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Journals of Susan Sontag #2
Сознание, прикованное к плоти. Дневники и записные книжки: 1964 - 1980
Второй том дневников американской мыслительницы Сьюзен Сонтаг (1933-2004), подготовленный к публикации ее сыном Дэвидом Риффом, описывает нью-йоркскую жизнь на рубеже 1970-х годов: походы по выставкам и театрам, общение с такими художниками, как Пол Тек и Джаспер Джонс, дружбу с Иосифом Бродским. В дневниках Сонтаг размышляет о современном искусстве и кэмпе, впоследствии эти заметки составят основу сборников статей "Против интерпретации" (1966) и "Образцы безоглядной воли" (1969). Она продолжает упорно составлять списки книг и фильмов, увлекается фотографией, связь которой с живописью и кино пытается определить в эссе "О фотографии" (1977). В эти годы Сонтаг много путешествует по Европе и посещает Марокко, где тогда жили американские экспатрианты. Не чужды ей и политические вопросы - она много пишет о войне во Вьетнаме и даже отправляется туда в составе группы антивоенных активистов.
392 pages, Paperback
First published April 10, 2012
403 people are currently reading
9096 people want to read
About the author
Susan Sontag
229 books5,431 followersSusan Sontag was born in New York City on January 16, 1933, grew up in Tucson, Arizona, and attended high school in Los Angeles. She received her B.A. from the College of the University of Chicago and did graduate work in philosophy, literature, and theology at Harvard University and Saint Anne’s College, Oxford.
Her books include four novels, The Benefactor, Death Kit, The Volcano Lover, and In America; a collection of short stories, I, etcetera; several plays, including Alice in Bed and Lady from the Sea; and nine works of nonfiction, starting with Against Interpretation and including On Photography, Illness as Metaphor, Where the Stress Falls, Regarding the Pain of Others, and At the Same Time. In 1982, Farrar, Straus & Giroux published A Susan Sontag Reader.
Ms. Sontag wrote and directed four feature-length films: Duet for Cannibals (1969) and Brother Carl (1971), both in Sweden; Promised Lands (1974), made in Israel during the war of October 1973; and Unguided Tour (1983), from her short story of the same name, made in Italy. Her play Alice in Bed has had productions in the United States, Mexico, Germany, and Holland. Another play, Lady from the Sea, has been produced in Italy, France, Switzerland, Germany, and Korea.
Ms. Sontag also directed plays in the United States and Europe, including a staging of Beckett's Waiting for Godot in the summer of 1993 in besieged Sarajevo, where she spent much of the time between early 1993 and 1996 and was made an honorary citizen of the city.
A human rights activist for more than two decades, Ms. Sontag served from 1987 to 1989 as president of the American Center of PEN, the international writers’ organization dedicated to freedom of expression and the advancement of literature, from which platform she led a number of campaigns on behalf of persecuted and imprisoned writers.
Her stories and essays appeared in newspapers, magazines, and literary publications all over the world, including The New York Times, The New Yorker, The New York Review of Books, The Times Literary Supplement, Art in America, Antaeus, Parnassus, The Threepenny Review, The Nation, and Granta. Her books have been translated into thirty-two languages.
Among Ms. Sontag's many honors are the 2003 Peace Prize of the German Book Trade, the 2003 Prince of Asturias Prize, the 2001 Jerusalem Prize, the National Book Award for In America (2000), and the National Book Critics Circle Award for On Photography (1978). In 1992 she received the Malaparte Prize in Italy, and in 1999 she was named a Commandeur de l'Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French government (she had been named an Officier in the same order in 1984). Between 1990 and 1995 she was a MacArthur Fellow.
Ms. Sontag died in New York City on December 28, 2004.
Her books include four novels, The Benefactor, Death Kit, The Volcano Lover, and In America; a collection of short stories, I, etcetera; several plays, including Alice in Bed and Lady from the Sea; and nine works of nonfiction, starting with Against Interpretation and including On Photography, Illness as Metaphor, Where the Stress Falls, Regarding the Pain of Others, and At the Same Time. In 1982, Farrar, Straus & Giroux published A Susan Sontag Reader.
Ms. Sontag wrote and directed four feature-length films: Duet for Cannibals (1969) and Brother Carl (1971), both in Sweden; Promised Lands (1974), made in Israel during the war of October 1973; and Unguided Tour (1983), from her short story of the same name, made in Italy. Her play Alice in Bed has had productions in the United States, Mexico, Germany, and Holland. Another play, Lady from the Sea, has been produced in Italy, France, Switzerland, Germany, and Korea.
Ms. Sontag also directed plays in the United States and Europe, including a staging of Beckett's Waiting for Godot in the summer of 1993 in besieged Sarajevo, where she spent much of the time between early 1993 and 1996 and was made an honorary citizen of the city.
A human rights activist for more than two decades, Ms. Sontag served from 1987 to 1989 as president of the American Center of PEN, the international writers’ organization dedicated to freedom of expression and the advancement of literature, from which platform she led a number of campaigns on behalf of persecuted and imprisoned writers.
Her stories and essays appeared in newspapers, magazines, and literary publications all over the world, including The New York Times, The New Yorker, The New York Review of Books, The Times Literary Supplement, Art in America, Antaeus, Parnassus, The Threepenny Review, The Nation, and Granta. Her books have been translated into thirty-two languages.
