Canadian "Anne-Girl[s]": Literary Descendents of Montgomery's Redheaded Heroine

ly theoretical finalized quality, a quality sufficient to a single consciousness, it acquires the contradictory complexity and living multi-facedness of an idea-force, being born, living and acting in the great dialogue of the epoch and calling back and forth to kindred ideas of other epochs.” 35 This description easily applies to Montgomery’s character. Like Bakhtin’s conception of the idea, the Anne of many “different Annes” 36 possesses a “contradictory complexity” as well as a “living multi-facedness.” 37 Her artistic imagination calls out to “kindred spirits” 38 across socio-historical and cultural contexts. The redhead’s dialogic orientation to reality not only allows her to foresee and welcome perspectives beyond her own, but also to transcend the confines of the novel in which she appears. As various scholars have noted, Anne’s artistry often expresses itself through the act of storytelling, which, depending on the situation, takes both written and oral forms. 39 “Anne,” Trinna Frever observes, “does not simply give information; she tells stories, stories with entire life histories behind them, and vested with her own observations and reflections, to guide the reader toward the interpretative act.” 40 While Anne’s stories are often conveyed through long monologues, 41 they remain dialogic in their presentation of ideas. The interpretative act always involves a negotiation of different perspectives. When explaining the origins of her wincey dress, for example, Anne tells Matthew: “A merchant in Hopetown last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum. Some people said it was because he couldn’t sell it, but I’d rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn’t you?” 42 In speaking to Matthew, Anne offers different viewpoints and invites him to reflect on his own. This pattern of dialogic representation continues throughout the chapter, surfacing in what the orphan has “always heard” about Prince Edward Island, her knowledge of Mrs. Spencer’s opinions, and the things “[p]eople are always telling [her].” 43 In her consideration of the ideas of others, Anne thus leads her listener to consider what Bakhtin refers to as “someone else’s hostile word.” 44 Anne is not afraid to voice the thoughts of those who possess different opinions from her own and neither is she afraid to voice an opinion that contradicts that of the majority. Whatever her thoughts, they are represented in relation to those of others. One of the consequences of Anne’s dialogic orientation to reality, however, is that most of her ideas remain unresolved. She is a dynamic character partly because her thinking supplies more questions than it does answers. Pondering her many unanswered questions, she remarks: “Isn’t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive—it’s such an interesting world. It wouldn’t be half so interesting if we knew all about everything, would it? There’d be no scope for imagination then, would there?” 45 Possessing more “scope for imagination,” 46 in this respect, involves actively imagining ideas that extend beyond one’s own thoughts and experiences. The orphan is an artist of the idea because she recognizes that her consciousness is the product of the many dialogues taking place in the world she inhabits. Just as Anne “wouldn’t be half so interesting” if she did not possess as many selves, so the world “wouldn’t be half so interesting” 47 if it did not possess so many different ideas. This recurring phrase sets up a parallel between Anne and the world she represents. The world, like Anne, is “interesting” because it is complex in a way that prompts continuous learning and discovery. Anne finds it interesting because, as an artist, she possesses a receptive stance toward new and different forms of thought. Czerny observes that “[a]s an ‘author’ herself—one who renames and reconfigures the reality that surrounds her—Anne is, without exception, ‘attentive’ and ‘in readiness,’ ever expectant and open to catching elements of that elusive ‘imaginative substance’ that does not discern between the past and the present.” 48 Simply put, Anne’s dialogic imagination explains her “unfinalizability” 49 as a literary character and her ongoing relevance to Canadian culture. Time increases, rather than decreases, readers’ ability to engage with the scope of Anne’s artistic vision, extending it to encompass new ideas and situations. Herein lies Anne’s intertextual power, both within the text and beyond it (for example, in readers’/writers’ responses). As someone who possesses a dialogic imagination, she is an unfinalized character, one who maintains an open stance toward change. This openness shapes Anne’s interactions with others. Bakhtin notes that “[t]he individual manner in which a person structures his own speech is determined to a significant degree by his peculiar awareness of another’s words, and by his means for reacting to them.” 50 Montgomery highlights Anne’s peculiar awareness of other people’s words and perspectives on multiple occasions, including the one that leads Miss Barry to call her “Anne-girl.” 51 When apologizing to Miss Barry for disturbing her sleep, the orphan is accused of not knowing the extent of the discomfort she and Diana caused. Responding to this accusation, Anne states: “I don’t know, but I can imagine ... I’m sure it must have been very disturbing. But then, there is our side of it too. Have you any imagination, Miss Barry? If you have, just put yourself in our place.” 