Journal of a Solitude Paperback – Illustrated, October 17, 1992

Sarton has a keen eye for the changes of the seasons and the richness of nature. Where she excells is in her vulnerability and willingness to confront her faults headon. Years ago when she lived in Maine I sent her a copy of one of her books of poetry, a stamped addressed mailing package, and a brief note asking if she would autograph the book and mail it to a friend of mine, a longtime fan of her work. She did, but not without sending me a curt, angry, nasty note about what an infringement this had been on her time. I cherish the note. This book, Journal of a Solitude, reveals more of the woman who wrote that note and her struggles with herself.

This book contains all the pleasant reading we have come to expect in May Sarton's journals. She writes beautifully about her home and garden, her writing, and her friends. But this one has an extra special quality--she really bares her soul. She confesses to us that she has a wicked temper, mood swings, and grapples with the yearning for a complete love relationship while knowing that she is probably more suited to a life of solitude. I found many of her observations resonating with me. I almost wished that we could speak. She seemed like such a beautiful person. I am not what one would call a true nature lover, so I'm more fascinated by the workings of Sarton's mind and emotions than I am interested in the layout of her garden and yet the flowers do offer a pleasant respite to the confessional part of the journal. I'd give it 4.5 stars if I could.

This book is so magical. Sarton is an incredible writer, poet, and observer of the human condition. She is so incredibly honest in her writing that it can shake you to your core.

Just a beautiful journal of May Sarton’s life. She helps me see beauty in the small things. And when I need inspiration in my own writing, this is my go to.

Ms. Sarton's books, especially this one, were recommended on another book blog that I read, and this appeared to be one of her most noted ones, so I picked it up when I saw it. I can't say I was disappointed, but it was different from what I was expecting. Sarton, a poet and essayist, chronicled her thoughts about living alone—she found she could not concentrate on her poetry when surrounded by family, friends and day-to-day tumult, so she would stay solitary between book tours in order to concentrate on her art. She talks frankly about her bouts of depression and the positives and negatives of a solitary life. However, I think I was expecting something more like the Stillmeadow books. (It seems I spend a lot of time searching for someone else who "sounds like Gladys Taber.")Still, this is a nice quiet introspective book, perfect for a relaxing day's read with a favorite beverage and a cat in the lap, perhaps cuddled in a favorite afghan.

This was a fascinating read--a journal by a woman who was battling loneliness and depression later in life. You can feel the struggles in her words, as you feel her trying to lead a "normal" life and deal with setbacks and trials and doubts, while still dealing with the depression. It's not a book for everyone, of course--nothing happens here, and there is no resolution to any of the problems. This is one to read when you want to ponder life and living and meaning and love and who you are as a person, for May opens some doors for you that you might not have thought to open.

In this lovely little book, May Sarton writes about her solitude. Of how important it is to any creative individual, to have long and uniterupted hours in which to think and ponder, write and re-write as needed, and yet how very lonely it often is. Her self imposed seclusion is imperative, and she treasures the days when guests, choresvor friendships do not intrude, and at the same time, she often treasures those days that are filled with lunches and visits by friends, bringing flowers, foods and fun into her solitude. It gives those of us who love her works a very personal glimpse into the life of a writer, and the sacrifices one must make to bring that gift into the light.

...and that takes a lot for me. Mostly NOT sad tears, but tears of recognition. The writing is sublime - I knew, with every word, just exactly how and what she was feeling...what a very, very interesting, compassionate, intelligent, beautiful woman May must have been. I feel I know her, now, and I have come back and bought each and every other one of her books that are available. When literature moves one in this way, it has accomplished everything it should...