Among Ms. Sontag's many honors are the 2003 Peace Prize of the German Book Trade, the 2003 Prince of Asturias Prize, the 2001 Jerusalem Prize, the National Book Award for In America (2000), and the National Book Critics Circle Award for On Photography (1978). In 1992 she received the Malaparte Prize in Italy, and in 1999 she was named a Commandeur de l'Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French government (she had been named an Officier in the same order in 1984). Between 1990 and 1995 she was a MacArthur Fellow.
Ms. Sontag died in New York City on December 28, 2004.
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June 17, 2022I pride myself on being an exhibitionist, I talk about it all the time to spot the voyeurs around me. I pity them but I need them. They make me so feel so powerful (when it is completely consensual of course.) I make a shrine of my body. So it is with shame and excitement that I read journals. I'm a voyeur of the mind. I let myself into the haphazard and occasionally racist, dirty and shameful thoughts of a much-loved writer, long dead.
A voyeur is a voyeur is a voyeur is a voyeur.
It's a fast-paced page turner for me, the journal. And I force myself to slow down because I don't want to miss out on any insecurities of this person that history has turned into an emblem.
It's the clutter of the mind that's projected onto these pages. I sit at my desk and open the book randomly only to find the entire page adorned with two words: insipid certainties. My own reading is symptomatic of all my longings. It's also fuelled by what Sontag calls 'ontological anxiety.' She writes about being stuck on the "was" of the people. And I think about how curiously peculiar it is, because I'm stuck on the "was" of her.
The doubling of the self in dreams.
The doubling of the self in art.
The nightmare is that there are two worlds
The nightmare is that there is only one world, this one
A voyeur is a voyeur is a voyeur is a voyeur.
It's a fast-paced page turner for me, the journal. And I force myself to slow down because I don't want to miss out on any insecurities of this person that history has turned into an emblem.
It's the clutter of the mind that's projected onto these pages. I sit at my desk and open the book randomly only to find the entire page adorned with two words: insipid certainties. My own reading is symptomatic of all my longings. It's also fuelled by what Sontag calls 'ontological anxiety.' She writes about being stuck on the "was" of the people. And I think about how curiously peculiar it is, because I'm stuck on the "was" of her.
The doubling of the self in dreams.
The doubling of the self in art.
The nightmare is that there are two worlds
The nightmare is that there is only one world, this one
April 29, 2015
Decline of the letter, the rise of the notebook! One doesn't write to others any more, one writes to oneself.
So we have 500 pages of such musings, a mixed and often undercooked lot. Through the process, a human portrait is revealed: vain, slothful, codependent. Finishing this last night, I pondered whether Sontag would've approved of her son editing and publishing these writings to herself. The amount of personal information I publish here weekly in the course of reviews and comments made that conjecture ridiculous.
There were times when the thoughts shimmered. Most of it was banal. Lists of films viewed followed by weary exclamations to work harder. The scope of this volume - 16 years - undermines any attempt to distill or encapsulate. I'm not sure what will linger and last after reading this.
So we have 500 pages of such musings, a mixed and often undercooked lot. Through the process, a human portrait is revealed: vain, slothful, codependent. Finishing this last night, I pondered whether Sontag would've approved of her son editing and publishing these writings to herself. The amount of personal information I publish here weekly in the course of reviews and comments made that conjecture ridiculous.
There were times when the thoughts shimmered. Most of it was banal. Lists of films viewed followed by weary exclamations to work harder. The scope of this volume - 16 years - undermines any attempt to distill or encapsulate. I'm not sure what will linger and last after reading this.
August 8, 2012
I love all the tortured parts—Sontag's relationship insecurities with other women and her feelings of not writing enough—which is the best thing about this book. I don't care for her son's terrible bracket edits (ugh), nor reading her fragments for pages and pages, though yeah I know this is a notebook. I kept thinking about Nin while reading Sontag, one so emotional and sensual in the prose, the other so intellectual and tense. This took me a long time to finish because I had so many parts to copy down in my own journal. It feels like I wrote those tortured parts.
January 2, 2024
Re-read.
May 18, 2018
يُقرأ ببطء على هداوة.
November 25, 2025
¿Hasta qué punto nuestra capacidad de pensar con claridad y expresarnos con profundidad depende del tiempo que pasamos en silencio y en soledad?
Susan Sontag en “La conciencia uncida a la carne: Diarios de madurez 1964-1980” decía que la capacidad de articular el pensamiento con precisión y belleza no nace del entorno social, sino más bien de su ausencia. Ella decía que en la soledad, cuando no tenemos más remedio que habitar nuestro propio pensamiento, es cuando desarrollamos un lenguaje más refinado, más introspectivo.
Me encanta este fragmento ya que pone en cuestión la creencia común de que hablar bien es algo “natural” en contextos sociales. Al contrario, Sontag nos recuerda que la verdadera articulación de ideas puede surgir del aislamiento, del dolor de sentirse separado, de una necesidad interior de nombrar lo que se experimenta en silencio.
Pero esa soledad de la que habla Sontag no es un vacío estéril ni una simple retirada del mundo: es un laboratorio del pensamiento, un espacio donde la mente se ejercita, tropieza, se pule. En “La conciencia uncida a la carne”, sus diarios revelan que estar sola no significaba estar detenida, sino más bien sumergirse en un proceso activo de observación y ensayo interior. La soledad se convierte en una forma de disciplina, un entrenamiento de la atención y de la sensibilidad. En tiempos donde la distracción constante parece inevitable, Sontag nos recuerda que pensar profundamente exige una forma de silencio, una especie de aislamiento elegido que permite a las ideas madurar antes de ser dichas.
