The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank is the type of book that you can’t really apply a rating to. After all, how do you place a star rating to the events that a real person has lived? You can’t.
I started reading The Diary of a Young Girl that everyone is familiar with; the little mauveish/brown color paperback. While reading, I’d get curious about something Anne had written and do some internet research. I was almost finished when I realized that there was a “deluxe” edition out in the world. Otto Frank, Anne’s father and sole family member to survive the Holocaust, edited and removed entries or sections that he wished to keep private. Mr. Frank left his earthly belongings to the Anne Frank Foundation including Anne’s original diary. The Foundation would later publish the diary with the missing entries.
I remember reading parts of The Diary of Anne Frank in elementary school and seeing the play. Looking back I knew that WWII and the Holocaust was bad but I know there is no way that I understood a fraction of the statistics. As an adult I don’t even understand. Re-reading The Diary of a Young Girl was slightly heartbreaking. There were entries where Anne would talk about what kind of person she wanted to be and I’d have to stop for a bit because I knew what Anne couldn’t. As silly as it sounds, I felt like as long as I read the book Anne was still alive. Normally the end of a book is bittersweet. The end of The Diary of a Young Girl is just bitter. The decision to stop wasn’t the author’s and knowing what would come made it a hard pill to swallow.
I was heartsick for awhile after finishing Anne’s story but I feel that the more we know, the more we can learn.
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