This isn't a review. I don't want to review someone's diary, frankly.
I didn't even want to read it, but reading the play inevitably sparked my interest.
I will say one thing: this world lost what would have been an incredibly influential person and an incredible artist when it lost Anne Frank.
Finally getting around to finishing a work of this nature, I've come to realize just how important little everyday writings are. Think about it: this simple little journal and all the short stories that went with it could have simply been thrown out accidentally or fallen into a crack in the wall and then we'd have nothing. But subtle things of this nature are somehow, miraculously preserved and read by millions, and I doubt that I'm the only one left in awe at the skill of someone writing spontaneously, with the weight of a war on their back.
With a miracle, this voice was saved, and for that, I am incredibly grateful. If you haven't read this, I strongly suggest that you do, because even though all the inspiring Anne Frank could have done with a full lifetime is not in existence, there's hope in her words until the very end.