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merlandese 's review for:
Madly, Deeply: The Diaries of Alan Rickman
by Alan Rickman
Cash grab. Family and friends should be ashamed.
For a book called Madly, Deeply, you'd expect some passion and depth. This series of diary entries rarely has anything more potent than a snarky Tweet. It has no teeth. Reading it is a reminder that who we are cannot be distilled into marginal notes.
Whatever Rickman's real plans were with this diary, be it as notes for future memoirs or just the therapeutic nature of journaling, you can't glean much from this other than that, here, even in the privacy of his scribblings, he hasn't revealed his inner world. He is still guarded, still afraid to say everything he means to say. More often than not he reminds himself, in text, to push away his judgments, his negative thoughts. This, rather than writing them down. We're given the impression, then, that he has an even private-er diary hidden somewhere else, one filled with his actual thoughts and feelings.
At least, that's what I want to think. The alternative is that he doesn't have anything interesting to say, even to himself.
In any case, this should neither have been published nor read. It's an embarrassing thing to muster up the courage of voyeurism, to peek into the private, secret thoughts of a person and see them nude. It's even more embarrassing when, after tearing your soul a little with that act, you find nothing of substance.
For a book called Madly, Deeply, you'd expect some passion and depth. This series of diary entries rarely has anything more potent than a snarky Tweet. It has no teeth. Reading it is a reminder that who we are cannot be distilled into marginal notes.
Whatever Rickman's real plans were with this diary, be it as notes for future memoirs or just the therapeutic nature of journaling, you can't glean much from this other than that, here, even in the privacy of his scribblings, he hasn't revealed his inner world. He is still guarded, still afraid to say everything he means to say. More often than not he reminds himself, in text, to push away his judgments, his negative thoughts. This, rather than writing them down. We're given the impression, then, that he has an even private-er diary hidden somewhere else, one filled with his actual thoughts and feelings.
At least, that's what I want to think. The alternative is that he doesn't have anything interesting to say, even to himself.
In any case, this should neither have been published nor read. It's an embarrassing thing to muster up the courage of voyeurism, to peek into the private, secret thoughts of a person and see them nude. It's even more embarrassing when, after tearing your soul a little with that act, you find nothing of substance.
21 August
New pillows, extra hangers, DVD player on its way.
22 August
4pm Riding lesson.
23 August
Day One, Perfume