Little Women, Bad Audiobooks, and Feeeeeelings

Lately I've been listening to Little Women on CD when I'm in the car. I listened to a different recording of the book last fall, and liked it very much (I've re-read the book dozens of times since elementary school). This time it's frustrating me more, and also making me think more, for any number of reasons:

• First of all, the recording I'm listening to (Listening Library's "Library Edition," read by (if i recall correctly) Laura Reed Kate Reading -- I can't find it on Amazon) has one very good point and one very bad point.
  • Good point: The author's voice is very expressive, and she brings more lively and convincing intonation to the dialogue than I ever did in my own head.
  • Bad point: Due to (I assume) some sort of audiobook-copyrighting issues, many words are changed in this recording. It's only ever single words, so the recording is perfectly useful, though frustrating, to someone who's already familiar with the book, but it makes Louisa May Alcott and her characters sound hopelessly ignorant if you don't know it's an alteration. The most glaring examples are the words "doesn't" and "isn't," which are, without exception, changed to "don't" and "ain't" (does the real text of Little Women have a single "ain't" in it?)


• I am more frustrated by some of the book's values than I used to be. I still approve heartily of the praise the narrator and characters give to family love, homely virtues, and simple grace; on the other hand, hearing the book read aloud somehow makes it more obvious that, as the girls grow into women, they are more and more often praised for being "docile" and "submissive." When Meg grows frustrated and lonely from burying herself too much in her babies (a natural mistake, as her mother points out), she is encouraged to involve her husband more in the life of her home (which makes sense), make home a sweeter and more welcoming place for him, since he feels driven away by her preoccupation (also sensible), and to occupy and exercise her mind by absorbing herself in his interests (what?). Perhaps this advice is the most sensible thing, in context, since Meg's own interests seem to extend no further than the trimming of her bonnet -- but what happened to the talent and skill she must have been putting to use five or ten years before, when she was governess and teacher to the King children?


• Like many of Alcott's bookish readers, I still identify strongly with Jo, but her life seems unnecessarily, cruelly difficult, and she, too, is asked to give up her own dreams and become exclusively a caretaker of others (the problem, in my mind, is with this exclusivity, not the caretaking). Being strong and stubborn, Jo finds new ways to go after her lifelong passion, writing, and her long-established "love of lads" blossoms when she starts her school for boys (see Little Men for more examples of Jo's strength, and cultivation of other strong women, blossoming through her school).


• Beth is the only sister who is not asked to give up her dreams, but that is largely because she never really had any. The narrator (or the author herself?) seems as surprised as Jo to discover that "Beth's eighteen," and she seems to always remain the sweet child who was introduced in the first chapter.


• Particularly in the second half of the book, I find myself identifying more and more with Amy. She has a happier nature than I do, so at heart I still seem to be stormy Jo (who is largely Alcott herself, who in turn devoted herself to the happiness of May, her Amy-like sister, with a Jo-like sacrifice of her own wishes and dreams...). Still, Amy's work to cultivate grace and elegance and goodness all together seems better to me than Jo's determination to be miserable for others (which, thankfully, she seems to grow out of when the hardest times are past -- this suggests there may be hope for me as well). Perhaps my favorite of Alcott's characters is Rose, of Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom, and Amy seems like her in many ways.
  
  Today, in particular, I am jealous of Amy for the gushingly happy letters she and Laurie send home to the family when they are engaged in Switzerland. If I sent such letters home, I think my own beloved mother would be happy for me, but she'd also worry about my sanity. I don't know that I could, or would want to, match Amy's gushing style in that letter, but it would be nice to be able to speak more about my happiness, and particularly about my loves past and present. My family, and my own nature, are very down-to-earth and practical; being Irish and Scottish, we have very strong emotions, but we seldom speak of them directly; they're usually obvious enough, anyway, when we state our more "factual" opinions. Feelings and religion are family heirlooms, but also very private possessions.
  
  I am very happy indeed with Boyfriend; he is good to me and good for me. I tend to temporarily forget all this when I'm frustrated with him (which does happen often, since he is human and I have a short fuse), and I wonder if this would happen less if there were anyone but him to whom I could speak frankly about liking him.

This last point in particular seems to be my Question to Ponder for today. Those of you who are in serious relationships -- do you talk to other people about your spouse or significant other? If so, what sort of things do you say? Do you praise him or her? Do you complain about frustrations?