I’m not really sure how to categorize this post, because the extent to which I identified with Lucy Maud Montgomery throughout the first volume of her selected journals had an enormous impact on my impression of that collection. From her opening entry declaring that she had burned all of her childhood diaries (I have more than a few I would like to shred) to her descriptions of the “melancholy” that seized her when she was older (and sounded hauntingly like my experiences with depression), I felt like this woman was my “kindred spirit,” as her most famous character would say.
Anyone who loved Anne of Green Gables will essentially find bonus material in this collection of the beloved author’s journals from 1889 to 1910. It’s easy to find the places where Montgomery drew on her personal experiences to create Anne’s world, using her own memories and sometimes brutally honest depictions of her own feelings to remember what the emotional turmoil of childhood really feels like. It’s also easy to see her writing style as it grew into the L.M. Montgomery we know and love. I could recognize phrases she used directly or in altered form in the Anne books, as well as general sentiments that Anne would later echo.
I could also recognize myself in Montgomery’s inner life, as I said before.
It wasn’t just the melancholia that gripped her in the winter, leaving her without the motivation even to get off couch, as the worst of my own depression has done to me. It wasn’t just the way she felt about books as friends, the way my own bookshelves act as a comfort when I feel lonely. It was little things, little dislikes for irritating classmates and frustrations with unseen obstacles to her dreams. Reading her journals even went so far as to comfort me for my own sporadic entries (I cannot seem to maintain a daily habit no matter how good it is for me).
Maybe I just connected to her as a fellow woman writer. Maybe this is just one of those things among writers, to seek out a mentor version of yourself in the ranks of those who have gone before. Maybe it’s just a more generic writer thing (it’s well known, for instance, that many writers have struggled with depression). Maybe I just felt close to this real person who had created one of my favorite childhood characters.
Whatever the reason, I was not expecting such a personal level of connection when I picked up these journals on a whim at Half Price Books – but I’m glad I did.