{"id":5213,"date":"2006-08-25T07:20:01","date_gmt":"2006-08-25T11:20:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=5213"},"modified":"2026-04-13T20:46:33","modified_gmt":"2026-04-14T00:46:33","slug":"the-books-anne-of-green-gables-l-m-montgomery","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=5213","title":{"rendered":"The Books: Anne of Green Gables<\/i> (L.M. Montgomery)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Daily Book Excerpt: YA\/children’s books:<\/p>\n

\"1030040.jpg\"Next book on the shelf is Anne of Green Gables (Modern Library Classics)<\/a>\"\"<\/i> by L.M. Montgomery.<\/p>\n

Buh-bye, Madeleine. Hello, Lucy Maud. Two of my obsessions back to back. Life is good. By the way, I went to Amazon to find a link to the book “Anne of Green Gables” – just flat out the book – just THE BOOK – and literally had a hard time finding a link to it. It has been so taken over – I;’ve seen copies of it that are abridged – ABRIDGED – it’s not a long book to begin with!! Or dumbed-down vocabulary versions – for kids who have never heard of a dictionary. There are also Anne of Green Gables cookbooks, and journals, and audio books – and look, fine, you people are making a ton of money off of this industry, while Lucy Maud sleeps peacefully (God willing – and God knows she deserved it, after her miserable life) in her grave – but at LEAST let the first link on your stupid page be a link to, you know, THE ACTUAL BOOK THAT STARTED THIS WHOLE THING. HER book, not your dumbass abridged versions, or your dumbed-down “my first classics” versions. How ’bout giving me a link to HER BOOK? The one that compelled Mark Twain (MARK TWAIN) to write her a letter and say that “Anne is one of the immortal girls of literature, just like Alice …” How ’bout that? I was pissed off scrolling through until page 9 or 10 to find a straight link to her actual book – with no doo-dads of gee-gaws or bric-a-brac added to it.<\/p>\n

I got a comment rom an irate Canadian when I said I loved this book – this was long ago on this blog. The irate Canadian wrote in mostly caps: “YOU LIKED THIS BOOK? Canadians HATE this book!” I said to the irate Canadian that although it is hard to believe, I do not choose my beloved books using the criteria: Whether Or Not Canadians Would Approve.<\/p>\n

The importance of this book in my life runs on multiple levels – first of all, it’s flat out a great book. Anne is an amazing character – a complete original – I mean, once you meet that girl, you can never EVER forget her. She is emblazoned upon my brain. And it’s also one of those books where – certain episodes seem to never fade from my mind. It’s an episodic book – of the kind people don’t really write anymore – and some of the episodes are now considered classic:<\/p>\n

Anne dyeing her hair green
\nAnne getting Diana drunk by accident
\nThe mouse drowned in the pudding
\nSmashing her slate over Gilbert’s head when he calls her “carrot top”
\nPuffed sleeves<\/p>\n

I mean, I could go on and on. L.M. Montgomery has woven some sort of spell – you literally watch this girl grow and change – You love her SO much, and there are times when you laugh out loud at some of the problems she causes, or some of the things she does – but … it’s never cute, or too moralistic, or too NEAT. Anne is strictly a human girl. She’s not a lesson-to-be-taught, she’s not a symbol. She LIVES.<\/p>\n

Basically, the plot is: Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert are an elderly brother and sister, who live on a farm on Prince Edward Island. Their house is called Green Gables. They are in their 60s, and they figure they need some help on the farm – so they send to an orphanage for a young boy. They could raise him properly, but mainly – he could grow up to be a perpetual hired hand,. Some sort of fatal error occurs, the message is mixed up – and a girl is sent. A young fantasist with long carrot-orange braids – named Anne Shirley. An orphan. Who has had a hard-knock life so far, being shuffled about as a servant girl in horrible situations. A brou-haha ensues. Marilla is strict, stern (what an awesome character she is, huh??) … eventually, of course, Anne stays.<\/p>\n

The story is also about – how love can transform you. Marilla and Matthew find themselves LOVING this girl. For Matthew it is easy to love her. He is quiet, shy, kind, and just basically falls in love with Anne immediately. Marilla is a bit of a tougher nut to crack. “What use would she be to us???” she says sternly to Matthew. Matthew replies, ‘We might be of some use to her.”<\/p>\n

So Anne stays.<\/p>\n

This is a classic book of literature – even with all the brou-haha surrounding it – even with the INDUSTRY now devoted to keeping the Anne of Green Gables thing going – come hell or high water … It’s a classic book. Mark Twain was right. Anne Shirley is one of the “immortals”.<\/p>\n