52 Anne’s reaction, the narrator observes, has a healing effect on the older woman. Not only does it take “[a]ll the snap” out of Miss Barry’s eyes, but it replaces the snap with “a twinkle of amused interest.” 53 In the course of their conversation, the amusing Anne-girl awakens Miss Barry’s imagination to the possibility that “someone else’s hostile word” 54 may not be hostile at all, but rather, rejuvenating. The orphan’s words remove the anger and self-preoccupation that blind Miss Barry, allowing her to experience a greater view of the world. Anne’s dialogic imagination, of course, is directly related to her love of language, which is compounded by her love of literature. “Anne,” Robinson observes, “literally rewrites her world through her daily imaginings and naming of things motivated by her excessive reading.” 55 Montgomery’s narrative references such prominent writers as “Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Robert Browning, and William Shakespeare,” 56 as well as others. 57 This image of the Anne-girl as an intertextual figure, however, extends beyond the pages of the novel to the circumstances of her creation. As Czerny notes, “Anne is surely a composite of many sources.” 58 Scholars have traced Anne’s resemblance to various literary predecessors, such as Josephine March from Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women (1868/1869), Rebecca Rowena Randall from Kate Douglas Wiggin’s Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1903), 59 and the characters of various magazine stories, including “Charity Ann. Founded on Facts” (1892) by Mary Ann Maitland and “Lucy Ann” (1903) by J.L. Harbour. 60 At the same time, scholars have also traced Anne’s impact on Montgomery’s literary successors. This list of authors includes Canadian writers Margaret Atwood, Margaret Laurence, Marian Engel, and Alice Munro; 61 Swedish children’s writer Astrid Lindgren (whose character Pippi Longstocking bears a significant resemblance to Anne); 62 and Canadian children’s writers Tim WynneJones, Bernice Thurman Hunter, Carol Matas, Jean Little, Julie Johnston, and Kit Pearson. 63 These intertextual associations invite readers to expand the scope of Montgomery’s work by considering Anne’s relationship to other authors’ words. Identifying Anne-Girls Dialogic Encounters with Anne. Private collection of B.J. Tulloch, 2018.

In my view, Montgomery is also an artist of the idea, as is the character she creates.
Anne is a representation of an artist who understands the dialogic nature of human consciousness. In this respect, she functions as both an "artist of the idea" and as an "idea-force." 34 According to Bakhtin, when an idea "loses its monologic, abstractly theoretical finalized quality, a quality sufficient to a single consciousness, it acquires the contradictory complexity and living multi-facedness of an idea-force, being born, living and acting in the great dialogue of the epoch and calling back and forth to kindred ideas of other epochs." 35 This description easily applies to Montgomery's character. Like Bakhtin's conception of the idea, the Anne of many "different Annes" 36 possesses a "contradictory complexity" as well as a "living multi-facedness." 37 Her artistic imagination calls out to "kindred spirits" 38 across socio-historical and cultural contexts. The redhead's dialogic orientation to reality not only allows her to foresee and welcome perspectives beyond her own, but also to transcend the confines of the novel in which she appears.
As various scholars have noted, Anne's artistry often expresses itself through the act of storytelling, which, depending on the situation, takes both written and oral forms. 39 "Anne," Trinna Frever observes, "does not simply give information; she tells stories, stories with entire life histories behind them, and vested with her own observations and reflections, to guide the reader toward the interpretative act." 40 While Anne's stories are often conveyed through long monologues, 41 they remain dialogic in their presentation of ideas. The interpretative act always involves a negotiation of different perspectives. When explaining the origins of her wincey dress, for example, Anne tells Matthew: "A merchant in Hopetown last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum. Some people said it was because he couldn't sell it, but I'd rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn't you?" 42 In speaking to Matthew, Anne offers different viewpoints and invites him to reflect on his own. This pattern of dialogic representation continues throughout the chapter, surfacing in what the orphan has "always heard" about Prince Edward Island, her knowledge of Mrs. Spencer's opinions, and the things "[p]eople are always telling [her]." 43 In her consideration of the ideas of others, Anne thus leads her listener to consider what Bakhtin refers to as "someone else's hostile word." 44 Anne is not afraid to voice the thoughts of those who possess different opinions from her own and neither is she afraid to voice an opinion that contradicts that of the majority. Whatever her thoughts, they are represented in relation to those of others.
