It’s still beloved of children today not because it’s a noble, holy relic, but because it’s a really good book. Anne Frank was no saint—she describes a classmate as “an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself,” fought viciously with her mother, envied her sister. She wrote beautifully and with humor, loved pop culture, was curious about her changing body. She had a crush and a first kiss. In spite of everything, she believed that people were really good at heart. She was a real girl—who was trying to be a real woman, and a real person. That she didn’t get the chance to is a tragedy; that we have evidence of her quest to do so is a gift.