10 things Anne of Green Gables taught me

For all the kindred spirits out there...

Fly agaric, Balingup, Western Australia. Image by Monique Mulligan

Dear Kindred Spirit,

When Anne (of Green Gables) said “I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” ―L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables - she was thinking of a different October to that which we experience in Australia. Her October is “all red and gold, with mellow mornings” and “delicate mists" of “amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and smoke blue”. Here in Perth, October is a springing to life, all vibrant displays of wildflowers and cultivated flowers, with fresh limey-green growth on trees, with rain-fed gardens and fields and hills. The weather is mild, sometimes capricious (as spring is want to be), with warming days, but the occasional just because wet, windy, cool day. Still cool enough for blankets and a cardigan at night … but nothing like the reluctant Canadian spring of Anne’s world. No, our spring is impatient, as if it can’t wait for summer, but is being held back, a fractious toddler pulling away. Wait. I say, Embrace the season.

I have always wanted to experience a Northern Hemisphere autumn. To see the “royal crimson” of the maples, to see trees bejewelled in dark red, bronze, amber and gold. To walk in golden light, to shiver with both the thrill of the brisk air and the stunning colour-scape. To really know the meaning of cosy. I have experienced winter and spring in the Northern Hemisphere; I have no wish to experience a northern summer because I have enough of that here, but I long to revel, like Anne, in the world of colour that is autumn. In Perth, autumn is fleeting, subtle. Most of the time deciduous leaves dry out and fall in crackling brown heaps - you have to go further south for colour. When I moved here from Sydney back in 2002, one of the things I missed most about “over east” was autumn.

A memory - we are jumping in leaves at Mt Wilson in the World Heritage Blue Mountains (NSW, Australia), an area magnificent with bushland, rainforest and deep canyons; an area that, in autumn is at its most spectacular. Another memory - we are walking through an arboretum in Balingup (WA, Australia) when I find a red-capped fly agaric mushroom, one that has always eluded me. It is not the stuff of fairytales, as I had come to believe it might be... I squeal with delight, the little girl in me springing from my soul, like my fictional kindred spirit, the Anne-girl.

As I write, honeyeaters are feasting on the bottlebrushes that are dripping with red, brush-like flowers, sharing the nectar with bees that seem to sing with joy. The fruit on the apricot is expanding, still green, but not for long; our blueberry bushes are amass with crunchy fruit. Our seedlings are growing fast now that the weather is warming: tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, beetroot, chard. My artichoke seedlings didn’t last a snail attack, so I’ll sow more seeds this weekend. But right now, on this can’t-decide-if-it-wants-to-be-sunny-or-cloudy afternoon, I am thinking about autumn and October and Anne of Green Gables. I have found my hardback copy, not the old one I found in a box of old books destined for the charity shop when I was twelve, the one with yellowed pages and that old-book smell … no, not that one, but a new one I bought in a bookshop in Albany (Western Australia) because I’d lost the old copy many years before. Perhaps I will read it again, since it has leapt from my shelf to the desk - I have noticed that Anne tends to find me every few years, a long-lost friend who you pick up with as if no time has passed. Instead of revisiting the pages today, I’m revisiting my favourite Anne-isms … and a bonus excerpt from an essay I wrote about my relationship with my favourite fictional character.

Kindred spirits, read on…

Ten words of wisdom from Anne of Green Gables

Anne would have been rapt with these roses. Image: Monique Mulligan

I first shared these quotes 10 years ago on my blog. Reflecting on them today, I find that these are still my favourite words of wisdom from Anne.

#1

‘But the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you have to stop and that hurts.’ (Anne, p39)

Sometimes I am so caught up in busyness, I leave no time for imagination (or creativity), though I used to be quite fond of telling the kids to use theirs when they were younger. The thing is, I do have abundant imagination – I just need to give it permission to come out from its box. When I do, I feel so much happier. Yes, we don’t imagine in the same free, uninhibited, delightful way we do as a child, which is what Anne mourns, but we can still do it. And I think that’s why I’m here, why I’m showing up for small creative expressions, to keep that inner little me alive, awake, curious. To let her out to play once in a while.

#2

‘How dare you say such things about me?’ she repeated vehemently. ‘How would you like to have such things said about you? How would you like to be told that you are fat and clumsy and probably hadn’t a spark of imagination in you?’ (Anne, p80-81)

For me, this is a “You go, girl” moment. Why do we feel the need to judge others by their looks? Whether we give voice to it or not, we all do it. But, as Anne says, “How would you like it?” I still remember being told by a family member I love very much that I was just average looking. Twenty years later, it still burns – it might be true (and no, I am not fishing here, but I didn’t need to hear it). Even worse, was when I was told by someone else that as a teenager I looked “awful – too skinny and no bosoms”. When I said, “Oh I don’t think I looked awful”, she said, “Oh yes, you did.” I wish I’d responded like Anne!