¿Y dónde queda el contacto con los otros? ¿Qué pasaría con nosotros si nada de afuera lograra tocarnos?
Amo a Susan pero no puedo dejar de pensar que la elocuencia también se forja en el diálogo. Hablar con otros nos obliga a traducir nuestros pensamientos en un lenguaje comprensible, a ordenar ideas, a escuchar, responder y reformular. En esa interacción, el lenguaje no solo se practica: se transforma. Evoluciona en el cruce, en la fricción, en la necesidad de ser entendido.
La elocuencia, entonces, no es solo un producto de la individualidad dolorosa, como sugiere Sontag, sino también un tejido colectivo: algo que se afila y enriquece en la presencia de otras voces, en el vaivén del intercambio humano.
Y para ti, ¿crees que la verdadera elocuencia nace tanto del silencio interior como del encuentro con otras voces, de esa tensión constante entre lo que nos pertenece y lo que compartimos?
Susan Sontag en “La conciencia uncida a la carne: Diarios de madurez 1964-1980” decía que la capacidad de articular el pensamiento con precisión y belleza no nace del entorno social, sino más bien de su ausencia. Ella decía que en la soledad, cuando no tenemos más remedio que habitar nuestro propio pensamiento, es cuando desarrollamos un lenguaje más refinado, más introspectivo.
Me encanta este fragmento ya que pone en cuestión la creencia común de que hablar bien es algo “natural” en contextos sociales. Al contrario, Sontag nos recuerda que la verdadera articulación de ideas puede surgir del aislamiento, del dolor de sentirse separado, de una necesidad interior de nombrar lo que se experimenta en silencio.
Pero esa soledad de la que habla Sontag no es un vacío estéril ni una simple retirada del mundo: es un laboratorio del pensamiento, un espacio donde la mente se ejercita, tropieza, se pule. En “La conciencia uncida a la carne”, sus diarios revelan que estar sola no significaba estar detenida, sino más bien sumergirse en un proceso activo de observación y ensayo interior. La soledad se convierte en una forma de disciplina, un entrenamiento de la atención y de la sensibilidad. En tiempos donde la distracción constante parece inevitable, Sontag nos recuerda que pensar profundamente exige una forma de silencio, una especie de aislamiento elegido que permite a las ideas madurar antes de ser dichas.
¿Y dónde queda el contacto con los otros? ¿Qué pasaría con nosotros si nada de afuera lograra tocarnos?
Amo a Susan pero no puedo dejar de pensar que la elocuencia también se forja en el diálogo. Hablar con otros nos obliga a traducir nuestros pensamientos en un lenguaje comprensible, a ordenar ideas, a escuchar, responder y reformular. En esa interacción, el lenguaje no solo se practica: se transforma. Evoluciona en el cruce, en la fricción, en la necesidad de ser entendido.
La elocuencia, entonces, no es solo un producto de la individualidad dolorosa, como sugiere Sontag, sino también un tejido colectivo: algo que se afila y enriquece en la presencia de otras voces, en el vaivén del intercambio humano.
Y para ti, ¿crees que la verdadera elocuencia nace tanto del silencio interior como del encuentro con otras voces, de esa tensión constante entre lo que nos pertenece y lo que compartimos?
December 13, 2012
If weird and bizarre Orientalist aphorisms are dealbreakers for you (and they are for me. We all have our Things) then it would be best to skip 1968 and parts of 1972-73. There's also some REALLY UNFORTUNATE RACIST/ABLEIST TERMS used at around p.345, so maybe skip that too. Maybe you're wondering why I even bothered giving this any stars at all? It's because it's a diary, and because there are a lot of moments where Sontag really exquisitely lays bear this deep pain and melancholy. I disagree with her politics ("'Liberalism' seems a vast, obscure swampy territory one never emerges from, no matter how one tries" :( OH NO GIRL. She also has some unfortunate things to say about Women's Lit and assimilation. YIKES) and a lot of time her binary ways of processing leave me a little squeamish, but every so often there's a rage (a thing she never felt comfortable expressing publicly, to all our detriment) that is just exactly what you wanted to read ("Modernist-nihilist-wise-guy-bullshit." Church).
June 22, 2016
ربما أنا شخص فضولي. أو متطفل، لذا أحب قراءة اليوميات. قراءة اليوميات لكاتب، بالضبط، كأنك تتلصص على دماغه، أفكاره. معرفة ما يحب وما يكره. مشاعره وميوله. ما يعجبه وما لا يعجبه. الكتب التي قرأها. والتي يفكر في قراءتها. مشاريعه التي يخطط لها. ما شاهد من أفلام ومسرحيات. عملية تنقيب واسعة في الذات. هي حكاية تبدو غير مترابطة، لكنه العكس. وهي أيضا دعوة مفتوحة لكتابة اليوميات..
December 31, 2020
An invaluable resource for Sontag fans and those in need of a book a-brim with ideas, opinions, questions, fears, film lists, autobiographical snippets, analyses.
A fascinating and revealing glimpse into the interior of a great humanitarian and tireless seeker of knowledge. Read in one gulp and revisit at leisure.
A fascinating and revealing glimpse into the interior of a great humanitarian and tireless seeker of knowledge. Read in one gulp and revisit at leisure.
October 21, 2019
Que mente maravilhosa, que livro intrigante (até mesmo pelo que não narra - o câncer que quase matou Susan, p. ex.).
