Parenting With the Classics

Or, the best parenting books are works of fiction

I’m about a month out from my due date and am feeling very huge, very tired, and very dumb. If I tried to write a regular post right now, I shudder to think what I might come up with. So, instead, I’m doing a bit of a “nesting” post. Something shorter, simpler, and related to the very kicky baby that is consuming most of my mental and physical energy. So without further ado, here are five books that can help parents and parental figures reflect upon their vocation.

1. Frankenstein (Mary Shelley): So hear me out. The first time I read this book, I was postpartum with my firstborn. Having left behind teaching high school English, I was missing some book-based intellectual stimulation. Thanks to some excellent advice, I sought that stimulation in podcasts, and discovered the Close Reads Podcast. I trawled through their archives to see what books they covered that I already owned. Eventually, I settled upon Frankenstein as the book I would use to “test” the podcast. It was a surprisingly fitting choice. I vividly remember reading the passage where Dr. Frankenstein looks upon the Creature for the first time and, far too late, realizes the enormity of his actions. He has brought a new life into the world, and he isn’t truly prepared for the ramifications of that decision. To be clear, I think my children are a heck of a lot cuter than the Creature. And discerning the vocation of wife and mother was a very different process than obsessive ego trip that is Dr. Frankenstein’s creation of the Creature. However, as a sleep-deprived, overwhelmed, and shell-shocked first time parent, there was something in Dr. Frankenstein’s experience that hit home for me. “What have I done?” and “What am I doing?” are two questions every parent will ask themselves over and over again on the parenting journey. Dr. Frankenstein confronts these two questions and chooses to abdicate his responsibility as a parent/creator. He hopes the “problem” of his “child” will take care of itself without his interference. And that decision leads to ruination in his life, the life of those he loves, and in the life of the Creature he was supposed to care for. As parents, we will inevitably make mistakes. We are human. We are fallen. But reading Frankenstein can serve as a salutary reminder that showing up for our children, and of choosing to love them (even when they may be acting a little “monstrous”) is always the right choice.

2. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott): It is a truth universally acknowledged that Marmee is the GOAT of literary parents. She is both merciful and just, neither dismissing her daughter’s struggles and heartaches, nor ignoring their faults. More importantly, she leads by example. She never asks her daughters to work harder, give generously to the poor, or practice self-control without first doing so herself. In my own parenting life, I can so easily focus on correcting and directing my children that I forget that the lived example of virtue is much more effective than empty words. Another lesson parents can learn from Marmee is that, while each parent may “do [their] part alone in many things,” at home they must “work together, always.” This lesson is driven home in Marmee’s conversation with her eldest daughter, Meg. A SAHM, Meg has made the mistake of becoming the gatekeeper between her husband and children, acting as if “as if they were all [hers], and John had nothing to do but support them.” John, for his part, fails to communicate his hurt to Meg and begins to spend more and more time away from home. Marmee’s advice, especially when one considers the time period in which the book was written, is delightful. She tells Meg to a) remember that your husband’s “place” is in the nursery too, and “the children need him” b) practice self-care (no really-she tells Meg to get out of the house more and bring in childcare help) c) work on developing shared interests with your husband and d) don’t shut yourself out from the wider world just because you’re a woman but instead “educate yourself to take your part in the world’s work.” Marmee, having made the same mistake as Meg in the early days of motherhood, knows that raising happy and healthy children requires 100% effort from each parent, even if specific duties/jobs fall to one parent or the other. She also knows that spouses must take care of and tend to each other; neglecting spouse for child is a recipe for disaster. Finally, Marmee reminds parents that neglecting their personal growth, and/or the doings of the wider world, does no one any good. When I read Marmee’s conversation with Meg, it’s like reading a mini “examination of conscience” as a parent, helping me to see the ways in which I may be struggling to harmonize my needs, my spouse’s needs, or the needs of the wider world with my role as parent. And while implementing changes as a result of such an examination can be difficult, Marmee’s joy at the end of the novel, surrounded by her loving family, is a reminder of the rewards to be won.

