"Today, [Joan Didion] is wearing a pale-blue cashmere top and matching dress, both understated and expensive. Back then, as the Sixties drew to their uneasy close, she seemed to have arrived, notebook in hand, silk scarf around her shoulders, from another era: a blue stocking amid the kaftans and bell-bottoms, trailing L'Air du Temps through the haze of hippy patchouli. Detached and observant, with a prose style to die for, she remains the keenest observer of the myriad follies of that extravagant, and extravagantly misguided, time.
I tell her that my favourite book of hers is The White Album, particularly the long title essay in which the dark energy that seemed to pervade California in the late Sixties is somehow reflected in her own faltering mental state. That was a time when a creeping paranoia took collective hold of the residents of Laurel Canyon and the Hollywood Hills, when what Didion calls a 'sinistral inertia' settled on Sunset Boulevard and its environs like a dank fog."
Link: The Observer | Review | The years of writing magically.
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