Joan Didion was one of those names that cropped up for me during six years of University English courses, without being clearly moored to anything. I knew she was a writer, and that her work (or rather, her most significant work) occured somewhere in the middleo f the 20th century, but that was about it. Something goaded me to finally look her up and request her most celebrated book from the library, but I can’t remember what exactly it was.
In any case, it was fortuitous, since Slouching Towards Bethlehem is an intriguing piece of work, a collection of essays written over a period of several years and capturing, among much else, the sour notes of the Summer of Love that would burst into promenance after the Manson Murders. Her gaze is incisive but not uncharitable, and she treats her subjects humanely without coddling them. There are some more reflective pieces itself, such as On Morality and much of the latter section, Seven Places of the Mind, which includes meditations on different locales where Didion spent some time. I didn’t agree with all of her conclusions, though I enjoyed reading them.
Didion’s prose is excellent, sleek and beguiling, filled with rich imagery without getting bogged down in itself. The grouping of pieces may be somewhat arbitrary, decided I’d guess more with what she thought was her best work rather than for any deeply held thematic ocnstant, but I think that works fine. It was nice to bounce around between subjects and styles, to get a sampling of her work rather than a one-note treatment. I’ll be interested to seek out some of her lesser known work in the future.