Submitted by
Ninth Wave Designs on Fri, 06/13/2008 - 15:13.
ORIGINAL POST DATE: February 1, 2007
Here's a little example of the power of notebooks and diaries that I came across recently while reading Sarah Waters' novel, Affinity.
"I had been sitting very still to listen to her. Now, becoming more aware of myself, I found that I was cold, and I drew my coat a little closer about me. The action made my note-book show at my pocket, and I saw her looking at it. All the time we talked, then, her gaze kept returning to that edge of book; until at last, when I rose to leave her, she said, Why did I always carry a book with me? Did I mean to write about the women of the gaol?
I told her then that I take my note-book with me wherever I go - that it was a habit I had fallen into when helping my father with his work. I said I should feel very strange without it, and that what I wrote in it I sometimes later put into another book, that was my diary. I said that that book was like my dearest friend. I told it all my closest thoughts, and it kept them secret.
She nodded. My book was like her, she said - it had no-one to tell. I might as well say my closest thoughts there, in her cell. Who did she have, to pass them on to?"
Affinity is an epistolary novel, told in the form of entries from the diaries of the two main characters. What made this section jump out at me the most is the way that it captures the curiosity associated with carrying and keeping notebooks. Who has seen someone writing in their notebook or drawing in their sketchbook in a cafe, and hasn't secretly wanted to seize the thing and examine all the pages while the author is off getting a refill? Or conversely, who hasn't been themselves aware of the general interest that carrying a notebook inspires in others? It's part of the fun, really, to be doing something so intensely private as writing about your intimate goings-on in your diary, but doing it in such a public place. It's the feeling of - I want you to know, but I don't want you to know, at least not until I decide to show you myself. It's the fun of building a mystery.
Additionally this section from Waters' novel appealed to me because it personifies the main character's diary as her closest friend, and reinforces the sense that she views her diary as a real person by having the second character also identify herself as a book of secrets. Viewing a diary as a friend has come to have more meaning to me lately, as I have finally come to a place in my life where I am actually keeping a personal diary. The irony of this shift in my perspective hasn't been lost on me - that only after coming to the end of spending three years selling diaries to others did I finally arrive at a place in my life where I had a deep need to write a daily, personal and confessional diary myself.
I have come to see that for most of you out there, the real reason for your passion for Moleskinei diaries all these years hasn't only been (as I thought) about form, function and quality, but that it has also been about being selective with the company you keep. It's been about whom you are willing to trust with your most personal thoughts - it's been about carefully choosing your dearest friend. As sappy as all that sounds, I still think it is absolutely true. Hidden under the weight of all the cynicism associated with well-crafted marketing plans you will find that your Moleskine is still just a diary after all, and as such its worth is determined only by what you yourself entrust to its pages. You may also discover as I have, that when you do find a friend that you can share your closest thoughts with, one who you know will keep them secret, life feels a lot less lonely because of it.
