Take a story's temperature by studying its tone. Is it hopeful? Cynical? Snarky? Playful?
Melodramatic, Angst-Ridden
Gee, those adjectives make this book sound like a load of fun, don't they? But Alice is a histrionic kind of gal. Every entry she writes includes some form of dramatic exclamation about how she'll just die over something mundane, like boredom. Here's an example of Alice taking things a bit too far:
A raindrop just splashed on my forehead and it was like a tear from heaven. Are the clouds and the skies really weeping over me? Am I really alone in the whole wide gray world? (167)
Wow, just wow. Yes, Alice, the heavens are weeping for you and you alone. It has nothing to do with the cooling and condensation of water vapors from the earth turning into clouds, which then need to release the moisture in the form of precipitation. It's obviously the angels in the sky feeling melancholy about the mess you've gotten yourself into.
Sometimes the tone is set just by the words that Alice chooses to use. When she waxes philosophical, the syllable count tends to go up, and she uses fancier terms to express her totally deep feelings. In addition, when she's feeling particularly angst-ridden she gets repetitive and uses synonyms with abandon. Check it out:
Adolescents have a very rocky insecure time. Grown-ups treat them like children and yet expect them to act like adults. They give them orders like little animals, then expect them to react like mature, and always rational, self-assured persons of legal stature. It is a difficult, lost, vacillating time. (119.2)
Mostly, though, the tone works in this format because it's a diary—where else are you supposed to write awful, sappy, overemotional drivel? This is the place where bad poetry belongs. So despite the tendency to make us roll our eyes so hard they get stuck in the back of our heads, we wouldn't have it any other way.