As mentioned in yesterday’s post, Louise Fitzhugh is the author of one my all-time favorite children’s books, Harriet the Spy. I recently re-read it (in ebook format), and I’m still impressed with the story. For one thing, Harriet is one of the most unlikeable characters in children’s literature, and yet you still take her side. Why? Because even though she’s an incredibly nosey little creature, constantly banging into the cook, throwing tantrums, shouting and being rude to everyone she meets, she’s doing it all in the name of becoming a famous writer.
I think most writers are probably laboring under some similar delusions that whatever their bad habits are (drinking too much, picking fights with strangers, sleeping around, etc.), these things are just part of their “genius.” Harriet is a compulsive and possibly pathological writer, scribbling down evil little observations (or “facts,” as she sees them) about her friends, family and total strangers. She passes this off as training for being a writer, and believes that her nurse, Ol’ Golly, has sanctioned this behavior. But has she, really? Ol’ Golly never told her to write vicious things about her friends, yet this is how Harriet has chosen to interpret her advice to take notes about everything.
When the obvious happens (i.e. her friends find out how Harriet really feels about them), the fink hits the fan. Harriet is ostracized by her peers, and although we sympathize with her, we also know she deserves it. But she’s going down swinging. And I don’t want to ruin the ending, but it’s pretty great.
I followed in Harriet’s footsteps for a while there, writing a rude little newsletter called “Gossip World” with my best friend, and jotting things in my childhood notebooks (most of which I have burned, in order to avoid death by total embarrassment). I even kept an online diary for a while, which a particularly psychotic would-be lover insisted I should abandon for my own good. (He said “Even Anaïs Nin’s therapist made her give up her diary, for a time.” As if I should consider him my psychiatrist?! I still want to punch this guy for saying such a thing to a girl he’d just met. Aren’t people horrid?) And now here I am, blogging about my favorite lady authors, along with a bunch of strangers in a worldwide A to Z challenge and having written and published a book of my own (of which, btw, I’m giving away free copies this weekend).
So to say that Louise Fitzhugh inspired me to become a writer is at least partially true, though I’m pretty sure there were other inspirations and reasons. Like: I am a very grumpy and impossible-to-deal-with person when I don’t write.
Ms. Fitzhugh tragically died of a brain aneurysm at 46, and lots of people have tried to ban her work, but Harriet the Spy lives on. In fact, there is a follow-up entitled The Long Secret as well as one called Harriet Spies Again written by Helen Ericson.
If you’re interested in learning more about Harriet’s creator, check out the Purple Socks website, which includes a piece about Fitzhugh’s life from the Village Voice as well as an explanation of the secret meaning behind the Boy With the Purple Socks’ odd attire.
Have you ever been a spy (or a fink) like Harriet?
What author do you own the most books by?
What was your favorite book when you were ten years old?
David Sedaris or Dave Eggers?
Short story?