families of four

I grew up with one sister. We’re 17 months apart, so I can’t remember when she wasn’t around. She’s an outgoing, tall, blonde businesswoman who always beats the boys at whatever sport she’s playing. I’m a quieter, petite brunette who prefers books and knitting to golf and pickup basketball.

We’re not quite opposites – we both love dogs, our parents, Tex-Mex food, chick flicks, the Midland High Bulldogs, Christmas music, country music, chocolate, board games, our dear Christian college, and each other. I can’t imagine my life without her.

I never wanted any more siblings – one was just fine with me, and our friends filled in the gaps pretty well. But I’ve recently noticed how often children’s literature features families with four children. There are the four March sisters, of course; the four Ingalls sisters; and (I’ve recently discovered) the four Penderwick sisters. On the coed side, the list grows long: the Melendys (of The Saturdays and sequels); the Moffats; the Murrys of A Wrinkle in Time and sequels; the Austins (of Meet the Austins and sequels); the Pevensies (of the Chronicles of Narnia). The Boxcar Children; the Logans (of Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry and sequels); the Tillermans (of Homecoming and sequels).

(Several series also feature groups of four girlfriends – The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, The Mother-Daughter Book Club, The Miracle Girls. But that’s a post for a different day.)

I wonder if authors often write about four children because it’s an even, manageable number. It’s easy to keep four characters straight, but harder if you throw in, say, six (like Anne Shirley Blythe’s children) or eight (like the Pike clan in The Baby-Sitters Club books). Four divides easily into two pairs, of course; it’s also big enough to feel like a “large” family, but small enough that no one gets lost in the shuffle. And – most importantly, I think – it allows the author to develop four distinctive character types.

It amazes me how many combinations of character types are possible with four characters. Of course, the oldest child is generally the responsible one, either by force of personality or circumstance. There’s at least one character everyone loves and/or spoils (often the baby, but not always). One of the “middle” children usually feels alone, rebellious or unloved, like Jo March, Laura Ingalls or Edmund Pevensie. (Occasionally, the oldest child is the rebellious one – like Meg Murry.) But not one of these families is exactly like another. They all start out with four children, then go all kinds of different places.

I often see myself in these oldest siblings, who take care of everyone and get good grades, who follow the rules and try to keep things tidy. But sometimes I see myself, too, in the quirky second child – Jo March with her scribbling in the attic, Vicky Austin with her feelings of awkwardness and deep desire to belong, Laura Ingalls with her stubbornness. I know birth order has a profound effect on family dynamics, real or fictional, but although I am a classic first child (see above), I often identify deeply with these “middle” children (many of whom, it should be no surprise, want to be writers).

What do you think about fictional family dynamics? Which sibling do you tend to identify with in fictional families? Is it similar or different to your real-life birth order? (And if you’re an only child, do you think I’ve got the wrong theory altogether?)

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