July 4, 2015
خیلی آهسته و با چند وقفهٔ طولانی خواندمش. بعضی از یادداشتهایش برایم نامفهوم بود و بعضی دیگر آنقدر دلچسب که باعث میشد دو بار بخوانم. در مجموع خوش گذشت.
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November 26, 2024i carried the first volume of susan sontag’s diaries around with me nonstop and read it in 9 days. i was at the coffee shop with that book and a pencil just going to town. i did not have that same experience with this volume, which has sat on my nightstand for almost 4 months, but i‘m also finding it really difficult to critique her personal notebooks that she kept without the intention of publishing. i do have some thoughts on why i enjoyed the first volume more than this one, though.
the first volume resonated with me so much, i think because she was younger and more inclined to narrativize what was going on in her life, making for a more linear reading experience. the situations and feelings she was dealing with were brand new to her, and that spoke to me as someone in her early 20s. i think we all have more of a self-interest at that point in life, compared to when you grow up a bit more and are more established in your sense of who you are. in volume 2 she is very much immersed in her career as a writer and critic, and so the focus shifts to notes about her work. fascinating to see her creative process but difficult for the reader to fully piece together, which i can’t fault her for like i mentioned above. i also haven’t read any of her actual work so i didn’t have the proper context for a lot of things. she’s just way too big-brained and referential for me to comprehend even half of the notes in here.
in this volume, when she does indulge in writing longer passages about herself or her relationships, i am immediately reminded why i loved volume 1 so much - painfully relatable, oftentimes very hard on herself but funny at the same time. i won’t lie, i did tear up at some entries because i felt like my own feelings were being reflected back to me.
i’d recommend the first volume to anyone looking for some good writer’s diary content, but this second one is more for the sontag completionists, i think, which i am not.
the first volume resonated with me so much, i think because she was younger and more inclined to narrativize what was going on in her life, making for a more linear reading experience. the situations and feelings she was dealing with were brand new to her, and that spoke to me as someone in her early 20s. i think we all have more of a self-interest at that point in life, compared to when you grow up a bit more and are more established in your sense of who you are. in volume 2 she is very much immersed in her career as a writer and critic, and so the focus shifts to notes about her work. fascinating to see her creative process but difficult for the reader to fully piece together, which i can’t fault her for like i mentioned above. i also haven’t read any of her actual work so i didn’t have the proper context for a lot of things. she’s just way too big-brained and referential for me to comprehend even half of the notes in here.
in this volume, when she does indulge in writing longer passages about herself or her relationships, i am immediately reminded why i loved volume 1 so much - painfully relatable, oftentimes very hard on herself but funny at the same time. i won’t lie, i did tear up at some entries because i felt like my own feelings were being reflected back to me.
i’d recommend the first volume to anyone looking for some good writer’s diary content, but this second one is more for the sontag completionists, i think, which i am not.
August 28, 2012
What I love about this book is that it is an accumulation of journals and, as such, has the sort of urgency and private feel to it that almost represents voyeurism. Between lists of Sontag's readings and cinema rankings, ideal short fiction collection ideas, glimpses at her analysis of how some of her work was experienced, and general thoughts about intellectualism/intellectuals of her acquaintances, there was also this extreme analysis of self and identity. In tiny parcels. I loved the parts about her relationships and perception of roles--probably loved those most of all--because the journals were where she parsed all matters of belonging or not belonging, longing and remaining apart. I also enjoyed this because I hate journaling and reading her truncated clips--lack of narrative fabric between, shorthand journaling--made me feel like I might want to do it too, not to describe the minute details of every day, but to simply note what's of note--elegantly, concisely, and give myself permission to eschew a fully realized narrative form. Fragmented thoughts work. Perhaps even their fragmentation, frequency, and ordering are plenty revelatory. :)
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January 11, 2019Worse than the other diaries of Sontag I've read, but at the same time more relatable. Rather than Sontag the wunderkind, you get Sontag the kind of confused, pretty smart, but on the whole mostly confused writer of fragments that you feel like you could know -- I felt like I could have written many of these myself, which, despite the fact that I do take pride in my writing, should be a bit of a dig on a writer of Sontag's stature. Also, saying things like "Fantasia is like, fascist" should be considered embarrassing for all parties involved.
February 11, 2021
Esta segunda parte contiene harta nota corta, frases, citas y listas, pero aquellas páginas donde la Susan se analiza y analiza otras figuras, me parecieron bastante más intensas que las de Renacida.
January 23, 2020
Ho finito di leggere questa raccolta oggi, a due giorni dall’anniversario della nascita di Susan Sontag (16 gennaio).
Dopo Rinata (Diari e taccuini 1937-1963), ecco il secondo dei tre volumi curati dal figlio David Rieff che costituiscono un viaggio nel mondo interiore di questa grande scrittrice, morta nel 2004.
Scrive David nella prefazione: “Il cuore di mia madre fu spezzato spesso e gran parte di questo volume racconta l’elaborazione di perdita amorose. Per certi versi, ciò rischia di dare una falsa impressione della sua vita, poiché lei tendeva a scrivere i suoi diari più quando era infelice, soprattutto se lo era amaramente, e meno quando stava bene.”
Per Susan Sontag la scrittura è la cura e la sua valvola di sfogo “La scrittura è una porta stretta. Certe fantasie, come i mobili più grandi, non passano.”
