It was in fact the ordinary nature of everything preceding the event that prevented me from truly believing it had happened, absorbing it, incorporating it, getting past it. I had made no changes to that file since I wrote the words, in January 2004, a day or two or three after the fact.Īt some point, in the interest of remembering what seemed most striking about what had happened, I considered adding those words, “the ordinary instant.” I saw immediately that there would be no need to add the word “ordinary,” because there would be no forgetting it: the word never left my mind. I had made no changes to that file in May. The computer dating on the Microsoft Word file (“Notes on change.doc”) reads “May 20, 2004, 11:11 p.m.,” but that would have been a case of my opening the file and reflexively pressing save when I closed it. Those were the first words I wrote after it happened. Although she wrote the book quickly, she said it was difficult for her to finish because the book “ maintained a connection with him.You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends. It was the first time in 40 years that Didion did not receive feedback from Dunne on a writing project. She finished it in 88 days during the year after Dunne’s death. The Year of Magical Thinking was Didion’s 13th book. She literally wrote herself back to sanity.” “But the book also reproduces, in its formal progression from those first raw, frenzied impressions to a more composed account of mourning, Didion’s recovery. “ Magical Thinking is an act of consummate literary bravery, a writer known for her clarity narrating the loss of that clarity, allowing us to watch her mind as it becomes clouded with grief,” the author Lev Grossman wrote in a review for TIME in 2005. I have still not tried to determine (say, by giving away the shoes) if the thought has lost its power.”ĭidion detailed how she would convince herself that she could bring her husband back, even though she was well aware he was gone. The recognition of this thought by no means eradicated the thought. I stood there for a moment, then realized why: he would need shoes if he was to return. “I could not give away the rest of his shoes. Now, as the world mourns her death, we look to her own words for both guidance and solace. Crucially, Didion also explored the language we use to process loss, and the limitations of that language. In the foreword of the last book she published before her death, Let Me Tell You What I Mean, writer Hilton Als described Didion as “a carver of words in the granite of the specific.” She both dissected the ordinariness of the everyday for its complexities, and broke down the most foreign of situations into familiar, accessible parts. ![]() She was a prolific storyteller who ushered in a new style of journalism, combining research and lyrical imagery with cutting moments of humor. 23 at 87, was the author of five novels, several works of nonfiction including Slouching Towards Bethlehem and The White Album, screenplays and more. ![]() “This is a case in which I need whatever it is I think or believe to be penetrable, if only for myself.”ĭidion, who died on Dec. “This is a case in which I need more than words to find the meaning,” she wrote in her 2005 memoir, The Year of Magical Thinking. But in the aftermath of her husband’s fatal heart attack in 2003, her relationship with words changed. She was known for them: her cool, exacting prose her sentences, smooth and spare. Joan Didion made sense of the world through words.
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