"Unexpectedly delightful" is a phrase that keeps popping into my head, as I sit here considering how best to describe Maud Hart Lovelace's Betsy-Tacy, the first in a long series of books about two (eventually three) young girls growing up in Minnesota in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Begun at an unfortunate time, when a dreadful head cold, and a feeling of being out of charity with the world made the author's somewhat expository style rather irksome for me, the story won me over by degrees, gently unfolding its tale of two young girls who face the joys and sorrows of being five-year-olds together.
When a new family move into the house across the street, Betsy Ray hopes that they will have a girl her age, and after an initial misunderstanding, she finds a best friend in Tacy (Anastacia) Kelly. The two are soon inseparable: they climb the Hill together, picnic together, go to school together, and play with paper dolls together. Their imaginary games, often fueled by Betsy's penchant for storytelling, are so well depicted, that the reader senses Lovelace's fond enjoyment, as well as her understanding of the centrality of such play in the life of the child.
But life, even for five-year-olds, is not all sweetness and light, and sorrow does touch the lives of Betsy-Tacy, just as change - inevitable and painful - makes itself felt. The death of Baby Bee, Tacy's infant sister, is handled by Lovelace with pitch-perfect sensitivity. The mystery and wonder of a young child's first encounter with death is effortlessly joined to the sorrow of loss. I found the scene on the early morning hillside, where Betsy and Tacy discuss Bee's death, deeply moving.
Lovelace's sensitivity to the feelings of the child, how the world appears to her, is demonstrated time and again throughout Betsy-Tacy. She understands that death is something terrible and yet matter-of-fact - in the way that so many things are terrible and matter-of-fact to the child who must experience them for the first time. Her depiction of Betsy's initial sorrow, at the birth of her younger sister Margaret, is a realistic portrayal of a child's natural ambiguity at having "her" place in the family usurped.
First published in 1940, and depicting an earlier time, Betsy-Tacy nevertheless has much to offer the contemporary reader, and seems as relevant in its depiction of young girls, as when it was first written. I find myself wishing that I had discovered these books as a child, but as one can only go forward, I'll content myself with having discovered them now. Thank you, Constance, Wendy, Melody, Lisa and Ginny!