One of the consequences of Anne's dialogic orientation to reality, however, is that most of her ideas remain unresolved. She is a dynamic character partly because her thinking supplies more questions than it does answers. Pondering her many unanswered questions, she remarks: "Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive-it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we knew all about everything, would it?
There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?" 45 Possessing more "scope for imagination," 46 in this respect, involves actively imagining ideas that extend beyond one's own thoughts and experiences. The orphan is an artist of the idea because she recognizes that her consciousness is the product of the many dialogues taking place in the world she inhabits. Just as Anne "wouldn't be half so interesting" if she did not possess as many selves, so the world "wouldn't be half so interesting" 47 if it did not possess so many different ideas. This recurring phrase sets up a parallel between Anne and the world she represents. The world, like Anne, is "interesting" because it is complex in a way that prompts continuous learning and discovery. Anne finds it interesting because, as an artist, she possesses a receptive stance toward new and different forms of thought. Czerny observes that "[a]s an 'author' herself-one who renames and reconfigures the reality that surrounds her-Anne is, without exception, 'attentive' and 'in readiness,' ever expectant and open to catching elements of that elusive 'imaginative substance' that does not discern between the past and the present." 48 Simply put, Anne's dialogic imagination explains her "unfinalizability" 49 as a literary character and her ongoing relevance to Canadian culture. Time increases, rather than decreases, readers' ability to engage with the scope of Anne's artistic vision, extending it to encompass new ideas and situations.
Herein lies Anne's intertextual power, both within the text and beyond it (for example, in readers'/writers' responses). As someone who possesses a dialogic imagination, she is an unfinalized character, one who maintains an open stance toward change. This openness shapes Anne's interactions with others. Bakhtin notes that "[t]he individual manner in which a person structures his own speech is determined to a significant degree by his peculiar awareness of another's words, and by his means for reacting to them." 50 Montgomery highlights Anne's peculiar awareness of other people's words and perspectives on multiple occasions, including the one that leads Miss Barry to call her "Anne-girl." 51 When apologizing to Miss Barry for disturbing her sleep, the orphan is accused of not knowing the extent of the discomfort she and Diana caused. Responding to this accusation, Anne states: "I don't know, but I can imagine … I'm sure it must have been very disturbing. But then, there is our side of it too. Have you any imagination, Miss Barry? If you have, just put yourself in our place." 52 Anne's reaction, the narrator observes, has a healing effect on the older woman. Not only does it take "[a]ll the snap" out of Miss Barry's eyes, but it replaces the snap with "a twinkle of amused interest." 53 In the course of their conversation, the amusing Anne-girl awakens Miss Barry's imagination to the possibility that "someone else's hostile word" 54 may not be hostile at all, but rather, rejuvenating. The orphan's words remove the anger and self-preoccupation that blind Miss Barry, allowing her to experience a greater view of the world.
Anne's dialogic imagination, of course, is directly related to her love of language, which is compounded by her love of literature. "Anne," Robinson observes, "literally rewrites her world through her daily imaginings and naming of things motivated by her excessive reading." 55

Identifying Anne-Girls
Dialogic Encounters with Anne. Private collection of B.J. Tulloch, 2018. To extend this intertextual network even further, the following half of this essay considers the connections between Anne of Green Gables and several contemporary Canadian children's novels, each of which is set on an island and features an orphaned female protagonist. This is not to say that all Anne-girls necessarily are orphans or live on Canadian islands. Rather, the juxtaposition of Montgomery's Canadian island novel with several other Canadian island novels invites readers to consider the striking similarities and differences between their protagonists' personalities. Like Anne, the heroines of these novels possess artistic dispositions that set them apart from those around them. Whether through acts of writing (The Root Cellar), cooking (Everything on a Waffle), or painting (The Whole Truth and And Nothing But the Truth), each of these girls represents new ways of seeing and experiencing the world. Their artistry, which is deeply connected to their desire for belonging and home, expresses itself in their irrepressible hope that their circumstances will change for the better. Viewed in relation to Montgomery's novel, these narratives extend the myth of progress associated with Anne's artistry, particularly as it relates to the possibilities associated with female choice. Like Anne matter, impacts their understanding of their own work. "Our practical everyday speech," Bakhtin notes, "is full of other people's words: with some of them we completely merge our own voice, forgetting whose they are; others, which we take as authoritative, we use to reinforce our own words; still others, finally, we populate with our own aspirations, alien or hostile to them." 68 Accordingly, when it comes to questioning the intentionality of the intertextual connections between Anne and these Canadian heroines, this essay places more emphasis on the indirect quotations (and allusions generally) of Anne found within Lunn's, Horvath's, and Pearson's texts, than it does on the authors' direct acknowledgement of Montgomery's influence. Justifying this emphasis is the recognition that each author's words are full of other people's words, some of which she might not consciously perceive, but that readers' imaginations are free to identify. With this view, I now turn to an intertextual reading of the above-mentioned novels, keeping in mind the way their words gain new significance in relation to Anne of Green Gables.

