Some recalled that Jo March herself, the independent heroine of Little Women, had also written sensational stories in secret to earn money and enjoy an emotional catharsis. But most simply reveled in narratives whose themes were “deceit, sin, death,” and whose heroines were “forceful, independent, sexually demanding, and don’t do housework.” And, during the decade or so that followed, between the mid-1970s and the mid-1980s, the scholarly world, depending upon the implications of her fiction, analyzed and psychoanalyzed the author, burrowed into her biography, and occasionally changed the biography to conform with the stories.[2]

            All this was fascinating, but never so fascinating as the stories themselves, which were narrated with professional skill, insight into character, and a revelation of intimacy with satanic themes. And always, to those aware of the author’s enormous productivity, there was the hope that more sensational thrillers would emerge from behind the mask of Louisa May Alcott, more stories written in secret, dispatched to a sensational newspaper, published anonymously or under a pseudonym, revolving about other macabre subjects.

            That hope has been realized. Louisa Alcott’s double literary life was even more productive and varied than had been estimated, and out of her inkstand have appeared five “new” astounding tales, discovered in 1986, that can be traced to her indefatigable pen. These tales will further alter her image, give fresh food for thought to literary scholars, but above all they will enthrall an avid readership.

            Louisa Alcott’s newly discovered thrillers were all published anonymously during the 1860s before she began Little Women. Why should a struggling young author hide her name from the public? Stephen King has written that “all novelists are inveterate role- plavers” and find it “fun to be someone else for a while.”[3] The novelist’s “someone else” may be nameless. Seeking money to support the Alcott family, which included her philosopher father Bronson, her beloved and long-suffering mother Abbv May, and her artist sister May, Louisa assumed the role of breads inner. She also found it “fun” to be an anonymous someone else for a while, and the someone else who was able to turn sensational stories into fifty or seventy-five dollars was a writer who dwelled among shadows, pursuing strange and exotic themes of sadomasochism, mesmerism, East Indian Thuggism. These were no themes for Concord, Massachusetts, where Alcott’s neighbors included the revered Ralph Waldo Emerson; indeed, they were no themes for her own family, especially not for her father, w ho could have conversed w ith Plato. They were themes to be embroidered in secret into melodramatic tales that were unsigned.

 

[2.] See, for example, Judith Fetterley, "Impersonating 'Little Women': The Radicalism of Alcott's Behind a Mask,'' Women's Studies 10 {1983): 1-14; Martha Saxton, Louisa May: A Modern Biography of Louisa May Alcott (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977)-

[3.] Stephen King, The Bachman Books (New York: New American Library, 1986), p. viii.

 

            Because these “new” stories were all anonymous, their authorship was extremely elusive and, but for clues in unpublished journals and publisher’s correspondence, would have remained unidentified.

            The first hint surfaced in an examination of the 1863 journal entries made by Louisa Alcott, who, thanks to Bronson Alcott’s pedagogical guidance, was addicted throughout her life to journal w riting. In August 1863, having recently recuperated from a severe illness sustained when she served as an army nurse in the Giv il War, she was more aware than ever of the need for contributions to the family treasury.[4] Her account of her experience at the Union Hotel Hospital had been well received as it appeared serially in the pages of the Boston Commonwealth. But neither the serialization nor the subsequent book appearance of Hospital Sketches would add appreciably to the Alcott coffers. Sensational stories paid better. And so, in August 1863, the author of Hospital Sketches w rote tersely in her journal: “Leslie [Erank Leslie, publisher of periodicals] sent $40 for ‘A Whisper In The Dark,’ & wanted another — Sent ‘A Pair of Eyes.’”[5]

 

[4.] For biographical details throughout, see Madeleine B. Stern, Louisa May Alcott (Nornnn: University of Oklahoma Press, 1950, 1971, 1985).

[5.] Louisa May Alcott, unpublished journals (bv permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University), August 1863. I am indebted to my co-editors, Joel Myerson and Daniel Shealv, for transcripts of the journals.

 

            “A Whisper in the Dark,” a fairly innocuous story of mind control, was later to he acknowledged by its author and so is recognized as part of the Alcott canon. “A Pair of Eyes” turned out to be another matter altogether — a strange, extraordinary narrative focused upon a very particular kind of mind control. Searchers after unknown Alcott thrillers could be certain, then, that in August 1863 the author had indeed sent a tale entitled “A Pair of Eyes” to Leslie. But had it been accepted? Had it ever appeared? The reader of the journals found the answer under the date of November 1863: “Received $39 from Leslie for ‘A Pair of Eyes’ not enough, but I’m glad to get even that & be done with him. Paid debts with it as usual.”[6] If the publisher Frank Leslie had paid for a story, the chances were he had published it. Another anonymous Alcott thriller now had a name and, somewhere in the pages of one of the Leslie periodicals, awaited the eye of the literary sleuth.

            The Leslie correspondence — such as has survived — would supply the responses to the Alcott journal entries. In an undated letter, the editor of Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper wrote to the “Dear Madam” who was Louisa May Alcott: “Mr Leslie informs me that you have a tale ready for us, and for which he has already settled with you by check. Will you be kind enough to let us have it at the earliest moment in your power.” Beneath, the author, who was becoming quite pleased with herself, jotted: “Made them pay before hand.”[7] Another sensation story might now be endowed with a title. In June 1864 Louisa supplied it, recording in her journal: “Wrote ‘The Tale Of The Forrests’ for Leslie who sent for a tale. Rubbish keeps the pot boiling.” [8] “The Fate of the Forrests” might have helped keep the Alcott pot boiling, but, as its reading would reveal, the story was not rubbish. In a way, it would turn out to be the most singular addition to the Aleott oeuvre.

 

[6.] Ibid., November 1863.

[7.] "Editor of F.L. 111. Newsp. to [Louisa May Alcott]" (Louisa May Alcott Collection [#6255], Manuscripts Department, University of Virginia Library). The imprinted letterhead date is New York 1863, but the letter may well have been written later. My thanks to my co-editor Daniel Shealy for transcripts of

Leslie letters. See also Daniel Shealy, "The Author-Publisher Relationships of Louisa May Alcott" (Ph.D. diss., University of South Carolina, 1985).

[8.] Louisa May Alcott, unpublished journals (by permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University), June 1864.

 

            And so a close perusal of Louisa May Alcott’s unpublished journals produced the stunning revelations. In April 1865, having announced, “Richmond taken on the 2nd Hurrah! Went to Boston & enjoyed the grand jollification,” the ex-nurse of the Union Hotel Hospital added a succinct paragraph: “Sewed, cleaned house & wrote a story for Leslie, ‘A Double Tragedy.”’[9] The very next month, the author, glorying in her double life, made the following journal entry: “after I’d done the scrubbing up I went to my pen & wrote Leslie’s second tale ‘Ariel, A Legend Of The Light-house.’”[10] The puzzling expression “second tale” would become clear as soon as the story of the lighthouse and its legend was located.

            The final, and perhaps the most powerful, new discovery contained in A Double Life did not first manifest itself until December 1866. By then, Louisa had returned from her first journey abroad, where she had served as companion to a young invalid.