Encore: A Journal of the Eightieth Year

by May Sarton

In this affirmative journal, May Sarton describes both hardships and joys in the daily round of her life in old age―physical struggles counterbalanced by the satisfactions of friendship, nature, critical recognition, and creative spark. Sarton writes perceptively of how age affects her: the way small things take longer and tire more, what it feels like to endure pain and to be afraid. Other days her energy returns, her spirits lift, and projects abound. Readers both new and old will cherish this latest dispatch from her ongoing journey.

Genres: Memoir, Biography, Nonfiction, Journal, Poetry

334 pages, Paperback

First published August 1, 1993

About the author

May Sarton was born on May 3, 1912, in Wondelgem, Belgium, and grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her first volume of poetry, Encounters in April, was published in 1937 and her first novel, The Single Hound, in 1938. An accomplished memoirist, Sarton boldly came out as a lesbian in her 1965 book Mrs. Stevens Hears the Mermaids Singing. Her later memoir, Journal of a Solitude, was an account of her experiences as a female artist. Sarton died in York, Maine, on July 16, 1995.

Reviews

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sarton is one of those reasonably rare authors who published autobiography, fiction AND poetry. I know I’m not alone in thinking that the journals and memoirs are where she really shines. (She herself was proudest of her poetry, and resented the fact that publishers only seemed to be interested in novels because they were what sold.) I came to her through her journals, which she started writing in her sixties, and I love them for how frankly they come to terms with ageing and the ill health and loss it inevitably involves. They are also such good, gentle companions in that they celebrate seasonality and small joys: her beautiful New England homes, her gardening hobby, her pets, and her writing routines and correspondence.

Encore was the only journal I had left unread; soon it will be time to start rereading my top few. When Sarton wrote this in 1991–2, she was recovering from a spell of illness and assumed it would be her final journal. (In fact, At Eighty-Two would appear two years later.) Although she still struggles with pain and low energy, the overall tone is of gratitude and rediscovery of wonder. Whereas a few of the later journals can get a bit miserable because she’s so anxious about her health and the state of the world, here there is more looking back at life’s highlights. Perhaps because Margot Peters was in the process of researching her biography (which would not appear until after her death), she was nudged into the past more often. I especially appreciated a late entry where she lists “peak experiences,” ranging from her teen years to age 80. What a positive way of thinking about one’s life!

For many months I kept this as a bedside book and read just an entry or two a night. When I started reading it more quickly and straight through, I did note some repetition, which Sarton worried would result from her dictating into a recording device. But I don’t think this detracts significantly. In this volume, events of note include a trip to London and commemorative publications plus a conference all to mark her 80th birthday. She’s just as pleased with tiny signs of her success, though, such as a fan letter saying The House by the Sea inspired the reader to put up a bird feeder.

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

[Nicola Pierce · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm on a Sarton roll! Is this her last journal? I'll have to check. I've just ordered a couple of others. I would love her 'Writings on Writings' but it appears to be out of print.

So, this is my fifth journal of her and I just love them. I'm not even sure why. Now, I will confess that it took me a while to get into this and I was worried she was too old and weary to 'entertain' but, at some point, I got carried away as always. She moans a lot but that's what a journal is for. If you can excuse her focus on her ill health and the little annoying things in life, that drive her to tears, you'll enjoy this as much as I did. It also provides an accidental insight into achieving one's dreams years and years after you create them. I didn't realise that there was a biography about her and have ordered it this morning too. It will be interesting to stand back from her and read her through another's perspective. She does mention in this journal that she doesn't bare all about her private life so that definitely makes me curious to read Margot Peters's biography of her.

[Marlene · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read Sarton's journals many years ago and I recall thinking what a nitpicking whiner she was. Now that I too am an octogenarian I am much more sympathetic and understanding. The journals are a record of her day to day activities, her love of flowers and arranging them , her devotion to her cat, shopping and visiting friends. One quickly realizes that her frail health impacts her writing. The journals are nothing is not honest. She shares herself openly. Despite her compromised health she was driven to accomplish more - to write more poetry, another novel, answer letters from fans and maintain long standing friendships. Sarton is considered a second rate writer by some but her journals are fascinating....

[Wisewebwoman · Rating 4 out of 5]

A beautiful memoir of her 80th year, warts 'n all. Her crankiness, her love of flowers, her friends, her insecurities, her physical and mental challenges.
"On my onely light" - onely a beautiful word.
"I presently find my way back into my own conversation" - Daughter and I have this happen a lot, can relate.
She also writes of the Clarence Thomas/Anita Hill travesty which happened in her time.
"A set of less palatable men it would be hard to imagine."
As true today as it ever was.

[Jason Pryde · Rating 3 out of 5]

Midway through her journal of her 80th year, the author rather whimsically states:
"And isn't it delightful that if I am asked 'Do you influence people?' I can answer, 'I influenced someone to buy a birdfeeder.' "
This might be the only gesture towards honest humility in the whole book.
I probably should feel guilty for criticizing an 80 year old author who has produced more for the humanities in that one year than I will in my entire life.
The truth of the matter is that I did not pick up this book because I wanted to explore the poetry and philosophy of May Sarton. I was not interested in her values or the depth of her knowledge of gardens, theater, art, european culture, elite academia, her personal opinion of Robert Frost (not good) or lobster from Maine. Nor was I interested in her chronic gastrointestinal issues. I wanted to learn how an 80 year old person ages. How they deal with declining mobility, memory loss, perception and cognitive challenges in a rapidly changing world, a shrinking circle of friends and family as her peers pass away and any other factors that result from just living a long life.
To that end, this book was rich in insights because May spoke about all of her frustration associated with aging with an air of denial that she may be the source of her own discomfort. She describes a daily regimen that is needlessly brutal because any revisions would require admitting her own limitations. Aging with grace is a process of continually adjusting ones expectations and tuning ones ambitions to match their capacity. There is no heroism in suffering chronic pain without tending to the very causes of the pain. So while some may laud her efforts to read her own poetry at a gathering in her honor, the stress and anxiety she expressed leading up to the event showed that she was intent on proving she had not aged, to herself at least.
Again, this is a memoir, it is intended to highlight the peak moments in her life at that point and that it did, very eloquently and from her own, very personal perspective. I suspect her biographies which presumably include perceptions from acquaintances and colleagues, might show a different, maybe more honest, side of May Sarton.

