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. ( )

Ordinarily I like reading journals and diaries, and Sontag's journals lend themselves well to browsing. However, her own comments about "notebook thinking," and aphorisms apply here. I got the sense that even in her private journal, Sontag is alternately talking down to readers or expecting us to keep up in a sort of intellectual obstacle course. (I don't actually know if she intended these for publication, and if she didn't then it would obviously change my view of what she's written here.) But I marked dozens of passages for further thought and discussion. There's some good thinking here, even if you don't come to the same conclusions that she did. ( )

I love reading the lists and connections and seeing the creative process of an amazing mind. But there's a lot of naval-gazing (of course, it is a journal anthology) that makes me queasy. I'm about 375 pages in, and I need to take a break. But I will come back at some point. ( )