Sartor, a teacher at Duke University, presents her diary-format account, based on letters and notebooks, of her teen years in Montgomery, Louisiana, during the 1970s. The entries are timely, with references to desegregation and racism and also to the Evangelical Christianity gaining prominence in the Deep South: "Satan came closer to me tonight than I've ever felt," she writes. Most entries, though, speak about common adolescent experiences, and her candor makes even the familiar captivating, whether she is frustrated with her body, suffering depression and insecurity, or finding the bold strength to tell a boyfriend that "her personality is not up for a total renovation."

The creators of The Notebook Girls are four contemporary Manhattan teens, who started the notebook as a way to stay connected with each other. As in Sartor's diary, the power here is in the raw honesty, and the format--handwritten pages and pasted-in photos--gives even more immediacy. These are girls who, like Sartor, speak in bawdy, vulgar language; tease and tell fart jokes; worry about their bodies, their futures, and their friendships; and experiment with drinking, drugs, and sex. And like Sartor, these girls share sharp observations and a strong sense of identity. "Who the fuck are these guys?" asks one girl. "Who gave them the right to comment on girls' bodies like that?" The communal format creates more jockeying and joking and less personal revelation than a diary might. But taken together, these titles offer a fascinating view of what it means, then and now, to grow up female. Gillian Engberg
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