“Ho un registro più ampio come essere umano che come scrittrice. (Per certi scrittori il contrario.) Solo una parte di me è disponibile a trasformarsi in arte”
“L’essenza delle cose
La volontà di essere, di aprire…
Quale che sia la voce che mi rimane, vi racconterò delle voci che ora mi abitano. Gridano. Ogni frase, ogni respiro, è una lacerazione.”
Attraverso le rielaborazioni delle lacerazioni del cuore di Susan Sontag dovute alle sue relazioni finite, si traggono insegnamenti preziosi per la vita di ciascuno.
“23/9/64 NY
Enfasi inspiratoria
Inspirare > abbassare (appiattire il diaframma) > sopprimere la sensazione - pelvica, vale a dire, sessuale
Perciò il segreto del sentimento sta nell’imparare a espirare”
“L’unica trasformazione che mi interessa è una trasformazione totale - per quanto infinitesimale. Voglio che l’incontro con una persona o con un’opera d’arte cambi tutto.”
E in questi diari/taccuini spazia dai libri ai film alla fotografia all’arte. Le sue parole sono tanti specchi in cui ci si può guardare per osservarsi dentro. Ho amato molto anche questo secondo libro curato dal figlio David.
Nel 2020 Nottetempo pubblicherà L’amante del vulcano e Malattia come metafora.
Leggetela se non l’avete ancora fatto. Era una donna di spessore, estremamente intelligente e colta.
Dopo Rinata (Diari e taccuini 1937-1963), ecco il secondo dei tre volumi curati dal figlio David Rieff che costituiscono un viaggio nel mondo interiore di questa grande scrittrice, morta nel 2004.
Scrive David nella prefazione: “Il cuore di mia madre fu spezzato spesso e gran parte di questo volume racconta l’elaborazione di perdita amorose. Per certi versi, ciò rischia di dare una falsa impressione della sua vita, poiché lei tendeva a scrivere i suoi diari più quando era infelice, soprattutto se lo era amaramente, e meno quando stava bene.”
Per Susan Sontag la scrittura è la cura e la sua valvola di sfogo “La scrittura è una porta stretta. Certe fantasie, come i mobili più grandi, non passano.”
“Ho un registro più ampio come essere umano che come scrittrice. (Per certi scrittori il contrario.) Solo una parte di me è disponibile a trasformarsi in arte”
“L’essenza delle cose
La volontà di essere, di aprire…
Quale che sia la voce che mi rimane, vi racconterò delle voci che ora mi abitano. Gridano. Ogni frase, ogni respiro, è una lacerazione.”
Attraverso le rielaborazioni delle lacerazioni del cuore di Susan Sontag dovute alle sue relazioni finite, si traggono insegnamenti preziosi per la vita di ciascuno.
“23/9/64 NY
Enfasi inspiratoria
Inspirare > abbassare (appiattire il diaframma) > sopprimere la sensazione - pelvica, vale a dire, sessuale
Perciò il segreto del sentimento sta nell’imparare a espirare”
“L’unica trasformazione che mi interessa è una trasformazione totale - per quanto infinitesimale. Voglio che l’incontro con una persona o con un’opera d’arte cambi tutto.”
E in questi diari/taccuini spazia dai libri ai film alla fotografia all’arte. Le sue parole sono tanti specchi in cui ci si può guardare per osservarsi dentro. Ho amato molto anche questo secondo libro curato dal figlio David.
Nel 2020 Nottetempo pubblicherà L’amante del vulcano e Malattia come metafora.
Leggetela se non l’avete ancora fatto. Era una donna di spessore, estremamente intelligente e colta.
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May 24, 2019Her emotional life is very easy to relate to-- and therefore quite moving. However her observations and opinions in this were usually either slightly embarrassing or just underwhelming. Whatever moves me is worth more to me than everything (anything) else, so I did enjoy this, but that is also the extent of it.
January 9, 2022
shelved under books-that-you-have-to-keep-putting-down-bc-it-made-you-want-to-write-something-in-your-journal
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June 22, 2020first off, it's so extraordinary to have sat through over 30 years of a person's life through their diaries — nearly a thousand pages of a person's thoughts — ideas that grow and stagnate. it's such a gift to know this side of a person. i know it makes her kid david uncomfortable to edit these, but i'm desperately seeking part 3 and it's been...8 years. hello?? can someone please connect me to david rieff?
this installment is less exciting than vol 1. to me. part of it is that part 1 is an initiation of the body and mind, and an introduction to the woeful binary SS sees those in, that causes her much more pain than needed. so in 1 she's at the dyke bar in the bay and chasing after harriet and then harriet's ex gf irene and asking herself how to be a person in a body and why she has such hangups in love.
part 2 has some of these reflections, but becomes quieter and aphoristic in years that may coincide with SS's experience seeking cancer treatment. she's been hurt and the love affairs don't hit so hard (post- those pages about Carlotta, which are exquisite).
thinking about how SS's racism and liberalism come up, and how she reinforces and solidifies those beliefs. sontag is constantly going back and forth on affairs of the body vs affairs of the mind, pleasure of the body vs discipline of thought, the crowd vs solitude. and it's clear they're deeply felt — SS toils over them for at least 25 years! she ultimately subscribes to the very western, very white notion that only through intense self-isolation and individualism can one produce high-quality art. her hyper-individuism causes her pain, and makes her a bad writer about anywhere that's not the West (segments on vietnam and china disastrously paternalistic and racist), and it's like, girl you really don't have to do this!
