Was Anne Frank bisexual?
Maybe. But don't blame her father if you didn't know it.
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What I’m writing
You may have seen the news reports earlier this month about a Texas school district that supposedly banned the graphic novelization of Anne Frank’s Diary. (I like this adaptation a lot, especially for kids, and wrote about it here.) Some reactions:
Apparently, the Diary was “flagged” by a parent in the Keller school district, which serves around 30,000 kids in the Dallas–Forth Worth area. The articles don't give a reason—only that the parent said the book should be “viewed in the presence of an adult.”
Since many of the other books on the list contain LGBTQ+ content, some have concluded that the parent who flagged the Diary had similar concerns. “The graphic novel makes explicit what readers of the original diary might have missed—that Anne had lesbian fantasies and desires,” writes Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin in a column for Religion News Service.
Here’s the panel in question:
This is a graphic novel, and so it condenses quite a bit of text into these two pages. But it is faithful to the tone and content of Anne’s entry for January 6, 1944, in which she remembers wanting to touch a friend’s breasts and describes the “ecstasies” she feels when looking at female nudes in an art book. Here’s the passage as it was originally published in English:
Sometimes, when I lie in bed at night, I have a terrible desire to feel my breasts and to listen to the quiet rhythmic beat of my heart.
I already had these kinds of feelings subconsciously before I came here, because I remember that once when I slept with a girl friend I had a strong desire to kiss her, and that I did do so. I could not help being terribly inquisitive over her body, for she had always kept it hidden from me. I asked her whether, as a proof of our friendship, we should feel one another’s breasts, but she refused. I go into ecstasies every time I see the naked figure of a woman, such as Venus, for example. It strikes me [sometimes] as so wonderful and exquisite that I have difficulty in stopping the tears rolling down my cheeks.
If only I had a girl friend!
Why does Rabbi Salkin think readers of the Diary “might have missed” this striking passage? That’s complicated. As we know, Anne edited her diary for publication. (I’m lowercasing “diary” to refer to the pages Anne wrote herself, and using “Diary” for the published versions.) The passage about wanting to touch her friend Jacque’s breasts appears in version A, Anne’s first draft, in much the same terms:
Sometimes, when I lie in bed at night, I have a terrible desire to feel my breasts and to listen to the quiet rhythmic beat of my heart.
I already had these kinds of feelings subconsciously before I came here, because I remember one night when I slept with Jacque I could not contain myself, I was so curious to see her body, which she always kept hidden from me and which I had never seen. I asked Jacque whether as a proof of our friendship we might feel one another’s breasts. Jacque refused. I also had a terrible desire to kiss Jacque and that I did. I go into ecstasies every time I see the naked figure of a woman, such as Venus in the Springer History of Art, for example. It strikes me sometimes as so wonderful and exquisite that I have difficulty not letting the tears roll down my cheeks.
If only I had a girl friend! (1/6/44A)
The English-reading public first became aware of the existence of Version A in 1989, when the translation of the Critical Edition of the Diary—the one that lays out Version A, Version B (Anne’s edit), and Version C (the first published version, edited by Otto Frank)—appeared in English. In 1995, a new “definitive edition” was published that augments Otto’s edit with additional material from Version A.
Comparing the two passages gives a sense of the kinds of edits Otto usually made. I’ll go into this in more detail in the book, but in general, he rearranged things, he condensed a little, and he took out details he regarded as extraneous. Here, he removed Jacque’s name, likely to protect her privacy, and omitted the name of the art history book Anne liked to look at. But he never altered the content in any substantive way. Anne’s criticisms of her mother? They’re still in there. Same with her comments on getting her period.
Nonetheless, there is a popular perception that Otto took out some of the diary’s sex-related material. This piece in Hey Alma, a website geared toward younger Jewish readers, is typical:
“Like many American children, I first read Anne Frank’s diary in school,” Yonah Bex Gerber writes. “And like many American children, I was unaware that I read the first, censored edition of the famous work.” Learning about Anne’s bisexuality was affirming, Gerber continues, but also enraging. “When I was just discovering I liked both girls and boys, there was an actual, real life person who could have told me those feelings were natural? Representation matters, and to discover I was denied that representation when I needed it most was all too painful.”
Yes, representation matters! But it’s sad that Otto Frank has been demonized by a generation of readers who believe that he “censored” the first published version of Anne’s diary. In fact, it was Anne herself who removed most of the material about sex from Version B, the version she wanted to publish—including the passage about Jacque. (I’ll get into this more in the book, too, but she omitted many of the most personal details, including her feelings about Peter van Pels, from the version she prepared for publication herself.)