The Root Cellar (1981)
Reading The Root Cellar. Private collection of B.J. Tulloch, 2018.
While The Root Cellar contains no direct reference to Anne of Green Gables, it, like the other novels mentioned in this essay, presents a "peculiar awareness" 69 of Montgomery's story. This awareness reveals itself in the physical resemblance between Lunn's heroine, Rose Larkin, and Anne. Rose, the narrator states, … didn't look like a china doll. Her bright red hair was pulled tightly into two neat braids. She had a long nose and her face was pointed which gave her a slightly elfish look and sometimes led strangers to expect mischief or humour until they looked more closely at her set chin, her mouth so firmly shut and the guarded expression that was too often in her large grey eyes. 70 Apart from the shut mouth and guarded expression, this passage echoes Montgomery's description of Anne, who has "two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair," a "very pointed and pronounced" chin and "large" greenish-grey eyes. 71 Moreover, Rose's "elfish" 72 look recalls the otherworldly quality Montgomery attributes to Anne when Matthew thinks her a "freckled witch," 73 not to mention Montgomery's other heroine, Emily, who looks as if "she was kin to tribes of elfland." 74 In fact, Lunn's juxtaposition of "mischief or humour" 75 with Rose's firmness evokes Montgomery's description of Marilla, Anne's adult double, 76 who, despite her rather severe appearance, has "a saving something about her mouth" that "might have been considered indicative of a sense of humour." 77 Whether intentional or unintentional, these parallels establish a strong intertextual connection between Lunn's and Montgomery's characters.
Further increasing this resemblance between Rose and Anne, however, are the similar circumstances they face. As previously mentioned, Rose, like Anne, is an orphan. After her "austere" grandmother passes away, the twelve-year-old is sent to live with her paternal aunt and uncle on an island located "off the north shore of Lake Ontario." 78 Given these similarities, it is not surprising that Mary on Regarded together, this reversal-compounded by a number of other plot points-engages with and expands upon some of the themes of social transformation associated with Montgomery's novel, particularly those related to gender norms. Like Anne, for example, Rose receives an unfortunate haircut. And yet, unlike Anne, Rose's haircut is the consequence of her aunt's vanity and not her own. Her Aunt Millicent tells her, "before you go to your new home, I think we'd better do something about you, hadn't we?" 88 Rose, the narrator observes, "... was much too bewildered and too well behaved to say anything. She went obediently to the hairdresser where, with two quick chops, her braids were left lying on the floor and her hair was in inch-long curls all over her head." 89 In the 1980s, unlike the 1860s, 90 short hair is considered "[s]o chic" 91 on a girl. Nevertheless, Rose wishes she could keep her braids and "good navy blue challis dress." 92 Unlike Anne, she does not identify with popular models of femininity that associate being a woman with a particular ideal of beauty. She is not concerned with being fashionable. Artistically speaking, however, Rose and Anne both express a desire to choose how they represent themselves to the world. In each novel, this desire provides a means through which to examine the complex and often-conflicting expectations placed on young women. Rose, for instance, rejects the supposedly feminine desire to conform to socially acceptable ideals of beauty but complies with the stereotype of female submission by obeying her aunt. Conversely, Anne embraces society's ideal of feminine beauty, but, in her desire to emulate it, defies the stereotype of female submission by doing something she knows Marilla would not sanction (that is, dyeing her hair).
