The Sunday edition of the New York Times has a fascinating article in their magazine on Susan Sontag’s journals. It’s heartening to see how prosaic and sophomoric some of her entries are – I had the impression of reading things that could have come from my own journals.
As someone who keeps a (semi)regular journal on various notepads and pieces of paper throughout the apartment, I was glad to see that the inner workings of an intellectual whom I have always envied/admired. Plus all the name dropping, and, of course, the cities: New York, Paris, Bled (Yougoslavia) etc.
And finally, on reading other people’s journals:
We rarely do know what people think of us (or, rather, think they think of us).. . .Do I feel guilty about reading what was not intended for my eyes? No. One of the main (social) functions of a journal or diary is precisely to be read furtively by other people, the people (like parents + lovers) about whom one has been cruelly honest only in the journal.
So dig in..