How did this misconception start? In an article for The New York Times about the publication of the Critical Edition, Herbert Mitgang wrote that Otto deleted Anne’s mentions of menstruation, “together with a reference to two girls touching each other’s breasts.” Note that the reference was actually to two girls not touching each other’s breasts! As best I can figure out, Mitgang misread an essay in the Critical Edition that summarizes the changes made by Otto as well as—crucially—by the publishers of the first versions. Mitgang’s sentence about (unidentified) girls touching each other’s breasts is a direct, albeit unattributed, quote from this essay. (You can always tell a plagiarist by their mistakes!) The author explains that the passage involving breasts, “as witnesses remember,” was eliminated by the first Dutch publisher.
But Mitgang apparently did not read on, because if he had, he would have discovered that the omission troubled Otto. While the French translation of the Diary seems to have been based on the Dutch version, Otto saw a new opportunity with the English-language translation. In July 1951, he personally brought the text of the passages that the Dutch publisher had deleted to the London offices of Valentine, Mitchell, the Diary’s British publisher. As an editor there explained to Barbara Mooyaart-Doubleday, the first translator of the Diary into English, the passages had been cut “because they were either too long, or were likely to offend Dutch Puritan or Catholic susceptibilities…. We think the English edition definitely ought to contain them.”
The reinstated passages appeared in the first English-language edition of the Diary as well as in every edition afterward. So not only did Otto not censor the passage about Anne and Jacque—Anne did that herself!—but he insisted that it be restored.
It’s likely Otto didn’t find the passage remarkable. Anne’s interest in Jacque’s breasts was of a piece with her interest in sex more generally. At the time of this sleepover, Anne would have been twelve. Many adolescents are curious about their friends’ naked bodies, a curiosity that may or may not have implications for their adult sexual orientation. The reference to Anne kissing Jacque is also a little opaque—it’s clear that when she and Peter van Pels kiss in the Secret Annex, she considers that to be her “first kiss.” She might have turned out to be bisexual; she might not have. Since she was murdered by the Nazis shortly before her sixteenth birthday, we’ll never know.
Regardless of the label, if LGBTQ+ kids feel affirmed by Anne’s interest in her friend’s breasts, that’s great. But if they only noticed it as adults, they weren’t reading carefully enough. And neither was the parent who suggested pulling the graphic novel. If LGBTQ+ content is the issue, then all editions of Anne’s Diary are at risk.
Fortunately, this minor tempest resolved quickly. Within a week of the first reports, the “banned” books were back on school shelves. Turns out they were pulled for review only. Needless to say, the follow-up stories got nowhere near as much bandwidth as the first round.
I cringe at conservatives’ knee-jerk condemnations of the “liberal media.” As a proud member of this group, I know we’re no monolith. But the way this story has played out also disturbs me. We’re all so quick to assume the worst about the motives of others, from the Texas educators to Otto Frank, especially when those assumptions support our political prejudices. But rushing to judgment without checking the facts is always wrong, whether it’s done by the right or by the left.
One more thing. It’s not unreasonable to suggest that Anne’s Diary be read with parental supervision—especially considering what passes for Holocaust education in some public schools. When one of my children was assigned Night in eighth grade, the teacher let the kids read it on their own and never discussed it in class. The graphic novelization of the Diary includes depictions of concentration camps that could frighten many children. As a parent, I definitely want to know when my kids read books about the Holocaust so that I can be sure to answer their questions.
What I’m reading (watching, listening to, etc.)
Somewhat relatedly, I made a household rule a few years ago that my son, then a youngish teenager, was allowed to watch Game of Thrones only if he watched it with me. The idea was that I would offer context for some of the more problematic sex scenes. Naturally, I got hooked too. Alas, my son has just left for college, so I’m on my own for the prequel. But I love a good TV podcast, and I’m happy to report that Joanna Robinson, Neil Miller, and Dave Gonzalez (whose Lost podcast I loved) are offering their usual hilarious and insightful commentary at Trial by Content. There’s also the official Game of Thrones podcast, which offers interviews with many people involved with the show, including George R.R. Martin.
I’ve started listening to playlists of “beta wave” music for focus, because I live in New York City and it’s loud all the time. I wrote most of this newsletter while listening to this one.
From the Shirley Jackson files
The Shirley Jackson estate has authorized fiction writer Elizabeth Hand to write a novel “inspired by” The Haunting of Hill House, about “a theater troupe that uses Hill House to rehearse a modernist staging of the 17th century play The Witch of Edmonton,” according to the Associated Press. In the play, a woman is shunned by her neighbors and decides to sell her soul to the devil, who appears to her as a black dog. (Personally I prefer Jackson’s version of the devil as a tall handsome man in a blue suit.) Readers of this newsletter know that Hill House is my favorite of Jackson’s novels. I even have a cup of stars tattoo! But I’m willing to give this one a chance.
As ever,
Ruth
“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are considered, by some, to dream.”—Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House
Erm so she is gay or what?…