this installment is less exciting than vol 1. to me. part of it is that part 1 is an initiation of the body and mind, and an introduction to the woeful binary SS sees those in, that causes her much more pain than needed. so in 1 she's at the dyke bar in the bay and chasing after harriet and then harriet's ex gf irene and asking herself how to be a person in a body and why she has such hangups in love.
part 2 has some of these reflections, but becomes quieter and aphoristic in years that may coincide with SS's experience seeking cancer treatment. she's been hurt and the love affairs don't hit so hard (post- those pages about Carlotta, which are exquisite).
thinking about how SS's racism and liberalism come up, and how she reinforces and solidifies those beliefs. sontag is constantly going back and forth on affairs of the body vs affairs of the mind, pleasure of the body vs discipline of thought, the crowd vs solitude. and it's clear they're deeply felt — SS toils over them for at least 25 years! she ultimately subscribes to the very western, very white notion that only through intense self-isolation and individualism can one produce high-quality art. her hyper-individuism causes her pain, and makes her a bad writer about anywhere that's not the West (segments on vietnam and china disastrously paternalistic and racist), and it's like, girl you really don't have to do this!
September 14, 2012
Susan Sontag was a thinker. To read her journals is to have the impression she was only that, lacking a side as woman, lover, mother, or friend. But she was all of those things, as she knew. Her journals seem to be attempts to weld the two sides of herself into one person, to harness her enormous intellect and interests to the flesh of the woman she was. She says she's not saying things in absolute terms. She claims to be allowing something to be said, something independent of herself. I'm not sure she succeeds. The warmth is hard to feel. It's difficult to see the softer side of Sontag in these journals. For one thing these entries don't have any length or prose development to allow gentler impressions to form. For the most part they amount to notes to herself, brief comments whose context only she can be sure of. They have meaning for her. Intellectually impressive? Sure, but the reader doesn't learn much about Sontag from them because they lack the personal touch. And one can't learn much about the subjects she references because the entries lack development. We know what her interests were. We don't learn why they interested her.
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July 18, 2015A book of amazing ideas, but not a cover to cover read. For researchers of Sontag, this would be a great reference. Unlike Anais Nin's journals, this journal is a collection of disparate ideas and contemplations.
November 12, 2025
How i love this woman and her reflections on life.
It has much more notes about books and movies than the first volume. Too many lists.
It has much more notes about books and movies than the first volume. Too many lists.
March 14, 2015
Solitude is endless. A whole new world. The desert.
I am thinking—talking—in images. I don’t know how to write them down. Every feeling is physical. Maybe that’s why I can’t write—or write so badly now. In the desert, all ideas are experimental in the body. I touch a central place, where I have never lived before. I wrote from the margin, dipping down into the well but never fully gazing down. I drew up the words—books, essays. Now I’m down there: in the center. And I find, to my horror, that the center is mute.
I want to speak. I want to be a person who speaks. But, up to now, speech meant dealing in this left-handed, eyes averted way with myself.
I am thinking—talking—in images. I don’t know how to write them down. Every feeling is physical. Maybe that’s why I can’t write—or write so badly now. In the desert, all ideas are experimental in the body. I touch a central place, where I have never lived before. I wrote from the margin, dipping down into the well but never fully gazing down. I drew up the words—books, essays. Now I’m down there: in the center. And I find, to my horror, that the center is mute.
I want to speak. I want to be a person who speaks. But, up to now, speech meant dealing in this left-handed, eyes averted way with myself.
October 1, 2017
لاحظت أن سوزان في مذكراتها مستغرقة في ذاتها وأفكارها بشكل كبير، والقليل جدا ذكر عن أمها وعلاقاتها وتأثير الآخرين عليها. عموما لامستني كثيرا.
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July 13, 2025Sontag’ın bir yazar, entelektüel, birey olarak kendisini bu demli objektif ele alabilmesini çok seviyorum. anne-kız, aşık-maşuk ilişkilerinde kendisine dair yaptığı yer yer acımasız fakat gerçekçi gözlemleri okuyabilmek bazen ruha bir ayna tutulmuş gibi geliyor. onu benim gözümde kıymetli bir entelektüel yapan, “ben öğrenciyim” itirafını da açıkça yapıyor olması. keyif alarak okudum.
February 25, 2020
Uitstekend boek voor op het nachtkastje.
*3,5
*3,5
March 8, 2018
صعب أقيّم هيك نوع من الكتب جد..
يعني حطيت 3.. بس ماااااااا بعرف!!!!
يعني حطيت 3.. بس ماااااااا بعرف!!!!
April 28, 2016
У цьому томі Зонтаґ вже доросліша і тому значно менш соліпсична, не без болісних заносів штибу "My habit of trading 'information' for human warmth. Like putting a shilling in a meter; lasts for five minutes, then have to put another shilling in. Hence, my ancient wish to be mute - because I know what most of my speech is for, and I'm humiliated by that" - але вже й готова бачити у навколишніх не лише джерело валідації чи ворожу силу, а й людей зі своїми складнощами і тарганами, штибу "доки вона зайнята тим, щоб відганяти мене, вона не мусить розбиратися із самою собою, із власними проблемами". (Слухайте, ну капєц дивно це все читати, перед тим бачивши купу анекдоток про те, як Зонтаґ на вечірках усіх ставить на місце й інтелектуально розмазує по стінках!)