[Paige Johnson · Rating 4 out of 5]

It’s impossible for me to give a May Sarton journal anything less than four though this was not my favorite. I believe Encore is the fourth Sarton journal I’ve read, though I’ve read Journal of a Solitude repeatedly. I love the quotidian in her prose, the daily moods, the “furies” and “driven” life she writes about— the weather, the flowers (her passion, of course), and the nagging pressure she feels over correspondence. Her near despair about letters piling up on her desk somehow makes my life feel easier. Encore was filled with illness and aging, more graphically and pointedly shared than in previous journals. It was at its best in the daily minutiae, as always, less so in looking back, revisiting past psychic wounds, which Sarton relishes to a fault. Still I love ending my day with Sarton and her deep appreciation for the ordinary.

[Joann · Rating 3 out of 5]

Some years ago I read Sarton’s journal Solitude and enjoyed it. This journal is marred by the illness she was suffering while writing it and as a result there is lots of repetition and very little in depth insight. The stroke she suffered has taken a great toll on her and her powers of concentration are weakened. However, she does, as always, bring nature, especially flowers, into play in a beautiful way, also making the sunrises almost visual. Sarton was indeed fortunate to have such caring friends surround her so as to make it possible for her to live in her own home at this time. Additionally, she was receiving many professional accolades which helped her cope with her illness as well.

[Linda · Rating 3 out of 5]

Endgame continuation.

[Dianne Oliver · Rating 2 out of 5]

Droll.

[Lenora Good · Rating 5 out of 5]

To take from her last entry: "Knowing my journals would be read has provided a certain discipline for me. It has forced me to try to be honest with myself and thus with my readers, not to pretend that things are better than they are, but learn to evaluate without self-pity or self-glorification what has been happening to me."

I have read a few of May Sarton's works, including a couple of her Journals, and I find this one the one that I most resonated with. There were times when her honesty almost sounded like bitchiness, then I realized if she was bitchy, she wouldn't have had the legions of fans and friends she had coming to visit, calling, sending flowers, etc. And, had I been in the pain she was in, I probably would sound bitchy too, now and again.

She faced her cancer head on, and her disease passed over and by her and when it passed, only she was left. She admitted her fear (I don't know that I could do that) not just to herself, but to everyone. And she shared her great joy and love.

This journal was started in her 79th year, and finished in her 80th. She died in her 83d year, 16 July 1995. She talks about many of her contemporaries, authors I've read, or heard about, and many I didn't know or know of. But, for the duration of her book, I felt I was her friend, and a friend of May Sarton's surely was a friend of mine. I found it delightful to hear first person accounts of people I've only read, or read about.

I don't know if a young person would be able to relate to this book, but if a young person has an elder person in her life, this might be a good book to help relate to "Granny." And if you are that "Granny" this is a fascinating book to read.

A fascinating book to read a bit of before turning out the light. She truly earned every award she ever received or for which she was nominated.

[Tiah]

- It seems quite unbearable but that is what spring is-the letting go. The waiting and waiting and waiting, and then the letting go. -

- She said, 'I'll talk.' I could not help saying, 'But listening is difficult and tiring too; in fact, listening is much more tiring than talking for most people.' -

- Yesterday I couldn't do anything. I realize when I have this pain how much I enjoy the little things like packing a suitcase or arranging flowers. If I cannot do them it is very frustrating. -

- Almost no writer is every happy. -

- I feel more and more sure that I escaped a lot of trouble by not being famous at all until very late in my life and having had nothing whatever to do with the literary establishment. -

- There is also the propensity of humans to think that whatever children do is the responsibility of their mothers. -

- I have got to learn not to believe I have to do everything immediately. -

- What encourages me a little is to think of all that I have managed to do besides thanking people for kindnesses. But if about forty percent of one's life is spent in thanking people, it does not seem a viable life. -

- I have always been aware that I do not experience anything until I have had time to think about it. -

[John · Rating 3 out of 5]

Her penultimate journal has quite a bit of her basking in adulations from fans; while she may not have achieved widespread fame, she appears to have had quite a cult following, with whopping loot appearing for her birthdays and holidays! One point that struck me as odd: she mentions that the "rift" with Marynthia Farnham "drove" her out of Nelson, NH; however, I seem to recall that in her journal of that time (Journal of a Solitude) there was one brief passing reference to the matter. Another interesting point - she goes to England on holiday, gives up her rigorous diet bsck home, eating all sorts of "forbidden" stuff and feeling just fine, and then returns, starts up her diet again, and falls back into chronic illness.

[Jayne Yenko · Rating 4 out of 5]

very good

[Herman Plasmans · Rating 5 out of 5]

So marvellous, so Nice, zo mooi, zo prachtig
So meditating