I finished the book and sent off a review of it to my counselor. Here is a copy of the email I sent her: I finished The Year of Magical Thinking this morning. It is a poem. The lyrical clusters are sparse, minimalist entries that lay out just the facts without any sap slowing things down. She is obviously of a literary class several notches above the common joe, but the reality of her situation puts that in check real fast. A New York intellectual who hob-nobs with the Hollywood jet set is dumbfounded and speechless when her husband tragically dies unexpectantly as they prepare for dinner one night. Her world comes crashing down like any one's would, and all her knowledge and culture can not answer even one question for her. Didion is honest and for everyone. Although I couldn't relate to her lifestyle, I completely related to her grief. Her situation was nothing like mine, but the similarities were enough to allow me to relate. The struggle to understand panic, the effect grief has on our ability to work, on our capacity to socialize, to function, are all shared honestly and without hesitation. She links the text with key images and quotes and thoughts throughout the text. The book can be taken in small pieces and the revelations are evenly distributed. It was easy to read and her observations and revelations were inspiring.Would I recommend it to someone who lost a baby? Maybe not. But it worked perfectly for someone like me who is looking back over a long process and is still as curious as ever about how people handle different scenarios. I learned some stuff from it. I would recommend it to someone who is struggling with the loss of a spouse after a year or so.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
MAGICAL THINKING
I saw Joan Didion interviewed on a news channel. The piece was a promotion of the new Vanessa Redgrave one-woman show on Broadway. I was mesmerized by her manner and her obvious intelligence. At the same time she shared personal information about her struggle with grief that left her unable to rationalize even the most basic realities of her life. She was 100% aware of the fact that her husband, writer John Dunne, was dead. She was equally aware that he would come walking through the door and might get upset at the fact that his shoes were not where he kept them by the door. Like so many people who have experienced the rugged texture of grief, she had thrown at her the anxiety ridden need to determine whether or not she was going insane. She hashed out the answer in this intimately sparse account of the year following her husband's sudden death.
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