3. Sense and Sensibility (Jane Austen): There aren’t many exemplary parental figures in Austen’s works. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram, General Tilney, and Sir Elliot are spectacular examples of poor parents, and they get far more ‘screen time’ than the good (or at least semi-decent) parental figures such as Lady Russell, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, or Mr. and Mrs. Morland. Sense and Sensibility and Emma are arguably exceptions to this rule. The parents/parental figures are both loving and significant presences in their respective novels. However, in both novels, even these loving parents make significant mistakes. I think Sense and Sensibility, in particular, is an interesting book to read from the perspective of a parent. Mrs. Dashwood is a deeply affectionate mother who has provided her daughters with an excellent “homeschool” education and instilled in them solid moral principles. She encourages them to develop their specific gifts and talents. So far so good. However, Mrs. Dashwood is, like all of us, an imperfect being. Her main fault is the way in which she is ruled by her emotions. She lacks both the self-awareness to see such intemperance as a fault and the will-power to try and mend said fault. When Marianne, the daughter most like Mrs. Dashwood in temperament, suffers serious consequences as a result of her own emotional intemperance, Mrs. Dashwood knows she must change her ways. It’s a cautionary tale that can be a bit frightening. As parents, we can do so many things right and still be blind to the ways in which we are unintentionally hurting our children. Healthy (rather than overly scrupulous or overly critical) self-examination and the power of prayer can give us the clear sight we need to see ourselves rightly. More importantly, we should remember that Austen’s work has a happy ending. The good that Mrs. Dashwood has done for her children is not blotted out or undone by her faults (indeed Marianne would have suffered a great deal without the good elements absorbed from Mrs. Dashwood’s parenting). Furthermore, Mrs. Dashwood has the humility to begin again once she is made aware of her faults, and so continues to grow as a woman (and parent) of virtue, as we can all hope to do.

4. Helena (Evelyn Waugh): This was a recent, and new, read for me. And I loved it. It’s an imaginative retelling of the life of St. Helena by Evelyn Waugh of Brideshead Revisited fame. And it is fascinating. Waugh’s Helena is a tough woman who has endured disappointment and dislocation throughout her life. Her marriage removes her permanently from her home, and ends with her husband divorcing her for political gain. Her adored child, the Emperor Constantine, is in many ways a disappointment. He avoids her because he doesn’t want to hear the tough truths she would speak to him. Yet, Helena refuses to become embittered by her suffering, nor does she abandon the child who has seemingly abandoned her. When with Constantine, she gives him the good advice and deserved rebukes no one else in his court dares to offer, knowing that doing so is potentially dangerous (he has had various family members murdered for less). In all of this, she is sustained by a late-born faith. One of the most beautiful passages of the novel, revealing the heart of her faith, comes from her prayer of intercession to the Magi:

   “Like me…you were late in coming…Yet you came and were not turned away. You too found room before the manger…Dear cousins pray for me…and for my poor overloaded son. May he, too, before the end find kneeling space in the straw…For his sake who did not reject your curious gifts, pray always for all the learned, the oblique, the delicate. Let them not be quite forgotten at the Throne of God when the simple come into their kingdom.”

   As parents, sometimes the most (truly the most) we can do for our children is to speak the truth to them, patiently endure suffering for their sakes, and entrust the rest to God. Helena knows that, ultimately, she is not her child’s savior. She has an important role to play in loving and guiding him, but salvation must come from God, not herself. And she hopes that God will honor her own faithfulness with being faithful to her and her loved ones in turn.

5. Silas Marner (George Eliot): This is such an underrated gem of a book, and one that showcases both the beauty of father/daughter relationships, and the beauty of adopted parent/child relationships. Set in 19th century England, it combines fairy tale tropes with the realism George Eliot is known for. The titular Silas Marner is a miserly weaver, obsessed with his carefully hidden horde of gold and embittered by an excommunication from his religious community for a crime he did not commit. When his gold is stolen, he is driven to despair until an abandoned golden-haired child happens upon his doorstep. In an act of compassion, he decides to raise the foundling when no one else (including her biological father) comes forward. And that act of compassion proves a blessing to both Silas Marner and the child, Eppie. A beautiful quote, collected in my commonplace journal, illustrates the difference that Eppie makes in Marner’s life:

   “Unlike the gold which needed nothing, and must be worshiped in close-locked solitude-which was hidden away from the daylight, was deaf to the song of birds, and started to no human tones-Eppie was a creature of endless claims and ever-growing desires, seeking and loving sunshine, and living sounds, and living movements; making trial of everything, with trust in new joy…the gold had kept his thoughts in an ever-repeated circle, leading to nothing beyond itself; but Eppie was an object compacted of changes and hopes that forced his thoughts outward, and carried them far away from their old eager pacing to the new things that would come with the coming years.”

   In short, when Silas Marner self-sacrificially opens his heart and home to the gift of new life, he finds his own life enriched beyond measure. Where once selfish love of gold kept his eyes from the beauties of nature, selfless love of other opens his eyes to the wonders of the natural world. Where endless meditation on his own woundedness kept him isolated from others, focus on the more pressing needs of a dependent child integrates him into a new community. Silas Marner’s experience echoes the prayer of St. Francis: that it is in giving that we truly receive. Our society tells us that children are to be had and raised with reference to our lives, our desires, our goals. They are a burden to be carried, or a project to be completed, not a gift to be welcome. Silas Marner’s experience reminds us that, often times, our lives, desires, and goals are more selfish, more shallow, and less rich than we realize. When we welcome a child with all their “endless claims and ever-growing desires” into our lives, we are forced “outward” into a larger world filled with wonders that we’d forgotten or never noticed in the first place.

I hope you enjoyed this list! Please share this with others if you found it a worthwhile read. And please send prayers and good wishes the way of myself and my family as we prepare to welcome #3.