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3.92 AVERAGE
3.92 AVERAGE
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
I don’t know whether I liked this book and maybe grief is too personal a thing to write about on here, but I do want to acknowledge how parts of the text have (I believe for the first time in years) allowed me to accept the erratic thinking that accompanies such an illness. Something which I had never heard of nor talked to anyone about - the quiet praying, the constant tracing of ideas, making irrational concessions and secret promises that stay only within yourself, conforming the only bearable reality, something to shield you from the little life that’s left.
“I was thinking as small children think, as if my thoughts or wishes had the power to reverse the narrative, change the outcome. In my case this disordered thinking had been covert, noticed I think by no one else, hidden even from me, but it had also been, in retrospect, both urgent and constant.”
“Until the morning. When, only half awake, I tried to think why I was alone in the bed. There was a leaden feeling (…) Then I remembered. For several weeks that would be the way I woke to the day. I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.”
“I realized for the first time why the obituaries had so disturbed me. I had allowed other people to think he was dead. I had allowed him to be buried alive”
“People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces. I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others. The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness (…) What struck me in each instance was how exposed they seemed, how raw. How fragile, I understand now. How unstable.”
“I needed that first night to be alone. I needed to be alone so that he could come back. This was the beginning of my year of magical thinking.”
“I was thinking as small children think, as if my thoughts or wishes had the power to reverse the narrative, change the outcome. In my case this disordered thinking had been covert, noticed I think by no one else, hidden even from me, but it had also been, in retrospect, both urgent and constant.”
“Until the morning. When, only half awake, I tried to think why I was alone in the bed. There was a leaden feeling (…) Then I remembered. For several weeks that would be the way I woke to the day. I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.”
“I realized for the first time why the obituaries had so disturbed me. I had allowed other people to think he was dead. I had allowed him to be buried alive”
“People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces. I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others. The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness (…) What struck me in each instance was how exposed they seemed, how raw. How fragile, I understand now. How unstable.”
“I needed that first night to be alone. I needed to be alone so that he could come back. This was the beginning of my year of magical thinking.”
Poco sopportabile, averlo ascoltato non ha aiutato.
Letto da Anna Foglietta
Letto da Anna Foglietta
challenging
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
Painful in the raw way where no detail is too personal, nothing less than honesty will do. Honesty comes in the specific, miserable, endlessly fractal way that grief is honest, poking at the same threads again and again as it locks you into denials, impossible leaps of logic, the hundreds of little ways your heart slowly lets you fall so you break in a way so the pieces might someday be recovered in whatever changed form exists to pick it up. I do think that this book is a memoir, a specific memoir, and the notes on class abound as such-- there are some ways grieving changes when material circumstances allow for cushioning, better care, and Didion's husband was a well-eulogized and respected author. Still, some of the tenderer moments have the universality (as much as anything can be universal, in one of the most individual experiences) one wants from such a volume. It didn't make me cry, but it is a tear-jerker. I was also interested in the familiarity of actual "magical thinking" thoughts to coping mechanisms I've seen elsewhere, and broad applications to magical thinking in trauma/mental illness. This definitely isn't the book for that, but still.
I think I'll come back to this with more opinions when I've read more Joan Didion.
I think I'll come back to this with more opinions when I've read more Joan Didion.
Probably enjoyed this book more for working with a lot of families dealing with the loss of someone, and I read it while experiencing a loss myself. I think that accounts of the mechanics of both long-term, committed relationships and grief are very valuable. I also professionally appreciate any family's perspective on dealing with the medical system.
A raw journaling of grief. Didion lays bare how it can be a place of madness. Cold hard reality is showing you this person is gone, but our minds simply can’t let go. This will be a cathartic, emotional, and painful read to anyone going through grief.
Didion expresses these excruciatingly painful observations with great clarity which I think will resonate with anyone who’s been there. Grief can be chaotic, painful, and illogical, but Didion shows that despite the feeling of loneliness that grief engenders, we are not alone in our magical thinking.
Didion expresses these excruciatingly painful observations with great clarity which I think will resonate with anyone who’s been there. Grief can be chaotic, painful, and illogical, but Didion shows that despite the feeling of loneliness that grief engenders, we are not alone in our magical thinking.
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
To be quite honest, there wasn't anything particularly magical about this read. Yes, she had a few good lines-which were repeated throughout the book-that encompassed the thoughts we create and hold in grief; that tend to stick with us forever. But magical thinking? No, more like obsessive compulsive overthinking and examination of the loss that occurred and the matters surrounding it. This is not unique to Joan, and magical...not to me at least.
While I am a lover of a good portion of Joan's other works, this one did not bring me assurance or clarity, or inspire me. That being said, I don't think she wrote it for anyone other than herself, John, and Quintana. As it should be.
While I am a lover of a good portion of Joan's other works, this one did not bring me assurance or clarity, or inspire me. That being said, I don't think she wrote it for anyone other than herself, John, and Quintana. As it should be.
reflective
sad
medium-paced