#3

‘Saying one’s prayers isn’t exactly the same thing as praying,’ said Anne meditatively. (Anne, p94)

Such an astute observation! If praying is what you need or choose to do, the important thing is to say it from the heart, wherever, whenever.

#4

‘And you know one can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things.’ (Anne, p149)

Anne is inspired by the beauty of nature as much as words. When she is surrounded by beauty, she can let her imagination run free. I get that. If you’re surrounded by negativity, how can imagination flourish? In the room where I write, there are many pretty things: paintings, photos, artworks, plants, feathers, seed pods, a dish of rose petals, candles, a Japanese vase, a vase from Alsace, a small dish from New Zealand. And outside, is a flourishing (and sometimes distracting) bird-and-bee attracting garden. Like Anne, I love to bring nature inside when I can, even if it’s just the fresh breeze with a hint of salt.

#5

‘But really, Marilla, one can’t stay sad very long in such an interesting world, can one?’ (Anne, p169)

In one sense, this is such an innocent, child-like view, yet there’s truth in it. We each have one life. Good things happen. Bad things happen. A lot of it is just in between. Hopefully, even when we experience a season of darkness, we are still able to see some good. I do wonder, though, what Anne would think of the world now - I know that in later books, she experienced war. But what would she think of the happenings in Gaza, Ukraine, the Middle East? Of climate change? Of our rampant consumerism?

#6

‘You know, there are some things that cannot be expressed in words.’ (Anne, p177)

She’s nailed it. Nothing to add.

#7

‘Kindred spirits are not as scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.’ (Anne, p196)

My life is better because of many of the people in it. People who make me laugh, think, challenge me, help me, share my interests … they’re my kindred spirits. I love discovering new kindred spirits … and they are not always who I expect. I’m even finding a few on Substack, and that has been a welcome benefit of being here.

#8

‘Marilla, isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it?’ (Anne, p217)

Yes. Just yes.

#9

‘And that is just why you should be sorry for me,’ said Anne, ‘because the thought that it is all my own fault is what makes it so hard.’ (Anne, p229)

Don’t you hate it when you stuff up? I do. And I have so many emotions to express this … frustration, shame, guilt, embarrassment … that’s when we need a good old hug. Compassion. Forgiveness. A second chance.

#10

‘But the best of it all was the coming home.’ (Anne, Anne of Green Gables, p291)

No matter how many times I go away, home is home. There’s just something about walking in the door of your place, seeing your “pretty things”, and feeling that rush of familiarity. It’s where you are most evident, and where you can really be yourself.

But wait. There’s more. These two from Marilla and Matthew were too good not to share.

Bonus #1

‘Don’t give up all your romance, Anne,’ he whispered shyly, ‘a little of it is a good thing – not too much, of course – but keep a little of it.’ (Matthew, Anne of Green Gables, p280)

Aww. Matthew is such a gentle soul. I love these words – it’s a reminder that it’s okay to dream, to be excited by little things. To open yourself to possibility, to trust, to dream. This post by David Barton is worth reading to go deeper into this thought.

Bonus #2

 ‘Folks that has brought up children know that there’s no hard and fast method in the world that’ll suit every child.’ (Marilla, Anne of Green Gables, p245)

Couldn’t have said it better myself. One of the biggest things every parent needs to know. It’s trial and error, all the way.

My little muse, Boogle (she). The copy of Anne of Green Gables is open to a page where Anne imagines a kindred spirit called Cordelia.

Anne through the Looking Glass

In 2018, my creative non-fiction essay “Anne through the Looking Glass” was published in Reflections on Our Relationships with Anne of Green Gables: Kindred Spirits, Cambridge Scholars Publishing. (I wanted to share the whole essay, but couldn’t get permission.) The introduction by Jessica Carniel and

Nike Sulway

says:

Reflection was not simply a mode of writing encouraged in this collection but also an important theme. After all, it is in her own reflection that Anne finds her first kindred spirit, albeit an imaginary and perhaps (in the end) unsatisfactory one. Monique Mulligan’s chapter elegantly and imaginatively enters into a species of imaginative play with Anne, playing with imagined and perhaps real moments of desire, recognition, connection and collapse. 

It was hard to choose just 500 words to share, but here’s an excerpt.