Where Rose and Anne are concerned, hair thus becomes a physical expression of their inner selves. While Anne eventually comes to terms with her haircut (and eventually her red hair), Rose begins to appreciate her haircut when it acquires a functional value. Travelling back in time to the 1860s, her short hair loses its fashionable status, allowing her to pose as a boy and enjoy the freedoms that come with being a male. Instead of a symbol of oppression, Rose's short hair becomes a symbol of liberation. When she decides to return to the 1860s and take on the identity of "David," 93 she embraces the right to determine aspects of her own future. The physically demanding tasks she performs as a boy (for example, helping out at a blacksmith's workshop) allow her to exercise the agency she has previously been denied. Unlike Anne, who is not allowed to perform "boys' work" at Green Gables, Rose proves herself capable of handling hard labour. Engaging in this gender performance affords her the opportunity to experience some of the more restricting gender norms of the 1860s, while developing a sense of female autonomy more familiar to the feminist movements of the 1980s. 94 By the time Rose is ready to discard her male disguise and return home, her hair has started to grow. This growth marks a change in how she represents her femininity, a change that is further symbolized by the new makeover she receives before she goes home. Donning an old-fashioned dress with "mutton-chop sleeves, a high collar, and an ankle-length full skirt," 95 Rose looks at herself and whispers, "I like it." 96 Unlike the makeover she receives from her Aunt Millicent, this makeover is conducted on her own terms. Rose's preference for older fashions, in this respect, actually reflects a modern sensibility of female empowerment, because it signifies her ability to assert herself and construct her own identity. Her adventure in the past has freed her of the inhibitions that have prevented her from outwardly expressing her sense of self.
These corresponding plot points in The Root Cellar and Anne of Green Gables invite readers to reflect on the representation of gender norms in each novel. Unlike Anne, for example, who is initially rejected by Marilla because she is not a boy, Rose is welcomed by her Aunt Nan because she is a girl. Aunt Nan tells her, "I write stories for girls. It's to get away from boys your uncle Bob says, so you can imagine how nice it's going to be to have you here." 97 In a home dominated by four male cousins and an uncle, Rose's female presence holds value. Her aunt's welcome, however, does not affirm Rose's strength and independence as much as it suggests a reinforcement of the gendering readers find in Montgomery's novel, when Mathew tells Marilla that Anne would be good "company" 98 for her. Neither does it convince Rose that she belongs. On the contrary, it is not until Rose travels back to another time period that she is truly able to recognize her self-worth. Disguised as "David," 99 Rose and her friend Susan travel across the United States to find their mutual friend Will, a soldier who has been missing since the end of the war. Instead of adopting the role of a damsel in distress, a role Anne reluctantly adopts when Gilbert saves her from the sinking dory, 100 Rose adopts the role of a rescuer. By proving herself as capable as a male, she demonstrates that her value does not merely lie in the fact that she is precious, but also, useful. In this way, she expands upon the scope of Anne's own heroic moments, which include saving Minnie May from the croup. 101 Through these different reversals, Rose dialogically extends Anne's myth of progress to encompass more possibilities for young women. Her experiences in the 1860s reclaim women's right to have adventures outside of the home, while simultaneously validating the adventurous nature of their lives inside of it. Susan, Rose's friend from the 1860s, is an extremely hard worker, who courageously agrees to join Rose in the search for Will. This combination of an 1860s-girl and a 1980s-girl-disguised-as-a-boy deconstructs the notion that girls are not strong enough to live out "boys' adventures." While Susan proves that girls do not need to adopt masculine characteristics in order to experience danger, excitement, and hardship, Rose's male disguise allows her to prove that they can take on the responsibilities of the opposite sex. Reflecting on their journey together, Susan tells Rose: "Rose, you know I couldn't ever have done this without you … I think you're wonderful brave." 102 When Rose denies her bravery, Susan reminds her of all the challenges of their journey: "You was brave to come and you was brave to stick when things got bad. I expect you could have gone back to wherever you come from any time you wanted and you didn't." 103 This passage highlights the importance of female affirmation and friendship; Susan and Rose affirm each other's ability to endure the challenges of their journey together. Bravery, they realize, does not mean that they do not feel fear or make mistakes, but that they are vulnerable enough to admit both.
