Anne of Green Gables

Another Childhood Favorite Re-Read

What makes Anne a universally beloved and timeless heroine is her ability to find magic in the mundane.

Continuing my 2020 theme of re-reading teen and preteen, I picked up Anne of Green Gables as a soothing counterpoint to other emotionally stressful books I was reading (She Said by Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey and Know My Name by Chanel Miller — both about sexual assault). I read it for the first time when I was in sixth grade, around the same time I read Little Women — it was a ratty school library copy that many grubby hands had leafed through. This time around, I read the audiobook narrated by Kate Burton, and it was just as good (and cleaner).

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

I can appreciate Anne more now as an adult than I could at eleven. What struck me was how funny it was ­– both Anne herself and the narration. Anne’s grudge against and rivalry with Gilbert Blythe is amusing and relatable. I absolutely also had rage-fueled rivalries with boys at my school, that were entirely one-sided and extremely silly, but at the time like the driving force of my life. And Matthew’s shy attempts to buy a dress for Anne had me laughing on the tube. Instead of asking for some nice fabric, Matthew manages to only ask for a rake, some hayseed (both out of season), and some sugar. The last thread of mirth I found woven into the entire narrative is everyone’s absolute disdain for Americans. I have no idea if LM Montgomery meant this as an amusing characteristic of all of Avonlea, but I had to smile every single time.

As funny as it is, no one picks up Anne of Green Gables for the humor. What makes Anne a universally beloved and timeless heroine is her ability to find magic in the mundane. Before being adopted by Marilla and Matthew, Anne has had a pretty dark childhood, so it is not surprising she retreats into her imagination to make up for her grim realities. A tree-lined avenue becomes “The White Way of Delight” and a little stream becomes “The Dryad’s Bubble,” and Avonlea is transformed from a recognizable small town to an enchanting enclave, unlike anywhere else Anne’s optimism and flair for the dramatic are sometimes silly, but never cloying (I’m looking at you, Pollyanna). Next time, I won’t wait twelve years to read it again.