Also, it’s Lucy Maud’s first novel. Way to hit it out of the park, LM.<\/p>\n

One of the funniest parts of the book is watching Marilla – strict practical Marilla – try to deal with Anne … especially in the beginning. Marilla has never been married, she doesn’t have experience with kids anyway … but this type of child? The type of child who lives in a fantasy world and who literally can talk for 20 minutes straight without a pause? Marilla has a hard time with that.<\/p>\n

Here’s an excerpt from the beginning of the book. Anne has just arrived. There is the brou-haha over her gender. Anne stays at Green Gables until the mistake can be sorted out. Marilla realizes, through experiencing Anne a bit, that she is almost a primitive child – like: she has not been brought up at ALL. She has all sorts of heathen-ish ideas about God and prayer – she hates church – she makes no bones about saying anything that pops into her head OUT LOUD … so Marilla decides this child needs to be brought up proper, so she lets Anne stay. (Of course – you already get the idea that there are unplumbed depths in Marilla … that perhaps this little redheaded witch has started to melt her down a bit … )<\/p>\n

This excerpt is where she tried (TRIES) to teach Anne to pray properly. She gives Anne a little card with a prayer on it and tells her to learn it by heart. Watch how Marilla desperately tries to deal with Anne … it’s so funny, in a way. Marilla is so stern and practical – and Anne just babbles on and on as though Marilla will completely understand what she is talking about …. It’s hysterical, too, because the mere FACT that Marilla does not interrupt some of these long long monologues, shows that she gets sucked in in spite of herself.<\/p>\n

Excerpt from Anne of Green Gables (Modern Library Classics)<\/a>\"\"<\/i> by L.M. Montgomery.<\/b><\/p>\n

Anne set the card up against the jugful of apple blossoms she had brought in to decorate the dinner-table — Marilla had eyed that decoration askance, but had said nothing — propped her chin on her hands, and fell to studying it intently for several silent minutes.<\/p>\n

“I like this,” she announced at length. “It’s beautiful. I’ve heard it before — I heard the superintendent of the asylum Sunday-school say it over once. But I didn’t like it then. He had such a cracked voice and he prayed it so mournfully. I really felt sure he thought praying was a disagreeable duty. This isn’t poetry, but it makes me feel just the same way poetry does. ‘Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed by Thy name.’ That is just like a line of music. Oh, I’m so glad you thought of making me learn this, Miss — Marilla.”<\/p>\n

“Well, learn it and hold your tongue,” said Marilla shortly.<\/p>\n

Anne tipped the vase of apple blossoms near enough to bestow a soft kiss on a pink-cupped bud, and then studied diligently for some moments longer.<\/p>\n

“Marilla,” she demanded presently, “do you think that I shall ever have a bosom friend in Avonela?”<\/p>\n

“A — a what kind of a friend?”<\/p>\n

“A bosom friend — an intimate friend, you know — a really kindred spirit to whom I confide my inmost soul. I’ve dreamed of meeting her all my life. I never really supposed I would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Do you think it’s possible?”<\/p>\n

“Diana Barry lives over at Orchard Slope and she’s about your age. She’s a very nice little girl, and perhaps she will be a playmate for you when she comes home. She’s visiting her aunt over at Carmody just now. You’ll have to be careful how you behave yourself, though. Mrs. Barry is a very particular woman. She won’t let Diana play with any little girl who isn’t nice and good.”<\/p>\n

Anne looked at Marilla through the apple blossoms, her eyes aglow with interest.<\/p>\n

“What is Diana like? Her hair isn’t red, is it? Oh, I hope not. It’s bad enough to have red hair myself, but I positively couldn’t endure it in a bosom friend.”<\/p>\n

“Diana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes and hair and rosy cheeks. And she is good and smart, which is better than being pretty.”<\/p>\n

Marilla was as fond of morals as the Duchess in Wonderland, and was firmly convinced that one should be tacked on to every remark made to a child who was being brought up.<\/p>\n

But Anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized only on the delightful possibilities before it.<\/p>\n

