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The Plucky Girl trope as used in popular culture. Plucky means "brave and optimistic". You might be able to pile life complications onto this young woman/ .
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Plucky girl escapes fire unhurt

This book is not yet featured on Listopia. Community Reviews. Showing Average rating 3. Rating details. More filters. Sort order. Start your review of A Plucky Girl. Feb 06, Orinoco Womble tidy bag and all rated it it was ok Shelves: for-the-easily-entertained , stonking-great-disappointment. At first I was reminded of Polly Oliver's Problem: A Story for Girls , what with the delicate mother and the young woman who decides to set up a boarding house to keep Mum in luxury.

However, in this case I'm afraid I didn't find the heroine to be particularly plucky, or at all "masculine-minded", no matter what others in the book seemed to think. She blunders from one situation to another without taking time to think, sets up a boarding-house without the least idea of how to run a home for two, At first I was reminded of Polly Oliver's Problem: A Story for Girls , what with the delicate mother and the young woman who decides to set up a boarding house to keep Mum in luxury.

She blunders from one situation to another without taking time to think, sets up a boarding-house without the least idea of how to run a home for two, let alone a dozen or more, and constantly expects others to get her out of the messes she creates for herself. Even her attempt at "self-denial" comes off as Little Miss Martyr waiting for someone to put a halo on her. I wanted a snuggly bedtime read, but found myself skimming after the first half.

Plucky Girl

I was extremely annoyed that the ending is just chopped off short; Meade either reached her editor's maximum tolerance for words, or ran out of purple prose. Aug 20, Rochelle rated it really liked it.

Despite the childish title, this is actually a moving and well crafted tale of introspection and change amid the rigours of the British class system at the turn of the century. Dec 27, Chanawp rated it really liked it. A cozy read that paints a picture of what it's like for women during that time and the class system. Sue rated it it was amazing Nov 25, Sujata Das Gupta rated it liked it Jun 09, Carolyn rated it really liked it Jan 07, Gangadhar rated it it was amazing May 21, Roya rated it liked it Feb 03, Cindy rated it really liked it Jan 12, Tig rated it liked it Oct 03, Kiana Powers rated it it was amazing May 05, Kemaria marked it as to-read Nov 05, Stephen Robertson marked it as to-read Nov 15, Jamie Prater marked it as to-read Mar 04, Latha Venkataraman marked it as to-read Sep 08, Hazel marked it as to-read Aug 24, Abigail marked it as to-read Sep 20, These had heavy cardboard covers and thick yellowing pages.

They smelled of age and promise. The first one I opened began with a line that told me this book was going to be different. First off, the narrator was a woman. Second, and even more important, was the way she saw the world, with herself at the center and the story her own.

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That was how I met Jane Eyre. She was a revelation to my year-old self--the self who had already been taught that good books were written by men about courageous guys and noble, thoughtful boys. Jane was not like any girl character a man had written. She thought for herself. She took terrifying action, often at great risk, and did things that were unthinkable.

Almost unbelievable. And yet I believed she could do them. And although I would not have said so when I first read her story, she made me believe that I could do things too. My mother worried that I had fallen into a pit of despair. I had not. I was searching for a story that felt like my own.

I knew I could not be Tom Sawyer. I could not follow Jack London into the wild.


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I could not prove myself on the battlefields of the Western front. In short, I could have none of the experiences described by writers from Hemingway to Faulkner--male writers all--that defined the world to readers or the place of the individual within it, as if war and hunting and the gain or loss of money were the formative experiences of every person who walked America. Later, as I tried to write fiction, I struggled to find my way. Having had books by men presented to me as the best books in the world, I felt as if the stories I wanted to tell existed outside the things that it might be permissible to write about--and the things that were permissible to write about did not belong to me.

I had the experience common to so many women who write: I could not lay claim to the universals of human experience because in literature human experience is always defined as male. We know we are reading "good" fiction when the interests described are understood through the male point of view--when his viewpoint is the validated lens through which we see. Fiction written by men is never called "men's fiction," in the way that fiction written by women--no matter the subject--is invariably called "women's fiction. That's how you know that it must be good. I can hear you now. You will say that women who write no longer face a world as bleak as the one I describe.

Plenty of women publish, even if no one has ever heard of them. You can rattle off names, those who have broken through, been vetted, won prizes. But in the "Year of Reading Women," I keep finding lists on social media telling us whom to read.

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Even though we have women writing good and serious fiction, women's names do not immediately come to mind when we wonder what to read next. We are far more likely to think of the boy-geniuses and the anointed males, the brotherhood of the world of fiction-writing men, fed to us in a steady stream by publications that review men and discuss men and proclaim literary victories--the vast majority for men.

But because we live in a world where the White House needs to speak out against sexual assault on campus and in the military, where a couple hundred school girls can be stolen from their boarding school, where women still don't earn equal pay, I say: Give me the plucky heroine every time. Give me the woman who struggles and wins. Or, if she does not win--thus avoiding being dismissed as part of a redemptive fiction, a narrative strategy maligned ever since Oprah first noticed it--at least makes small gains.

Who inch by inch gains a toehold in her own life. Who reminds us that we are out there, women all, doing what it takes to live our lives and push ahead. Our victories may be local and particular. But they are ours. And they make up the world. Randi Davenport is the author of the new book The End of Always.

a plucky girl – apluckygirl

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