A continuation of the journey of self-education and self-discovery begun by Anaïs Nin in the previous volume of her early diary. Central here is the growing conflict between her role as woman and her determination to be a writer. Editor's Note by Rupert Pole; Preface by Joaquin Nin-Culmell; Index; photographs.
Writer and diarist, born in Paris to a Catalan father and a Danish mother, Anaïs Nin spent many of her early years with Cuban relatives. Later a naturalized American citizen, she lived and worked in Paris, New York and Los Angeles. Author of avant-garde novels in the French surrealistic style and collections of erotica, she is best known for her life and times in The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volumes I-VII (1966-1980).
If you ever can bear to revisit the pains of late adolescence, Anaïs Nin's second diary can guide you through it in a delightful way.
This volume is written in English. She switches from her native French because she has so fallen in love with the English language. She remains strongly devoted to reading, consuming volumes by Emerson, Bossuet, Poe, Descartes, Darwin, Rostand, Tennyson, Henri Merger, Sinclair Lewis and Stevenson. (She was not a fain of Lewis'. She found his writing too plain.) It is during this time that she begins classes at Columbia University, where she endearingly said she studied four subjects: "Composition, Grammar, French and Boys."
It is this last subject that is one of the main themes of this book, that, and coming to terms with her own beauty. She goes from often criticizing her own appearance to eventually serving as an artists' model. She once even appeared on the cover of the Saturday Evening Post. There are moments when she expresses surprise at discovering people think she is pretty. It is through this eventual comfort with her own looks that she also matures in her feelings about the opposite sex.
In this volume, there are two boys between whom she splits her devotion. First, she forms a great intellectual bond with her cousin, Eduardo. Eventually she confesses to her mother that she thinks she might be attracted to him. Her mother dismisses this as the silliness of youth, and promises she will get over it. And A.N. does eventually get over her devotion to her cousin, but always views him as someone with whom she has a deep bond.
Eventually, her admiration turns to Hugo (officially named Hugh, but goes by Hugo to avoid confusion because his father holds the same name), a young man who she finds to be steady and intellectual but she often struggles to know how he really feels about her. Eventually, of course, she marries Hugo, and that marks the end of this volume, but it is the journey of young love, making choices about these feelings that suddenly arise, that really make this book.
Again, A.N. speaks often of her passion for writing. She goes through the phases many young writers do; she notes that everything has already been written. She wonders how she could possibly contribute to a literary world which is already filled with great writing.
She also makes resolutions often in the book: she promises to be virtuous in housework; she promises to write daily in her journal; eventually, as she becomes betrothed to Hugo, she promises to put his wishes above her own. It's almost heartbreaking, these youthful designs that will all eventually be broken. But that feeling of youth, of resolving to, from that day forward, commit strongly to one thing or another, is one that is all too common in youth.
In this book, we see A.N. gradually move from a child to a young woman. It is a journey that is filled with joy and heartbreak, and one that might seem all too familiar.
While Anaïs Nin's diaries are an interesting read, she was clearly disturbed and while I try to feel empathy for her, she, at times, is deeply unsympathetic to me. She's fickle, self-centered, vain and condescending, and while it was cute when she was younger, she's reached an age where it's become anger inducing. The world revolves around her always and all the time, despite repeated attempts on her part at being of any of use in the real world to her family. Yet, it's never really selfless, she keeps on and on whining about how ugly and beneath her real world problems are, like chores and money issues; about how dull and devoid of intelligence "normal" people are; before ranting about the virtues of sacrifice, and wallowing in self-imposed martyrdom in order to do what's "right" in God's name, like One moment, she thinks so very highly of herself and her intelligence in pages-long egotistical rants, then falls into self-deprecating rants, which are just as self-absorbed. She keeps going on and on about ideals, and the value of one's own thoughts and mental process while using 100 words to say barely 10, and honestly she gives off the impression that she's the type of person who loves to hear themself talk. She's then has the gall to say she's doing it for pleasure's sake and because it's nice to feel "loved", but oh no, not for vanity's sake though, it's totally different! She keeps leading guys on she couldn't care less about, and I don't even need to read a thing about her life to know that
So far this has probably been my favorite volume of Anaïs Nin’s diaries. You get to reintroduce yourself to the confusing time of late adolescence and the growth into adulthood, so perfectly felt and described by Nin. I don’t think I have found myself relating more to a person in my whole entire life, but especially through Nin at 17-20 years old. Maybe I should find that concerning, being I am almost 30, but I truly could not care at the moment because this volume made me feel tremendously less alone.
Nin describes things with such reverent and deeply felt emotions, sometimes it gets a bit muddled as it goes on and she dips into burst of insecurity and depression, but every moment still felt wholly relatable. I don’t think I could ever describe Nin’s writing as it so desperately deserves to be described, it is just beyond magnificent.
What I mostly enjoyed about this though is the peek into who Anaïs will become as an adult, her puritan mind slowly drifting away, opening herself up to more experience and this double personality she feels inside herself taking form. You also get to experience her love for Hugo blossoming and her emotions always at war with each other when it comes to choosing him as her ideal. It is endlessly fascinating.
This volume contains Anaïs's first diaries written in English. Although her writing style is heavily influenced by the vast quantities of English Literature she has read, she is able to express her thoughts and ideas so clearly and so beautifully as to make her relatively mundane life interesting. She is a wise soul in a young body, at this point in her journey through life. While she tends to be heavily melodramatic with regard to the subject of love, her feelings toward her future husband, Hugo, are a bit of foreshadowing perhaps. This, again, keeps the reader interested in the development of her personality and her ability and desire to write. And interested in finding out how her relationships eventually unfold.
The first three volumes of Nin's early diary cover the years 1914-1927, beginning with her voyage to America with her mother and brothers. The diaries are exceptionally-written given her age at the time: main themes include her delusional attempts to reunite her family, her struggles at school and with the genteel poverty of her home life, and, inevitably, boys. Through all this there is her ongoing compulsion to write, the mark of all professional writers.
This was the book that made me love Anais Nin. Her early thoughts, precocious imaginations, her simple crushes. All of these things made me feel as if I had found a long lost friend.
ARGH, I didn't check the 'quantities' at checkout when I ordered this one online and bought two. If anyone wants to trade for one of the ones that I don't have, or perhaps another book - let me know!
I enjoyed this inside look at how Anais 's Mind worked. It was interesting to see where she made the connections to the people in her life and how her writing can to her.