“Oh, I’m so glad she’s pretty. Next to being beautiful oneself — and that’s impossible in my case — it would be best to have a beautiful bosom friend. When I lived with Mrs. Thomas she had a bookcase in her sitting room with glass doors. There weren’t any books in it; Mrs. Thomas kept her best china and her preserves there — when she had any preserves to keep. One of the doors was broken. Mr. Thomas smashed it one night when he was slightly intoxicated. But the other was whole and I used to pretend that my reflection in it was another little girl who lived in it. I called her Katie Maurice, and we were very intimate. I used to talk to her by the hour, especially on Sunday, and tell her everything. Katie was the comfort and consolation of my life. We used to pretend that the bookcase was enchanted and that if I only knew the spell I could open the door and step right into the room where Katie Maurice lived, instead of into Mrs. Thomas’ shelves of preserves and china. And then Katie Maurice would have taken me by the hand and led me out into a wonderful place, all flowers and sunshine and fairies, and we would have lived there happy for ever after. When I went to live with Mrs. Hammond it just broke my heart to leave Katie Maurice. She felt it dreadfully, too, I know she did, for she ewas crying when she kissed me good-bye through the bookcase door. There was no bookcase at Mrs. Hammond’s. But just up the river a little way from the house there was a long green little valley, and the loveliest echo lived there. It echoed back every word you said, even if you didn’t talk a bit loud. So I imagined that it was a little girl called Violetta and we were great friends and I loved her almost as well as I loved Katie Maurice — not quite, but almost, you know. The night before I went to the asylum I said good-bye to Violetta, and oh, her good-bye came back to me in such sad, sad tones. I had become so attached to her that I hadn’t the heart to imagine a bosom friend at that asylum, even if there had been any scope for imagination there.”<\/p>\n

“I think it’s just as well there wasn’t,” said Marilla drily. “I don’t approve of such goings-on. You seem to half believe your own imaginations. It will be well for you to have a real live friend to put such nonsense out of your head. But don’t let Mrs. Barry hear you talking about your Katie Maurices and your Violettas or she’ll think you tell stories.”<\/p>\n

“Oh, I won’t. I couldn’t talk of them to everybody — their memories are too sacred for that. But I thought I’d like to have you know about them. Oh, look, here’s a big bee just tumbled out of an apple blossom. Just think what a lovely place to live — in an apple blossom! Fancy going to sleep in it when the wind was rocking it. If I wasn’t a human girl I think I’d like to be a bee and live among the flowers.”<\/p>\n

“Yesterday you wanted to be a sea gull,” sniffed Marilla. “I think you are very fickle minded. I told you to learn that prayer and not talk. But it seems impossible for you to stop talking if you’ve got anybody that will listen to you. So go up to your room and learn it.”<\/p>\n

“Oh, I know it pretty nearly all now — all but the last line.”<\/p>\n

“Well, never mind, do as I tell you. Go to your room and finish learning it well, and stay there until I call you down to help me get tea.”<\/p>\n

“Can I take the apple blossoms with me for company?” pleaded Anne.<\/p>\n

“No; you don’t want your room cluttered up with flowers. You should have left them on the tree in the first place.”<\/p>\n

“I did feel a little that way, too,” said Anne. “I kind of felt I shouldn’t shorten their lovely lives by picking them — I wouldn’t want to be picked if I were an apple blossom. But the temptation was irresistible<\/i>. What do you do when you meet with an irresistible temptation?”<\/p>\n

“Anne, did you hear me tell you to go to your room?”<\/p>\n

Anne sighed, retreated to the east gable, and sat down in a chair by the window.<\/p>\n

“There — I know this prayer. I learned that last sentence coming upstairs. Now I’m going to imagine things into this room so that they’ll always stay imagined. The floor is covered with a white velvet carpet with pink roses all over it and there are pink silk curtains at the windows. The walls are hung with gold and silver brocade tapestry. The furniture is mahogany. I never saw any mahogany, but it does sound so<\/i> luxurious. This is a couch all heaped with gorgeous silken cushions, pink and blue and crimson and gold, and I am reclining gracefully on it. I can see my reflection in that splendid big mirror hanging on the wall. I am tall and regal, clad in a gown of trailing white lace, with a pearl cross on my breast and pearls in my h air. My hair is of midnight darkness and my skin is a clear ivory pallor. My name is the Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald. No, it isn’t — I can’t make that<\/i> seem real.”<\/p>\n

She danced up to the little looking-glass and peered into it. Her pointed freckled face and solemn gray eyes peered back at her.<\/p>\n

“You’re only Anne of Green Gables,” she said earnestly, “and I see you, just as you are looking now, whenever I try to imagine I’m the Lady Cordelia. But it’s a million times nicer to be Anne of Green Gables than Anne of nowhere in particular, isn’t it?”<\/p>\n

She bent forward, kissed her reflection affectionately, and betook herself to the open window.<\/p>\n

“Dear Snow Queen, good afternoon. And good afternoon, dear birches down in the hollow. And good afternoon, dear gray house on the hill. I wonder if Diana is to be my bosom friend. I hope she will, and I shall love her very much. But I must never quite forget Katie Maurice and Violetta. They would feel so hurt if I did and I’d hate to hurt anybody’s feelings, even a little bookcase girl’s or a little echo girl’s. I must be careful to remember them and send them a kiss every day.”<\/p>\n

Anne blew a couple of airy kisses from her fingertips past the cherry blossoms and then, with her chin in her hands, drifted luxuriously out on a sea of daydreams.<\/p>\n