Lunn, however, does not allow her characters to experience a conventional boy's adventure without interrogating some of its ideological underpinnings. Instead of promoting romantic visions of Rose's journey, she uses it to expose the brutal realities of what is often framed as the ultimate boy's adventure-war. When Rose and Susan eventually discover Will, they find him emotionally broken. Explaining his reasons for enlisting, he tells them: "… when [Steve] talked about going to war, I felt the excitement too. I was so full of glory and halleluiah I had to go. But I never took to it like he did. All I could think was we had to win. I figured we had to save the country, but many's the long night I lay awake and just prayed for it to be over." 104 In this passage, readers are invited to recognize that the greater adventure taking place in Lunn's novel, like Montgomery's, is one of healing. 105 Rose, Susan, and Will discover that the glories of war are nothing compared to the glories of friendship and family. Rose comes to the conclusion that she is tired of pretending to be a boy, realizing that she "belong[s] in that other time" 106 where she can be herself. When she returns to her family, she finally realizes that she is "just as prickly and difficult" 107 as they are, which allows her to feel at home. Her experiences in the 1860s help her recognize that her future does not need to lie in the past in order to be shaped by it. Knowing the history of the home she shares with her aunt, uncle, and cousins allows her to feel a connection to the 1860s that informs how she chooses to live her life in the 1980s.
To some degree, then, Rose actually rescues herself by rescuing Will. Her efforts to convince him to return home lead her to conclude that she should return to hers. He is presented as a male counter-part to Rose, just as Gilbert is presented as a male counter-part to Anne. 108 While Anne does not recognize Gilbert as a kindred spirit, at least, not right away, Rose recognizes Will as one almost immediately. Listening to him play his flute "[s]he bec[omes] part of the woods and the water, of the boat and Will." 109 Moreover, whereas Anne initially rejects the idea of Gilbert as a romantic suitor, Rose decides soon after meeting Will that she's "going to marry Rose's act of revision, in turn, highlights the significance of the intergenerational dialogues that occur between women. In the course of the story, Rose has transformed from being a passive young woman whose voice is silenced by her older female guardians (that is, her grandmother and her Aunt Millicent) to a young woman who is willing to insert her voice directly into their monologues (that is, her Aunt Nan's story). Like Anne, whose interactions with women such as Marilla, Mrs.  146 Through them, she reminds readers that creating a sense of belonging in the world is always a physically and psychologically challenging endeavour. Domesticity is linked to the adventure of self-discovery, a journey that cannot be underestimated in terms of its difficulty.
Being A-typical in the Anne-girl sense of the word, therefore, means finding oneself unwittingly labelled an "iconoclastic spirit." 147 By being true to her beliefs, which are different from those of the people around her, Primrose, like Anne, stands out.
Miss Perfidy views this "strange[ness]" as an inherited trait, and, while the babysitter's memory is not the most reliable source of information, it is worth noting that Mrs. Squarp, like her daughter, is not afraid to be different. 148  Squarp thus stems more from her belief that love should be founded on principles of equality, respect, and mutual passion, than the idea that women should sacrifice themselves for men. Like Montgomery, then, Horvath presents empowering models of femininity that push back against restrictive gender stereotypes. The power of these models reveals itself in a conventional domestic task: cooking. Similar to Montgomery and Lunn, Horvath validates the significance of domestic art. One of the ways she does this is by establishing a dialogic connection between the professional context of Miss Bowzer's restaurant kitchen and the private context of the home Primrose used to share with her parents. While her parents are away, Primrose tries to remember her mother's recipes, recording them on her mother's memo pad. She also records new recipes she thinks her mother would like, many of which she obtains from the different people she encounters. Primrose makes some of these recipes with the help of Miss Bowzer, whose "warm kitchen" is a place of "safety." Accordingly, in Horvath's novel recipes are presented as dialogic texts that signify connection and creation. In the absence of her mother and father, Primrose must find a new recipe for home, one that includes the mentorship and friendship of people like Miss Bowzer. A small business owner in a fishing and whaling town, Miss Bowzer has proven that she has the intellectual savvy to survive on her own in an economically challenging environment. Not only that, but she has done so by creating a central space where the community can gather, eat, and exchange ideas.