Years passed. One day, The Girl Who Loved Books woke with a question burning on her heart. If she met Anne now, with years and age and life experience between them, would they still be kindred spirits? Painful history had taught her that time and distance changed many friendships: some withered like spring flowers when the sun beat down. Anne was her kindred spirit once, but what was Anne to her now? Was she still the Anne-girl, or was Anne merely the product of nostalgia, a warm and fuzzy trip down a rose-tinted memory lane? Far from an ‘unaccountable whim’ (p50), the untrainable question picked and nibbled and nagged.

And so, The Girl Who Loved Books embarked on a two-fold quest: first, to find Anne amid life’s busy-ness; and second, to answer the question that burned on her heart – was Anne-with-an-E still the same? Finding Anne was easy. The girl’s eye was hooked by a new edition boasting a clothbound-cover in teal enhanced by rose-pink edges – “the most bewitching colour in the world” (p46). Anne would have adored it, this much she knew. But how would she answer the burning question, she asked the Wise Woman she’d summoned while standing in the cherry blossom-scented east gable. How would she know?

The Wise Woman’s coal-black eyes fixed on her, penetrating deep to her heart: “You must stand before the three looking glasses of Nostalgia, Experience and Wisdom. There you will find the answers you seek. But look yonder from the first thing you see. Look beyond the surface.” And with that, the Wise Woman vanished, leaving the girl with her book, a prim yellow chair, and three looking glasses fixed to a stark, aching, whitewashed wall. 

From a small distance, The Girl Who Loved Books saw herself, hazy and discombobulated, reflected in the three mirrors. Was it her imagination or was the looking glass of Nostalgia different from the others, more like the “splendid big mirror” (p69) of Anne’s imagination? Shaking the gilt-edged fancy from her head, she looked once more and it now appeared a carbon copy of its counterparts, all serviceable wood frames and no splendid-ness to speak of.

Dragging the chair to face the first mirror, The Girl Who Loved Books imagined she was on the cusp of Anne’s world for the first time. Her fingers trailed across the book’s clothbound cover and her eyes closed as the ever-so-slightly coarse weave tickled her skin. She lifted the book to her nose and breathed in; gone was the sweet dusty smell of her childhood copy. This copy bore no imprint of previous readers and smelled only of crisp, clean paper and ink. Finally, she opened her eyes and turned past the lists of contents and illustrations, to Chapter One. It crossed the sensible part of her mind that she was indulging in escapism, but a whisper, so quiet she might have imagined it, beckoned her into that kingdom of childlike wonder to be done with sensibility for a time.

The looking glass of Nostalgia trembled a message of bittersweet longing. She pressed her free hand against it; wistfulness tingled in her fingers as the glass dissolved and suddenly she was there, ‘just where the Avonlea main road dipped into a little hollow …’ (p9), observing a buggy and sorrel mare pass placidly by, even as she turned pages. But this time, instead of devouring the story as she did long, long ago, she savoured the words, tasting the turns of phrase that delighted her then and delighted her still. She tested the words on her tongue, closing her eyes now and then to visualise the picturesque scenery of wild cherry trees, snowy fragrant blooms, and mellow afterlight. When the ‘lonely, heart-hungry friendless child’ (p38) cried herself to sleep, The Girl Who Loved Books wanted nothing more than to reassure the child that her life would bloom with ‘flowers of quiet happiness’ (p324) after all.

A hazy nostalgic glow, not unlike the purple twilight that entranced Anne at the White Way of Delight, quivered about The Girl Who Loved Books as she read, taking her back to a simpler time of hope and wonder. The looking glass of Nostalgia spoke to her younger self, the less complicated self she had shed years before. It drugged her like a field of poppy flowers, filling her with bittersweet longing for a time when life was simpler, wondrous, and bursting with possibilities. Longing for a time when smells seemed stronger, colours seemed brighter and beauty was found in the everyday. She could have stayed there forever, but although she had found Anne, and this Anne-with-an-E appeared to be the same Anne-girl, she was reminded of the Wise Woman’s caution to look deeper, for things were never as simple as they seemed on the surface. As the looking glass of Nostalgia blurred, The Girl Who Loved Books understood that this Anne was but a feeling of lightness and whimsy, and feelings did not last forever. This Anne merely gave her a glimpse of who she used to be.

[Shared with permission from Cambridge Scholars Publishing]

I have not read Anne of Green Gables for five years, and I sense the time has come for us to meet again. A few years older, hopefully wiser. I think I might try an audiobook version for a change - listen to it it in the car and bridge the day job and home with my fictional kindred spirit.

PS. The young protagonist in my novel Wildflower is also a lover of Anne of Green Gables and dreams of finding a kindred spirit. The character is not me, but I did give her that part of me.

PPS. As a young teenager, I also loved reading L.M. Montgomery’s other books - the whole Anne series, the Emily books and The Story Girl books. I’d love to hear which was your favourite.

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