My Dear Daughter,
I dreamt of you long before I could ever know you. I imagined diving into storybooks with you and introducing you to fictional characters whose lives and adventures are frozen in my heart.
I wanted to give you every opportunity to form your own opinions about them, build your own relationships with them, and discover ways in which they might enter into your life… just as they did mine.
I wanted to recommend books to you that would help you see the world differently. I wanted to give you the freedom and confidence to spread your wings and push through boundaries that society would inevitably (and even I might) fold around you.
I wanted each book, story, and character to serve as a launchpad for your imagination. I dreamt of sharing and exploring a thousand worlds with you… snuggled up on the couch or somewhere out in the sunshine.
It never crossed my mind that you would never exist.
It never crossed my mind that I would spend years trying to reach you only to be blocked by something as cold and unimaginative as unexplained infertility.
That unfortunate “diagnosis” has seeped into my bones and caused indescribable grief and guilt. I wanted to show you a world of hope and possibility through stories and yet here I sit, unable to break through the bonds of my own barren reality.
So, this series is dedicated to you, my dear girl. I’m going write about the Books I Can’t Recommend to you, and the discussions I wish we could have had together… because if my imagination is the only place you’ll ever exist, then you’ll always be real to me.
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Book #1: Anne of Green Gables, By: L.M. Montgomery
My Dear Daughter,
Forgive me, but your father and I never could think of a name for you. We had a first and middle name picked out for your fictitious brother (many times over), but I could never settle on one for you. It was so important to me that you have a unique and special name that matched the imagination I was sure you would have.
Thinking about that now, it seems fitting that I start this series with Anne of Green Gables, because the following conversation describes my thought process exactly…
“What’s your name?”
The child hesitated for a moment.
“Will you please call me Cordelia?” she said eagerly.
“Call you Cordelia! Is that your name?”
“No-o-o, it’s not exactly my name, but I would love to be called Cordelia. It’s such a perfectly elegant name.”
“I don’t know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isn’t your name, what is?
“Anne Shirley,” reluctantly faltered forth the owner of the name, “but oh, please do call me Cordelia. It can’t matter much to you what you call me if I’m only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne is such an unromantic name.”
“Unromantic fiddlesticks!” said the unsympathetic Marilla. “Anne is a real good plain sensible name. You’ve no need to be ashamed of it.”
“Oh, I’m not ashamed of it,” explained Anne, “only I like Cordelia better. I’ve always imagined that my name was Cordelia –at least, I always have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it was Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne, please call me Anne spelled with an e.”
“What difference does it make how it’s spelled?” asked Marilla with another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.
“Oh, it makes such a difference. It looks so much nicer. When you hear a name pronounced can’t you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out? I can; and A—n—n looks dreadful, but A—n—n—e looks so much more distinguished. If you’ll only call me Anne spelled with an e I shall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia.”
(Montgomery 27)
Therein lies the perfect argument laid out by eleven-year-old Anne Shirley. I didn’t want you to have an unromantic name, but I never wanted you to feel singled out with an overly unique name. Worse yet would have been to give you an overly popular or plain name and have you be defined by you last initial… e.g. Megan H. is in the same class as Megan L. etc.
So, for as long as I’ve dreamt of you, you’ve only ever been “my daughter,” and for the purposes of this series, that’s what you’ll remain… but please know that you’re so much more to me than a name… and you always will be.
It took me 34 years before I picked up and read Anne of Green Gables, By: L.M. Montgomery. I watched the Netflix series “Anne with an E” last year and loved every minute of it. I don’t know why I didn’t read the book first. I’ve wanted to ever since I watched the movie You’ve Got Mail as a kid.
There’s a scene in that movie where a woman is checking out at the counter in the little bookshop and says…
“I came here every Saturday when I was a little girl. And I remember when your mother gave me Anne of Green Gables. ‘Read it with a box of Kleenex’, she said. That’s what she told me.”
(You’ve Got Mail, Ephron)
In my opinion, an author’s original story is usually always better than the corresponding TV or film adaptation(s), but there are exceptions to this rule. I usually try to read the book before watching the adaptation because I want to use my own imagination before I compare it to someone else’s.
Still, I wasn’t motivated to read the book before watching the three seasons of Anne with an E and after I did, I was beyond puzzled by that You’ve Got Mail quote… which has lived, rent free, in my mind for decades.
The show was so uplifting, and Anne’s character was so wonderfully bright and imaginative. (She’s exactly what I hoped you would be.) I couldn’t understand why anyone would need to read the book with a box of Kleenex!
So, I went to the library, checked out the book, and discovered the following…
Anne’s character was just as vibrant and compelling as she was on screen, but I longed for the other characters to be as captivating as their adapted counterparts. Anne with an E took many creative liberties, but in doing so it provided great depth to the story and to the characters as a whole. Yes, my dear girl, this means, in my opinion, it’s one of the exceptions to the rule: The adaptation was better than the book… BUT…
There are two very important reasons why I would still recommend that you read the book. I’ll summarize both for you in two words: Sequels & Kleenex.
Reason Number 1: Sequels
L.M. Montgomery wrote 7 sequels to Anne of Green Gables. I have not yet read them, but based on what was included in the Netflix adaptation and where the first book left off, there is a great deal that has been left unsaid. How much of the TV show came from the sequels? How much was truly “creative liberty” versus Montgomery’s original story with an altered timeline?
There’s only one way to find out!
Read. The. Books.
I love a good series. You’ll discover that quickly as I continue to write these recommendations for you. A stand alone story has to be pretty incredible (or long) to truly satiate my fiction addiction. I admire (dare I say worship?) authors who can build a work of fiction that makes me want to climb within the pages and set up camp to wait for each successive sequel.
I aspire to be such an author one day… maybe these letters to you will help me in that quest.
Reason Number 2: Kleenex
Anne of Green Gables did not wow me like the Netflix series, but my You’ve Got Mail question still remains. Why the box of Kleenex?
When I was reading the book, I had five chapters left to go (which amounted to 27 pages) and I still did not know. Then, like the conflict in a Hallmark movie that resolves as the credits roll, the answer was revealed.
Perhaps this too adds to why I prefer the adaptation to the book. Personally, I’m impressed with myself for never having searched for the answer online and spoiled the ending (as is the custom in today’s culture)… especially since the book was first published in 1909… 116 years ago! I’ll imagine you giving me a pat on the back, while I simultaneously assure you that I won’t spoil the ending for you either.
Suffice it to say, it was not the most ideal ending for “Book Anne,” but what struck me square between the eyes was not the tragedy Montgomery wrote about, but the grace with which “Book Anne” adjusted to it.
Even now, I find myself reeling from this last paragraph…
“Anne’s horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there after coming home from Queen’s; but if the path set before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joys of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road!” (Montgomery 256)
Here I am writing to the daughter of my dreams, knowing full well that the horizon I wished we’d see together will never come to pass and yet I am not sad… at least, not as sad as I have been in the very recent past.
I suspect that is because of you. In writing to you, you have become more real to me, existing in my “ideal world of dreams” and like the characters of fiction that have been my constant companions throughout the years, it brings me comfort to imagine you into life.
This journey through infertility has been painful and lonely, but I sense a “bend in the road” and I’m choosing to follow it into my imagination… towards you.
I am sure Anne would approve… and I know this because I read Anne of Green Gables for both of us. In reality, I hope I can emulate the same courage and composure that “Book Anne” showed as I continue to live and grow my life without you.
Until next time,
Your Fictional Mother