She has made a career out of being a "social artist," who, like Anne, employs the domestic arts to "creat[e] a living narrative for, and from, the lives of the inhabitants" 158 of her community. Primrose, in this respect, functions as her apprentice. Food becomes a metaphor through which the young girl can explore the tangible and intangible elements that sustain human life. Primrose associates each of the recipes she records with different stories. While some of these stories demonstrate the power of domestic art to facilitate connection, they also remind her of its limitations. For example, when reflecting on her parents' attempts to schedule 'concentrated family time,' Primrose concludes that: "Being together, like being able to see certain stars only with your peripheral vision, isn't something you can create. It's just something that happens to you." 159 Horvath, therefore, uses the metaphor of cooking to validate the domestic arts, while simultaneously critiquing some of the oppressive philosophies that are often associated with them.
Recipes for domesticity, like recipes for cooking, can become bland and unsatisfying when they fail to account for the unfinalizable nature of life.
Similar to The Root Cellar and Anne of Green Gables, Everything on a Waffle thus encourages readers to question the gender norms underlying conventional classifications of the girl's story and the boy's story. Primrose's narrative is presented as a parallel adventure to that of her parents, who "liv[e] very much like Robinson Crusoe" 160 until they are rescued. Like them, her life has been shipwrecked by the storm and she must find her own way to survive. Horvath notes that "… survival is central in everyone's work and life. Whether it is physical, mental, spiritual, etc. You want not to just survive but transcend." 161 Through Primrose's unconventional story, Horvath's novel successfully transcends the notion that adventure can only happen in faraway places. Over the course of her parents' absence, Primrose, who has always wanted to travel, realizes that "… the things that you find out become the places that you go and sometimes you find them out by being jettisoned off alone and other times it is the people who choose to stand by your side who give you the clues. But the important things that happen to you will happen to you even in the smallest places, like Coal Harbour." 162 Unlike Anne, whose "horizons" have supposedly "closed in" with her decision to stay with Marilla and walk the "narrow" 163  which, as this investigation of the A-typical Anne-girl has already revealed, tend to disrupt social norms. "Anne," Temma Berg notes, "is a spirit that awakens and disorients. Ugly, skinny, freckled, and red-haired she may be, but she is also a powerful force of release. Honesty, as the titles of Pearson's books suggest, is an important part of this process. The Whole Truth, which is set during the Great Depression, explores the secrets that divide Polly's family, secrets that include the fact that her father, who is thought to be dead, is actually alive. When Polly discovers that her father faked his own death because he was guilty of stealing from his employer, she is devastated.
The narrator informs us: "Polly wanted to hide under the covers as if she were a little child. All she could do was keep her face turned away. How stupid she felt! How humiliated! The grown-ups had been right all along. Her father, whom she had always thought was good, was a thief and a liar." 173 Coming to terms with her father's guilt complicates Polly's understanding of human morality. Her struggle to distinguish good people from bad resonates with Anne's own observations on the subject. "No matter how hard I try to be good," Anne tells Marilla, "I can never make such a success of it as those who are naturally good. It's a good deal like geometry, I expect. But don't you think the trying so hard ought to count for something?" 174 Polly has to answer a similar question when reflecting on the goodness of the people in her own life. On the one hand, there are people like her father, who, faced with desperate circumstances, do unethical things that they would not normally do.
On the other hand, there are people like her grandmother, Noni, who are not in desperate circumstances but still end up making unethical decisions, such as refusing to let a Japanese woman join the Women's Auxiliary because of her race. 175 Reflecting on the complexity of these different situations inevitably leads Polly to re-evaluate her understanding of right and wrong. Morality, she discovers, is its own idea-force that possesses a "contradictory complexity and living multifacedness" 176 that cannot be easily explained. Polly's encounters with people who are not afraid to challenge convention give her the courage to support Maud through her unplanned pregnancy, even when it means taking a stand against her grandmother by running away. Ideas, she realizes, have the power to rupture human bonds, but they also have the power to restore them. Polly experiences this restorative power first hand when Noni follows her to her father's house and apologizes. The novel ends with an image of intergenerational unity, as Polly, Noni, Maud, and Maud's newborn daughter Una (named after Polly and Maud's mother), take the ferry back to Kingfisher Island to share the truth with their neighbours. As the afterward reveals, Polly goes on to marry and enjoy a successful career as an artist and Maud goes on to become a respected judge. 184 The fact that Maud, a victim of narrow-minded judgements, becomes an authority on justice further enhances the theme of social progress woven throughout the novel.
