Anne Frank: My Thoughts
Hullo! I recently read (and by that I mean I finished it roughly 15 minutes ago) the Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, and to say that I enjoyed it would be a gross understatement. It has reached out to me in ways that no other book has done, and it would not do to leave this piece of literary genius un-commented on.
I started the book expecting a diary. Maybe some parts touching. I most definitely did not expect a full account of all of Anne's woes, the petty fights at the Annexe, the small things in life she lived for. I did not expect a tale that was something of an inspiration. The previous year we had a small comprehension on extracts from the book. There is absolutely no way a few lines or paragraphs could show exactly how touching this book could be. One must read the whole of it to comprehend exactly how much of Anne's life was changed. I've had something of an existential crisis after finishing it.
The thing that struck me was how Anne seemed to be strangely akin to the various thoughts and emotions I've felt many times in the last year. This includes what she says about writing.
"I'm my best and harshest critic. I know what's good and what isn't. Unless you write yourself, you can't know how wonderful it is; I always used to bemoan the fact that I couldn't draw, but now I'm overjoyed that at least I can write."
The bouts of moodiness (though I'm not proud of them) hit me just as well, and there is a mutual tendency to regret things said in a huff.
After mulling over it for a while, I realized that it was not just me Anne was similar to, but the entire population of teenagers and adolescents. We all feel like we're alone; but in reality, that's all it is, a feeling. And that is why The Diary of a Young Girl has been one of the best books I ever laid my hands upon. It is, in my opinion, one of the few pieces of literature that gets you to think, not dream. When I opened the book again after reading it the first time, I was struck with the stark contrast between the beginning and the end. The book opens with Anne giving a detailed description of her friends and the such, and ends with her musings on her own character. I wonder, if the Franks did not have to go into hiding, would the friends and classmates have had a bigger part in Anne's life?
Something that shocked me was how, through all the pain and misery, through the food shortages, and clogged drains, and whatnot, Anne's faith and confidence never wavered. She writes these things in a matter of fact way, like they might happen to anyone. She makes them seem like petty annoyances, when they were an actual change in lifestyle. She talks about the fear, and threats, and yet, one never fails to see that she sounds cheerful for the majority of the diary.
When you read this book, it immediately makes the Holocaust something that actually happened, a thing that millions of people had to suffer through. Not something that we exclusively learn about in school. When you read this book, it makes you feel like you are in Anne's world, hiding with her in the Annexe, petrified every day. When you read this book, it actually might give you a somewhat better view of this world, and Anne's.
I started the book expecting a diary. Maybe some parts touching. I most definitely did not expect a full account of all of Anne's woes, the petty fights at the Annexe, the small things in life she lived for. I did not expect a tale that was something of an inspiration. The previous year we had a small comprehension on extracts from the book. There is absolutely no way a few lines or paragraphs could show exactly how touching this book could be. One must read the whole of it to comprehend exactly how much of Anne's life was changed. I've had something of an existential crisis after finishing it.
The thing that struck me was how Anne seemed to be strangely akin to the various thoughts and emotions I've felt many times in the last year. This includes what she says about writing.
"I'm my best and harshest critic. I know what's good and what isn't. Unless you write yourself, you can't know how wonderful it is; I always used to bemoan the fact that I couldn't draw, but now I'm overjoyed that at least I can write."
The bouts of moodiness (though I'm not proud of them) hit me just as well, and there is a mutual tendency to regret things said in a huff.
After mulling over it for a while, I realized that it was not just me Anne was similar to, but the entire population of teenagers and adolescents. We all feel like we're alone; but in reality, that's all it is, a feeling. And that is why The Diary of a Young Girl has been one of the best books I ever laid my hands upon. It is, in my opinion, one of the few pieces of literature that gets you to think, not dream. When I opened the book again after reading it the first time, I was struck with the stark contrast between the beginning and the end. The book opens with Anne giving a detailed description of her friends and the such, and ends with her musings on her own character. I wonder, if the Franks did not have to go into hiding, would the friends and classmates have had a bigger part in Anne's life?
Something that shocked me was how, through all the pain and misery, through the food shortages, and clogged drains, and whatnot, Anne's faith and confidence never wavered. She writes these things in a matter of fact way, like they might happen to anyone. She makes them seem like petty annoyances, when they were an actual change in lifestyle. She talks about the fear, and threats, and yet, one never fails to see that she sounds cheerful for the majority of the diary.
When you read this book, it immediately makes the Holocaust something that actually happened, a thing that millions of people had to suffer through. Not something that we exclusively learn about in school. When you read this book, it makes you feel like you are in Anne's world, hiding with her in the Annexe, petrified every day. When you read this book, it actually might give you a somewhat better view of this world, and Anne's.
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