May Sarton's final journal, At Eighty-Two, calls to mind Eleanor Roosevelt's My Day, though their days
were quite different.
In essence, Sarton's journal is about approaching death. Specifically, it is focused on the impending final
days of this prolific poet, novelist and journalist. Even though one brings to the reading experience
enormous empathy and sympathy, the overall result is exceedingly depressing. Sarton writes in such
detail about the multiple facets of her illness and especially about her overpowering depression that the
dark aura of the book is inescapable. Not even her rich vocabulary and fresh turn of phrase relieved the
overall gloom. However, one would have to be totally without feeling to criticize the books content in a
censorial way because of this sober tone.