In true A-typical fashion, then, Polly's experiences transform her into an artist of the idea, a person who possesses a dialogic orientation to reality. She, too, learns the paradoxical comfort of discomfort, that is, the benefit of navigating "troublesome,"  Rose, Primrose, and Polly learn to respect and value the adventurous nature of domestic pursuits, which involve coping with the unexpected while holding onto the right to expect more out of life than social norms would dictate. Living, they realize, involves making space for alien thoughts that allow for self-growth. Only by acknowledging and attending to each other's "hostile word[s]" 193 can the world hope to experience healing and progress related to issues of prejudice, inequality, and injustice.

"Interesting" Conclusions
Having examined some of the connections between these heroines and the iconic Anne, I now return to the question that began this essay: What makes an Anne-girl?
The answer I have proposed is that the Anne-girl is an artist, who is distinguished by her dialogic orientation to reality. She is an artist of the idea because she represents this dialogic imagination in the words she thinks and speaks. Despite her seemingly static state at the end of Anne of Green Gables, Montgomery's heroine maintains a dynamic and open stance toward change. Rose, Primrose, and Polly extend Anne's artistic image through acts of writing, cooking, and painting. Their stories, which re-accentuate the power of imagination, provide new dialogizing backgrounds that reinforce the theme of female choice in Anne of Green Gables.
Each girl is able to act on her convictions to determine aspects of her own destiny.
In this respect, their stories develop and grow the image of "intentional potential" 194 associated with Anne's own never-ending "ambitions." 195 And yet, as this essay has argued, it is not the finished accomplishments of these heroines that link them to the A-typical Anne-girl, but rather, their unfinalizability as imaginative individuals. Like Anne's ideas, their ideas also call out for further responses. One of these responses concerns the representation of race, which, though acknowledged in these novels, does not factor strongly in the protagonists' personal experiences of marginalization. While Gray claims that Anne of Green Gables "ultimately projects a transcendence of limitations, whether imposed by self or society ...," 196 one wonders how Anne's identity as a Caucasian female complicates this transcendence. Does her distinctly red hair, and the fair skin that accompanies it, potentially limit the dialogue she creates? Does the loudness of Anne's voice in Canadian culture silence or overshadow the voices and names of other girls with different skin and hair colours?
Anne's international popularity 197 suggests that the answer to this question, like the heroine herself, is far from simple. Writer Evelyn White, for instance, was surprised to learn that the iconic African American singer-songwriter and civil rights activist Aretha Franklin was a fan of Anne of Green Gables. 198 While White points out some potential reasons for Franklin's fondness for Anne, including their resilience and motherless childhoods, her surprise ultimately stems from an awareness of the different cultural contexts of Anne's and Aretha 's upbringings. 199 The comparison between Aretha and Anne reminds readers that celebrating the connective power of kindred spirits also involves acknowledging the significance of the differences that make them distinct. If these differences go unacknowledged, the temptation to universalize Anne's appeal could potentially lead to the erasure of inequalities that need to be addressed. The fact remains, however, that, as an artist of the idea, Anne intentionally creates space to question the limitations and the possibilities associated with her character. "Perpetually emerging from the page into life ever since Anne was published," Czerny notes, "Anne authenticates a type of thinking that merges the artistic (gleaned from the written works she has read) with her own imaginative ideas and, in the process, creates a new reality." 200 The iconic orphan, in this respect, authenticates the logic governing her own artistic consumption. An unfinalizable character, Anne is open to the readings and revisions promoted by new texts that grow her to produce alternative realities.
The spirit of this openness is neatly captured in a line from the recent Anne with an E television series, which has already re-envisioned Montgomery's novel to address such issues as racial diversity and discrimination, including the harmful effects of the Canadian Indian residential-school system. When preparing to write her entrance exam to Queens, Anne remarks to Gilbert: "No matter where life takes me, I now know I must be a relentless thorn in the side of those who refuse to amend the status quo." 201 As the award-winning novels in this essay have shown, Montgomery's heroine has indeed inspired amendments to the status quo. She is no longer as atypical as she once was. In fact, Anne's power might lie in the fact that she was never as uncommon a model of femininity as she initially appeared to be.
Even so, as a relentless idea-force, she keeps readers and writers asking questions, some of which are more comfortable than others. Her myth of progress continues to raise people's expectations for the future. And, no matter where their imaginations take her, she is sure to bend them in interesting ways.