Blog Post Blast from the Past: Anne of Green Gables

My friend Brennan started a blog five years ago, and for a time several people, including The Professor and I, posted fairly regularly to it. The posts petered out after a while, but Brennan has started it back up again. (I hope he doesn't mind me mentioning that. He is taking our cat, after all, and I don't want to do anything to offend him.)

One week in 2005 all the blog participants were asked to contribute to Childhood Mythology Week, in which we each took turns writing about a particular story or series or anything else that would qualify as "mythology" from our childhood, thus trying to communicate our undying love for said mythology. My husband chose to write about his (still-) enduring love for the Transformers; Brennan wrote about Calvin and Hobbes. I wrote about Anne of Green Gables. (I had already written about Harry Potter--it's funny to remember dressing up as Severus Snape.)

I had a great time re-reading those old posts, and I wanted to share my Anne post with you guys here, because, despite five years separating the Christine of that post and the Christine of today's post, all of the things I had to say then ring true today. You can follow this link to the original post, or you can read the post in its entirety...now:

Original post:

I know that [The Professor] hinted at me possibly writing about Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia series for my part in Childhood Mythology Week, and he’s certainly correct in assuming that these books made a very deep and real impression on me from an early age, as I know they have for so many others. Indeed, my family is of staunch Lewis loyalist stock, best illustrated by our family codeword, “Reepicheep.” And my childhood myth will most certainly hinge on a book or series of books, because honestly, reading is all I have done since before kindergarten. But while Lewis taught me so much, one character in particular, over all others I so voraciously read about as a child, stands out as having a moving influence: Anne Shirley.

Yes, Lucy Maud Montgomery’s “Anne spelled with an e” won her way into my heart at an extremely young age. My mother first started reading the series to me when I was very young—I honestly cannot place any certain year on when we started. My parents have always held reading in the highest regard, and Charlotte’s Web, The Chronicles of Narnia, and the Anne series were some of the first chapter books they chose to read to us. I think that the Anne myth was certainly perpetuated by the fine movies, directed by Kevin Sullivan, which featured actors who so expertly embodied their characters that my critical imagination was outdone in its attempts to put faces to names and descriptions. I have read the entire series (eight books in all) countless times through, and I have such an intimate appreciation of Montgomery’s characters and situations that I could pick any one of the eight books at random, open any page of said book at random, and begin reading quite happily with a perfect understanding of the current situation and time frame. In fact, I have made it a habit for the last ten years or so to read as many books in the series as possible every summer. (This summer I skipped around a bit (I do have my favorites) and read all but numbers 2, 4, and 7.)

To try and impress upon you just how Anne made such an impact on me, I will resort to list-making. I am an eager list-maker and list-checker-offer, and this vehicle will best organize my thoughts and intentions:

1) Heroines can be intelligent, imaginative, and even prone to flares of temper.

Anne is certainly all three of these things, and her very sensitive nature which worshipped beauty, stillness, and truth only helped to enforce what my parents have always taught me about true feminine beauty and worth. She was never haughty about her intelligence, and her imagination could get her in trouble as she spun wild, elaborate fictions during her younger years. She was sensitive about her appearance, most notably concerning her red hair, which oftentimes led to outbursts of temper most noted by her sharp tongue. In short, she was real. I believed that I could also be a heroine while doing the most “ordinary” things, such as pursuing an education, marrying, and raising a family—Anne did it, so why not me?

2) Prince Edward Island is the most beautiful island in the world, and Avonlea is the most beautiful town on P.E.I.

I have never been to P.E.I. I visited Alberta as a very small child, which hardly qualifies, but let me tell you, it withers in comparison to P.E.I. And any charming, romantic, or quaint town that I have ever encountered will never stand up to the beauty that is Avonlea, despise its fictitious nature. People there are honest and kind, if not a little self-important from their thick family ties, and the red roads that lead to the shoreline are lined with folksy woods, crystal-clear lakes, and cozy home…with gables. My imagination lives nowhere else.

3) Women dressed so romantically in the early twentieth century.

This belief is sorely tested when I try to imagine petticoats and layers of skirts during the summer in Mississippi, but then I imagine myself in said attire in Avonlea and instantly I am cool and content. I wanted Anne’s puffed sleeves, trendy hairstyles (my mother always kept me in short hair to make it easy on herself), darling hats, and dainty shoes. Even now I would gladly regress to a time of long skirts and high collars in light of recent fashion statements. I admit that I do often forget just how women, even Anne herself, worked so hard during this time and that fancy-fancy clothes were reserved for calling on friends and evening parties. But then I think about riding in carriages to call on friends and attend parties at the White Sands Hotel, and all work is thrown aside.

4) Men are sensitive, kind, and patient.

Sometimes this belief, first represented in the character of Matthew Cuthbert and then ultimately embodied by Gilbert Blythe, is sorely tested, too. Both men loved Anne deeply and surely, and both were doggedly faithful to her, especially Gilbert. Because of a spat during Anne’s first day of school in Avonlea (he called her “Carrots” and she broke a slate over his head), she refused to talk to Gilbert for years. He remained faithful to her even then, and later on, after she had asked his forgiveness, declared his love for her. She refused him, and he still remained patient, again asking for her hand after four years of waiting. Even though she said “yes” this time, they then had to wait another three years for Gilbert to finish his medical degree! I was always deeply impressed by his faithfulness and believed that I deserved nothing less in a husband. (Note: I was not disappointed, but twenty-first century husbands are oftentimes very different from what I had expected.)

5) Every girl should have at least one bosom friend.

Just last week I told my mother that I was praying for “a bosom friend” here in Oxford, a notification that this belief has stuck fast. Diana and Anne were inseparable as girls and remained close as women in different towns with separate interests and families. Anne met many along the way who “belonged to the race of Joseph” (see Anne’s House of Dreams), and so she remained rich in love and friendship by always surrounding herself with such people. Every girl deserves that.

That is certainly a short list of things learned from Anne—they are merely the largest and broadest lessons from a myth that has shaped my perception and understanding of life. Perhaps I am a hopeless romantic. Perhaps I am idealistic. Perhaps I am “such a girl,” as [The Professor] said earlier when I told him of my post idea. Oh, well. I won’t deny such labels.