I bought this book from an old man who had a pile of them for sale at an Altadena farmer's market / junk bonanza. He gave me a very serious look and said, "They don't make 'em like this anymore."
My version of "Junior Miss," which looks different than the one here, is a beautiful gem from 1942. The cover is a washed out teal blue that Ralph Lauren should rip off for his paint line, and the front inside flap actually has this to say about the book: "as appealing a little job as can be found between two book covers." Little job?! YES!! And the back flap urges you to purchase War Bonds! "To buy them is to become a true soldier of Democracy." I could go on and on about the cover alone but then I wouldn't have time to describe the pleasures and problems of this "little job."
Junior Miss is a novel with titled chapters; each could stand alone as a short story. It's very much a product of its time but the writing is simple and poignant. It is undeniably genuine and sweet at nearly every turn. There is very little artifice employed beyond the craft of storytelling, which, as its presented here, feels sturdy and right, like a pot-roast dinner or a wooden chair. Author Sally Benson would like nothing to do with experimentation, thank you very much. She just wouldn't understand why these men, like that Thomas Pynchon fellow, insist on writing in such a difficult way! The English language can be quite beautiful when used simply and effectively, good sir!
Sometimes, bad things happen to the characters of this book but it always ends with a gorgeous life lesson that's impossible to read through without getting some sort of twinge in your heart. I'm serious. In one story, the little girl of the family, Judy, and her friend Fuffy (!!) adopt a baby mouse they find in the Vermont forest. They feed it with an eye dropper, make a bed for it out of an egg carton and when it inevitably dies, they have a funeral. Yes, it's a story about our own mortality and our first brushes with realizing we will all die someday. And it is so cute, so perfect and considered that to not revel 100% in its sentiment is to announce you are for the other side, which is inherently dark and cruel and, gasp, cynical.
And therein lies the problem with "Junior Miss." It is too goddamn perfect all the time. Sometimes Benson presents the flaws of any member of the Graves family, like Judy, whose cross to bear is that she's a little pudgy. Now I know that can be hard for a little girl, I do, but c'mon! Even in their flaws, the Graves family is adorable, all the time. I'm pretty sure Benson, if she could, would set every story on Christmas morning ("Oh Mother, I love it!") but she's a good enough writer that she doesn't do that. However, she does allow herself several foamy French chapter titles, that would be wreathed in baby's breath, if at all possible. My non-favorite is "Madame la Marquise, Toujours Exquise." That's right. It. rhymes.
I read a chapter a night of "Junior Miss" for a couple of weeks but a month or so ago, I stopped. I was truly worried it was doing something to me as a writer. "Junior Miss" suffers from cancer of the nice and it will try to metastasize into your brain. It is quite effective. I was questioning myself. What's your problem, Margaret? Why do your characters have to say such mean things to each other? Why are all your stories so depraved? Sex and drugs and weirdo imaginary shit. Is it really necessary?
Probably all good questions to ask on some level but no, at the same time, I do not need to feel like some sort of convict when I'm reading a book because I cannot match its tender effervescence, even in my most sentimental moments. I'll go back to "Junior Miss" someday, maybe after something stupid and cruel and useless happens in the world, but until then, au revoir.