I confess to feeling slightly voyeuristic while reading this. It was constantly in the back of my mind that this was no ordinary novel, or even a true-to-life account. This was someone’s diary. Every page written in confidence, each word revealing the thoughts closest to the heart of this young girl. As a journal-keeper myself, I sometimes find myself wondering, “What if someone else were to read this?” which causes me to wonder how much to filter my words. But then, isn’t the purpose of a diary or journal just the opposite? To record one’s honest and unfiltered thoughts? While reading Anne Frank – The Diary of a Young Girl I do not get the sense that there is any such ‘filtering’ going on. From the ages of 12-15 Anne lived an extraordinary life, and quickly grew far beyond her years in her understanding and handling of a horrendous situation.

There are surprises in this book. No matter how broad or limited your understanding of the world events that threw Anne and her family into a life in hiding, I had – before reading this – held the general assumption that, “Well, it was wartime. They were in hiding for their lives. They must have been miserable all the time. Who could possibly find anything good or redeeming in the confines of such a life?” In hindsight, of course, I have had to reconsider. I found bits of beauty, kindness, and even humour popping up in the most unexpected places. And why shouldn’t I? Aren’t our lives much the same? Oh – we’re not dodging bombs and trying to sleep to the sound of gunfire (at least not in Canada). But we, each of us, are often faced with some sort of tragedy or travesty. Sometimes we may have an entire ‘bad year’, or longer. And yet, doesn’t the buoyancy of the human spirit always shine through? It is really tough work to be miserable 24 hours a day. No matter how difficult or challenged our day-to-day life, we all have those little pockets of joy that arise, and sometimes it is those tiny occurrences that make the rest of it bearable.

On a personal level, I found myself comparing Anne’s childhood to that of my parents. After all, she was only a year younger than my Mom and Dad. I think back to stories they’ve told from their teen years, and it boggles the mind to think that at the exact moment my Dad and his brothers were tipping a cow, Anne was in hiding on the other side of the world. At a time when my mother was discovering make-up, Anne was realizing that life would never again be so youthful, so joyous and carefree as before the war. A generation was losing its innocence, but in very different ways.

I would recommend Anne Frank – The Diary of a Young Girl to absolutely everyone, for I believe that it holds some truth or enlightenment for everyone. I do not own this copy – it was borrowed from my daughter’s school library. She will be reading it next. She is 10. And you can bet that before long I will purchase my own copy, for I will be reading it again someday soon.