We were always free : the Maddens of Culpeper County, Virgini a : a two-hundred-year family history /

Like all of Sarton's journals, this is a testament to the joys of nature from a courageous and loving woman. It is different from the others ( Journal of a Solitude , etc.) in that now, at age 79 and living alone in her house in Maine, she must struggle with frailty and illness that make fierce inroads on her independence. She is so weak that she can no longer hold a pen but keeps up her writing by learning to use a dictaphone. And she has the help of a devoted secretary and numerous friends. Sometimes her pain is too much, but she discards the idea of suicide, thinking that ``one must have one's death . . . not make one's own death.'' And her cats, birds, garden and visitors keep her ecstatically anchored in life. Looking into the heart of a pale yellow daffodil, she is exalted to discover its ``center of emerald green, like a light.'' There is no comfort here for old age, with its daily records of pain, but Sarton's fans will find reassurance that her valiant spirit endures. Photos not seen by PW. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

The story of the ``last laps of a long-distance runner'' enduring ``a plateau of constant discomfort and ``the knowledge that she will never get well,'' Sarton learns to accept dependency, write with a tape recorder, and adjust to frailty. Her solace is ``root friends,'' flowers (her ``small gods''), her cat, and her memories. She finds the courage to achieve again, ``looking forward to the day.'' In this book, which is pervaded by the imagery of rain, she works through grief at the loss of her powers and records how women's friendships sustain her. Sarton has been lighthouse light for millions of women, and despite the dimming of that light, she remains the Sarton who wrote Journal of a Solitude ( LJ 4/1/73). This latest addition to her journal series is an essential purchase.-- Judy Hogan, Durham, N.C. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Sarton resumes the litany of woes she began in Recovering (1980) and continued in At Seventy (1984) and After the Stroke (1988). This new installment, like the earlier ones, is packed with tales of depression, dyspepsia, wearisome diets, and wobbly dentures, among other tribulations. In addition to these Job-like entries, Sarton includes in this yearlong journal comments on such familiar topics as her garden, the harshness of Maine winters, and her past lesbian love affairs; she settles some old literary scores as well (John Ciardi comes in for a bit of bashing here). Self-congratulation permeates the pages: References to Sarton's ``fans'' appear frequently, joined by such boasts as, ``I don't think there are many writers--serious writers--who make as much money as I do.'' If this journal was not so obviously intended for publication but was in fact merely a kind of personal diary, the inclusion of many of the details recorded would be far more explicable. As it is, even the most devoted of Sarton's admirers are unlikely to find the fact that the author ate ``mussels and delicious, chopped-up fresh spinach'' on March 11, 1991, of enormous interest. When she turns her gaze outward, though, Sarton is far more interesting. She draws a gracious if inconclusive portrait of Virginia Woolf, with whom she often had tea in the late 1930's, and she reminisces about Lord David Cecil in several anecdotes that celebrate his erudition and eccentricity. Overall, far too garrulous and far, far too querulous. (Fifty- one photos--not seen.)