Все це драматичне вибудовування моделі співіснування з іншим проектується й на стосунки з іншими культурами. З одного боку, все, що не своє, інстинктивно апріорі краще (див. стандартний тогочасний неестетичний флірт із лівацтвом, бо там буцімто інша ідея родини і альтернатива споживацькому суспільству), з іншого боку, наголошування своєї винятковості/вищості, в міжкультурному зрізі, очевидно, з доданим неестетичним расизмом. До її честі - вона, схоже, подекуди свідома проблематичності того, що пише. Її опис мандрівки журналістів до В'єтнаму по той бік фронту мене прямо взяв за душу:
"impossible for us to relate to them,understand them, clearly impossible for them to understand us [...] I felt my consciousness included theirs, or could - but theirs could never include mine. [...] I long for the three-dimensional textured adult world in which I live - even as I go about my (their) business in this two-dimensional world of the ethical fairytale to which I am paying a visit [...] It's monochromatic here. Everything is on the same level. All the words belong to the same vocabulary: struggle, bombing, friend, aggressor, imperialist, victory, comrade, the French colonialists, the puppet troops. I resist the flattening of our language, but soon I realize that I must use it if I'm to say anything that's useful to them". Підніміть руку ті, хто емоційно упізнає цей досвід. Значну частину нашої війни я провела в Америці, господи, і це просто до сліз - так, все потрібно проговорювати простими словами, так, це дуже асиметрична комунікація, так, це сплющує тебе і твій досвід. Тепер от бачу опис, як це виглядає з іншого боку комунікативного акту:) До честі Зонтаґ, коли хтось із американських журналістів при ній хвалить в'єтанмців за те, що ті не втратили людяності за час війни, Зонтаґ вибухає - на кону не їхня людяність, а американців.
Це не заважає їй ще довго дружити з людиною-мудаком Бродським і писати (думаю, під його впливом) тупі сентеції штибу "Там, де немає цензури, письменник не має значення. Отже, не так вже й просто бути проти цензури". Ну, просто таке писати, літаючи між Парижем і Нью-Йорком, та. Записує, як Бродський просторікує: США, мовляв, гірша імперія, ніж СРСР, бо, за винятком Камбоджії, ніде в блоці навколо СРСР нема такої брутальності, як у Ірані, Нікарагуа і Аргентині. "У Польщі, Угорщині, Чехословаччині і т.д. інтелектуалів зараз не убивають, їх причаровують або виганяють" - тут у мене як в людини, яка уявляє тогочасну культурну панораму України, починає сіпатися око. Зонтаї, здається, стає трохи критичнішою, лише коли мудак-Бродський береться з антиамериканських позицій захищати іранського шаха і тортури. Тоді Зонтаґ занотовує: "Режим треба оцінювати за тим, що він робить зі своїми опонентами". І далі записує з розмови із її польським перекладачем: "СРСР - це не невдала революція, а вдала тоталітарна революція"
Просто кумедне:
"A miracle is just an accident, with fancy trappings"
"Фотографія - мистецтво? Чи просто байстрюк чи аборт кінематографу?"
"The double means the self-as-an-object"
"Стати минулим - значить стати мистецтвом. Можливо, об'єкти не є мистецтвом, а стають ним з часом"
"Intellectual is a refugee from experience. In Diaspora"
Все це драматичне вибудовування моделі співіснування з іншим проектується й на стосунки з іншими культурами. З одного боку, все, що не своє, інстинктивно апріорі краще (див. стандартний тогочасний неестетичний флірт із лівацтвом, бо там буцімто інша ідея родини і альтернатива споживацькому суспільству), з іншого боку, наголошування своєї винятковості/вищості, в міжкультурному зрізі, очевидно, з доданим неестетичним расизмом. До її честі - вона, схоже, подекуди свідома проблематичності того, що пише. Її опис мандрівки журналістів до В'єтнаму по той бік фронту мене прямо взяв за душу:
"impossible for us to relate to them,
Це не заважає їй ще довго дружити з людиною-мудаком Бродським і писати (думаю, під його впливом) тупі сентеції штибу "Там, де немає цензури, письменник не має значення. Отже, не так вже й просто бути проти цензури". Ну, просто таке писати, літаючи між Парижем і Нью-Йорком, та. Записує, як Бродський просторікує: США, мовляв, гірша імперія, ніж СРСР, бо, за винятком Камбоджії, ніде в блоці навколо СРСР нема такої брутальності, як у Ірані, Нікарагуа і Аргентині. "У Польщі, Угорщині, Чехословаччині і т.д. інтелектуалів зараз не убивають, їх причаровують або виганяють" - тут у мене як в людини, яка уявляє тогочасну культурну панораму України, починає сіпатися око. Зонтаї, здається, стає трохи критичнішою, лише коли мудак-Бродський береться з антиамериканських позицій захищати іранського шаха і тортури. Тоді Зонтаґ занотовує: "Режим треба оцінювати за тим, що він робить зі своїми опонентами". І далі записує з розмови із її польським перекладачем: "СРСР - це не невдала революція, а вдала тоталітарна революція"
Просто кумедне:
"A miracle is just an accident, with fancy trappings"
"Фотографія - мистецтво? Чи просто байстрюк чи аборт кінематографу?"
