one hungry little nose and stomach.

The hall, however, presented the most inviting prospect of all, for a brisk game of tag was going on in the upper entry. One landing was devoted to marbles, the other to checkers, while the stairs were occupied by a boy reading, a girl singing a lullaby to her doll, two puppies, a kitten, and a constant succession of small boys sliding down the banisters, to the great detriment of their clothes and danger to their limbs.

So absorbed did Nat become in this exciting race, that he ventured farther and farther out of his corner; and when one very lively boy came down so swiftly that he could not stop himself, but fell off the banisters, with a crash that would have broken any head but one rendered nearly as hard as a cannon-ball by eleven years of constant bumping, Nat forgot himself, and ran up to the fallen rider, expecting to find him half-dead. The boy, however, only winked rapidly for a second, then lay calmly looking up at the new face with a surprised, “Hullo!”

“Hullo!” returned Nat, not knowing what else to say, and thinking that form of reply both brief and easy.

“Are you a new boy?” asked the recumbent youth, without stirring.

“Don’t know yet.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nat Blake.”

“Mine’s Tommy Bangs. Come up and have a go, will you?” and Tommy got upon his legs like one suddenly remembering the duties of hospitality.

“Guess I won’t, till I see whether I’m going to stay or not,” returned Nat, feeling the desire to stay increase every moment.

“I say, Demi, here’s a new one. Come and see to him;” and the lively Thomas returned to his sport with unabated relish.

At his call, the boy reading on the stairs looked up with a pair of big brown eyes, and after an instant’s pause, as if a little shy, he put the book under his arm, and came soberly down to greet the new-comer, who found something very attractive in the pleasant face of this slender, mild-eyed boy.

“Have you seen Aunt Jo?” he asked, as if that was some sort of important ceremony.

“I haven’t seen anybody yet but you boys; I’m waiting,” answered Nat.

“Did Uncle Laurie send you?” proceeded Demi, politely, but gravely.

“Mr. Laurence did.”

“He is Uncle Laurie; and he always sends nice boys.”