I never read this book before, and, thinking it was the choice of a new book club I just joined, I picked it up and started reading immediately. After a few pages, I was informed this isn't the book we're supposed to read, but a biography of Anne Frank instead. I couldn't stop reading this though, it was so riveting. 
 I kept a journal when I was about the age Anne was when she wrote this. I identified with much of what she wrote, and I was amazed that she led such a normal life in spite of such trying circumstances. 
 The 46 year old me now wants to be able to cry about this poor child, who was near my grandmother's age, who didn't get to live to do any of the things she wanted to do. She didn't even get to grow to an adult, to be able to be embarrassed at her own teen angst, to have a career, marry, have kids, and realize the potential of her life. 
 But at least through her diary, she was able to be the writer she wanted. And how trite it seems to me to write this about such a sad, potent , vibrant, heroic, figure.