"The double means the self-as-an-object"
"Стати минулим - значить стати мистецтвом. Можливо, об'єкти не є мистецтвом, а стають ним з часом"
"Intellectual is a refugee from experience. In Diaspora"
![Profile Image for Justyna [regałzikei].](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.gr-assets.com%2Fimages%2FS%2Fcompressed.photo.goodreads.com%2Fusers%2F1536838974i%2F52160537._UY200_CR2%2C0%2C200%2C200_.jpg&w=128&q=75)
February 25, 2024
Jestem trochę rozbita, bo po pierwsze - cieszę się, że wydano Sontag jej głosem (nie głosem Sigrid Nunez, który uważam za opowieść o Nunez, nie o Sontag; nie głosem też Benjamina Mosera, który napisał książkę skądinąd wspaniałą). Redakcją dwóch części Dzienników zajął się syn Susan, David Rieff, są one trochę pod jego batutą, bo posklejał ze sobą pamiętniki pisarki, a także wszystkie skrawki, listy, karteczki, które znalazł, umieścił je chronologicznie w książce i dodał przypisy. Pod tym względem, ok, pewnie zajęło to dużo pracy.
Po drugie - na ile David Rieff pozostaje uczciwy? Mam z drugą częścią Dzienników problem. Na ile redaktor powinien ingerować w treść dzienników? Mamy do czynienia z wkurzającymi wręcz dopiskami Rieffa, jest ich pełno, wszystkie w irytującym nawiasie kwadratowym. Ale są dosyć niekonsekwentne. Z kolejnej strony, przyznam, że część wpisów była niejasna, urwana i nieinteresująca, a oczywista chyba tylko dla Sontag. Każdy z nas robi takie notatki, ale nikt nie zamierza ich publikować (chyba?), dlatego te wpisy mnie nużyły i zawiodły. To fragmenty pełne zdań, słów, skrótów, które autorka chciała w przyszłości rozwinąć.
Uwielbiam fragmenty rozważające relacje międzyludzkie, listy z obejrzanymi filmami, albo przeczytanymi książkami. Ale mniej to wszystko obok. Wiem, mogą pojawiać się zdania, że to przecież pamiętnik, czego oczekiwać od czyiś wspomnień? Sontag nie pisała ich dla naszej intelektualnej pociechy, pisała je dla siebie. Notowała myśli złapane w słowa, nad którymi chciała się kiedyś pochylić. Dlatego mam w tym momencie poczucie, że ja nie powinnam tego czytać, że to nie jest to, co autorka chciała nam dać. I że może zredagowanie tych wpisów, a usunięcie niektórych, powinno Davida zająć bardziej niż kwadratowe nawiasy. Nie wierzę, że nie ingerował on w to, co zostało wydane, że nie usunął czegoś, czego nie chciał opublikować. Myślę, że gdyby dzienniki trafiły w ręce utalentowanego redaktora, tylko wyszłoby nam to na dobre.
Po drugie - na ile David Rieff pozostaje uczciwy? Mam z drugą częścią Dzienników problem. Na ile redaktor powinien ingerować w treść dzienników? Mamy do czynienia z wkurzającymi wręcz dopiskami Rieffa, jest ich pełno, wszystkie w irytującym nawiasie kwadratowym. Ale są dosyć niekonsekwentne. Z kolejnej strony, przyznam, że część wpisów była niejasna, urwana i nieinteresująca, a oczywista chyba tylko dla Sontag. Każdy z nas robi takie notatki, ale nikt nie zamierza ich publikować (chyba?), dlatego te wpisy mnie nużyły i zawiodły. To fragmenty pełne zdań, słów, skrótów, które autorka chciała w przyszłości rozwinąć.
Uwielbiam fragmenty rozważające relacje międzyludzkie, listy z obejrzanymi filmami, albo przeczytanymi książkami. Ale mniej to wszystko obok. Wiem, mogą pojawiać się zdania, że to przecież pamiętnik, czego oczekiwać od czyiś wspomnień? Sontag nie pisała ich dla naszej intelektualnej pociechy, pisała je dla siebie. Notowała myśli złapane w słowa, nad którymi chciała się kiedyś pochylić. Dlatego mam w tym momencie poczucie, że ja nie powinnam tego czytać, że to nie jest to, co autorka chciała nam dać. I że może zredagowanie tych wpisów, a usunięcie niektórych, powinno Davida zająć bardziej niż kwadratowe nawiasy. Nie wierzę, że nie ingerował on w to, co zostało wydane, że nie usunął czegoś, czego nie chciał opublikować. Myślę, że gdyby dzienniki trafiły w ręce utalentowanego redaktora, tylko wyszłoby nam to na dobre.
July 22, 2023
4.5☆ i hate how much i enjoyed this and by “this” i mean voyeurism.. i say this every time i read posthumous works but i have very complicated feelings towards the issue and i’d rather not think ab it too much. moving on! sontag’s journals were very confusing at times - her thoughts are dispersed and fragmented (sometimes she was just saying things (real)), but im glad it was that way! it helped preserve authenticity and create a sense of intimacy. obviously i’m not smart enough to understand all of it (and i lacked the knowledge to do so), but this was still intensively inspiring although it was deeply intimidating. sontag’s journals read like a collection of deeply personal, self analytic comments as well as broader displays of intellect. i’m fascinated by how philosophers write about their own lives — sontag’s mind specifically is just so incredible, she’s so brilliant (unsurprisingly) and i can’t wait to read more of her. through this i learned a lot about her process; how a mind of that calibre works and thinks, the intellectual labor that goes into producing texts that have a lasting cultural impact. she seemed to always be hypothesizing, analyzing, theorizing, conceptualizing, making her journals deeply intellectual, although my favorite passages were those that showed her sentimentality. AND i want someone to psychoanalyze me the way susan did w her hoes.
side note she had weird things to say ab asian countries…
side note she had weird things to say ab asian countries…
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