I’ve always wanted to read some Joan Didion. Her name seemed to come up often in intellectual circles as this high standard for women writers. Me being me, I wanted to know what all the fuss was about.
Every ounce of praise for Didion’s writing is deserved.
I picked up a battered copy of The Year of Magical Thinking at my local library on a whim. It was there. I had the inclination to read. This is how literary love affairs start.
The Year of Magical Thinking is a memoir told in a reconstructed stream of consciousness about the emotional trials Didion faced in the year after her husband, author John Dunne, died suddenly at the dinner table. Throughout the year Didion also finds herself facing the potential of her daughter’s death through illness and the slow dissolution of her denial.
Heavy stuff. Yet without knowing it…
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