3.58 AVERAGE

emotional hopeful lighthearted relaxing sad slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: Yes
Diverse cast of characters: No

I think Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm is often compared to Anne of Green Gables. Unfortunately, such a comparison doesn't make this book look too good. The Anne books are beautiful and perfect, and this is just a very tolerable early 1900s book that is slowly disappearing. The two books share a lot of similarities. Both are about young girls who go to live with people who are not their parents. They have similar protagonists.
SpoilerBoth end with the death of one of the girl's guardians.


Comparing them based on their characters is where things differ. While Rebecca and Anne have somewhat similar struggles and interests, Anne has a lot more personality than Rebecca. Similarly, the other characters in the Anne of Green Gables books are a lot more interesting than their counterparts in Rebecca. While this is not a bad book, there are better books from the same time period. So if you're really in love with this style of book, go ahead and give it a try. It's pretty good. If not, then maybe focus on some of the better offerings from the early 1900s. (HINT: Anne of Green Gables:))

Was given this by my sister, it's a copy from 1911 with a lovely little inscription in it. A nice, sweet story. Perfect book to ease in the new year.

A beautifully written childrens book about the adventures (and misadventures) of lovable Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Rebecca is sent to live with her two elderly aunts after the death of her father. There she goes to school and has many adventures along the way and manages to touch the lives of everyone she meets. A loveable array of characters - Aunt Jane, the uptight Aunt Miranda, Emma Jane, Mr. Aladdin, and Miss Maxwell - all add to the charm of this book.

I love how imaginative and creative Rebecca is, despite the fact that she comes from an impoverished background. She’s also high-spirited, which is something that stays with her, even as she matures into a young woman.

She tries to please her aunt Miranda, and wants her approval, but still finds it hard to live up to her aunt’s high standards. Rebecca does brighten aunt Jane’s life because of her curiousity and because of her liveliness. Both Jane and Miranda do their best to make sure Rebecca becomes a proper young woman by teaching her how to sew and cook, as well as other household skills.

In the end, it seems like Miranda is fond of Rebecca, at least to a degree, because when Miranda dies, she leaves the house to Rebecca. Because of Miranda’s will, Rebecca can be independent and help out her family.

I give it a 4 out of 5. It was a great book, and it was nice to see how Rebecca changed over time, and yet still was an imaginative and spirited person.

Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm is a charming enough story, but it didn't quite sweep me off my feet. Here's my take:

It's definitely a classic for a reason. Rebecca's spirited nature and imaginative mind are endearing, and her journey from a rustic farm to a more refined life is a classic coming-of-age tale. However, at times, the sentimentality felt a bit heavy-handed, and some of the characters felt rather one-dimensional.

The writing style, while of its time, felt a little dated to my modern sensibilities. While I appreciate the historical context, I found myself occasionally wishing for a bit more nuance and less overt moralizing.

Overall, it's a pleasant, wholesome read, especially for younger audiences. But for a seasoned reader looking for depth and complexity, it might feel a little simplistic. Three stars.

4 stars, Metaphorosis Reviews

Summary
Rebecca, the daughter of a large, poor family, is clever but willful. When her better-off aunts offer to raise and educate her older sister, they get Rebecca instead, who introduces a little unexpected tumult into their lives.

Review
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm is one of those books that I always knew was around, growing up, but later couldn’t recall whether I’d read. As I got older, I tended to confuse it with Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, which also wasn’t sure whether I’d read. I suppose that if I had read them, the distinction might have been clearer. In any case, the book didn’t ring any bells on this reading.

I’m sorry I didn’t (probably) read it when I was younger, since some of the prose is delightfully funny. There’s nothing greatly surprising about the plot – clever, wayward girl grows up smart and sweet – but the language itself was unexpected. It reminded me, in some ways, of Jane Austen’s wry, sly humor, though it also has similarities to Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer, and that’s more the general territory of the book.

One reason I’d have preferred to read it young is that some of the elements haven’t worn as well as you might hope. While the book thankfully never spells it out, in its latter half it seems indubitably destined toward a resolution that was common and perhaps even sensible in its day, but looks awfully uncomfortable now. Still, it isn’t spelled out, so we’re free to imagine a more modern outlook if we like (and I did). Wiggin did apparently write a sequel of sorts (New Chronicles of Rebecca), that appears to fill in gaps in and around this book’s storyline, and happily doesn’t address the issue of my concern.

In short, somewhat dated, but a fun book for children, with a protagonist who’s lauded much more for cleverness than looks.

It's been a trip re-reading as an adult. I'm a little disturbed by how much I related to Rebecca when I was a kid. May elaborate when I'm not on a phone.

I read this because 1) I was hearing all of these "Rebecca" references and figured I shouldn't be in the dark, and 2) I'm going to Maine and this showed up on the Maine books list. It was a pleasant, easy read, and I had fun reading something written over a century ago.

Read via DailyLit in 89 parts over three months.

Rebecca is a wonderful character, and it was lovely rooting for her and watching her succeed. The book's voice is so sweet, and I liked that it was funny too. I liked to imagine the author who could write a description like "eyes as big as cartwheels."

I appreciated, of course, how very heavily Wiggin seems to have been influenced by The Mill on the Floss. That was a really nice surprise, and lucky for me to read them in this order. There are multiple allusions to that book here, such as:

"It is coming, Emmie," she said presently; "do you remember in The Mill on the Floss, when Maggie Tulliver closed the golden gates of childhood behind her?"

In a lot of ways, Rebecca is Maggie, given another chance. She is far less heartbreaking, though, which is a good thing because I think a heart can only handle one Maggie Tulliver.

I was so impressed by the adults in the book. Rebecca's story is so bright, but the adults influencing her surroundings are given skillful little shades of back-story, a paragraph or so to describe what has shaped them, and it's often very sad. It makes Rebecca's setting very realistic. Her aunt Jane's wisps of backstory on the battlefield are absolutely breathtaking. And I love the introduction of the missionaries in the middle, and her mentorship with her English teacher, whose outlook is shockingly no-nonsense. Sometimes it's easy to assume old books like this cast nothing but gauzy parochial characters, particularly for children, but this book absolutely doesn't.

I was really pleased that Rebecca didn't get married at the end. She didn't not get married, and we pretty much know who is going to marry her, but it was nice to have the ending be all about her. I expected a promise of marriage to be the making of Rebecca's perfect adult happiness, but instead that happiness comes from her family and her own realizations, and that is very gratifying. I think Wiggin really knew what she was doing there.

Before I began the book, I read that Jack London, of all people, had written a fan letter to Wiggin to say, "May I thank you for Rebecca?", as a war correspondent in Manchuria 1904. I never quite forgot it as I read the book -- the idea of a children's book reaching that improbably far, and then also to us, is extraordinary.