I have to give Joan Didion credit for being Joan Didion. It can't be easy. But, then, is being The Raving Queen?????? Let me be the first to tell you it is not, though I do not self-medicate with alcohol and cigarettes. If I did, I would be dead now. Caffeinated coffee, in the morning, to prevent me from becoming a fucking bitch, is enough for me.
A little Joan goes a long way with me, but I will say this. If I were going to read something about Joan, I would prefer it be written by she. Apparently, she agrees with me, because she did not extend her cooperation on this book, so it turns out to be like a big student term paper, cribbed, not written, from various sources. And how informative is that?
If I were really interested in Joan--and there must be those who are--I would simply read her oeuvre, where she sprinkles pieces of herself everywhere, and then mentally connect the dots. That is if one is mentally connected enough to process Joan; she and Sylvia Plath may indeed be brilliant, but they are also the Queens Of Depression. I would not advice a depressive to read Didion. Even William Styron is more uplifting.
Joan's biography will turn out to be the year's most discussed, yet least read book. Somewhat like Katherine Anne Porter's "Ship Of Fools."
Which, by the way, darlings, is a vastly underrated book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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