Twelve in Twelve

I can’t lie, this pick wasn’t a good pick for me.

In fact, I couldn’t even finish the book before I wrote a review. And, I know what you’re thinking. How can you write a review if you haven’t finished the book? Easily, actually. (Yes, I am aware of how pretentious that sounds as well). My critique is not so much on the story Didion was trying to tell in her novel – or at least what I think the story she was trying to tell actually was.

Now, trust me. I feel bad about not being able to finish a book, when I set that challenge to finish one a month for the year of 2026. I really, truly do. I love books, I love reading and learning. But I am also a firm believer that you should absolutely be able to click with the material. You should be able to ebb and flow with the novel. There needs to be commonality, comradery. However, in this particular work of Didion’s I found that almost nearly impossible. I was so hopeful and so excited to read something of Didion’s; she’s been on my reading list since before I ever thought of this monthly challenge for myself. She is one of the greats in regards to journalism and writing. I thought I would be entering a world of intrigue and insaciable wit. I wanted to see what the hype really was about. Instead, i felt incredibly let down.

Our story begins with Didion and her husband, John Gregory Dunne, coming home from the hospital in December 2003. Their only daughter, Quintana, has been admitted to the hospital with a severe case of pneumonia. My first indication that this story would not be what I thought it was, was how Didion was reacting to her daughter’s current medical status. At first, she is almost dismissive of her daughter’s condition. In Didion’s defense, maybe that’s just how she responds to urgency or crisis. She compartmentalizes and tells herself that something can’t be as serious as it is, otherwise, she might spiral. I completely understand that. But, chapter after chapter, it just seemed like she was more than happy to dismiss and diminish as her daughter’s condition.

Even when her husband dies suddenly from a heart attack at their dining room table, she looks at him from their kitchen doorway and says “stop that!” as if he’s playing a trick on her. And okay, from first glance, I can totally see how his sudden frozen pose and silence could have been a joke in her eyes. But from that moment on, there is no true understanding of the severity of what she’s witnessing and about to go through. Her shock, I suppose, overtakes her entirely. And then it seems to dictate her emotions from then on.

Perhaps I’m so judgemental of her processing of grief, because I’ve never experienced or encountered someone who has processed their grief that way. My own grief journey has been, for lack of a better term, a roller coaster. I’ve experienced significant loss since the age of fourteen; losing my mother to breast cancer at 14, my grandfather to head trauma and low blood pressure at 18, and my father to cardiac arrest at 22. Each time, the grief has been different, but nonetheless significant and completely emotional. I showed my emotion. And maybe that’s my biggest critique. I felt absolutely no emotion from her. Was that her intent in her writing style, or was that the voice of the narrator? Either way, I was absolutely put off and suddenly, the whole story felt so impersonal; detached even. It turned me off to her whole story about her life with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter.

As I carried on through the story, Didion’s voice in her writing seemed so unrelatable. She wrote about her husband taking a flight from Los Angeles to San Fransisco and then back the same night, so that his wife didn’t have to have dinner alone in San Fransisco one night. The airline no longer exists, and the ticket price of $27 for a round trip is certainly unheard of….even in 2003 when she published the book. She nearly boasted about vacationing in Paris the November before her daughter falls ill, and her husband dies suddenly. She casually mentions wanting to buy a house in Honolulu in the 1990’s, instead of constantly staying in a hotel when she and her husband visit – as if property in Hawai’i has always just been so attainable. And maybe, it was more attainable in the 1990’s than it is now. But the simplicity of her decisions, and the flippancy, was just so off-putting. I wanted so badly to be inspired by her journey with grief and find commonality with it. And I simply could not; I could not find myself in this work. There was no place for me to connect.

At some points, I felt like I was plopped down in the middle of a story. There were times where I felt like I had missed references from other books. Bu I know I wasn’t reading a series; this wasn’t a massive trilogy on grief and experience. And yet, the writing made me feel lost and scattered around in the story. I was trying to figure out how her call-backs to different memories of her life related back to her current situation. And ultimately, it just felt like she was looking for a chance to name-drop and posture herself. The whole time I was just like….why? What is the significance to this and your grief? Yes, it’s fine to sit back and remember the good moments with those who have pasts…but connect the dots please. And that’s where she really lost me. Didion over explained herself almost, and never, or rarely, ever got back to the point of the story. it was infuriating. So much so, I couldn’t finish reading.

So, here is my first non-review review of a book on my reading list for this year. I truly hope that this isn’t a problem I’ll be having in the future with other books. For my pick for March, for Women’s History Month, I was very disappointed. Mostly with the author and choice of narrator, not necessarily with the material. And, the clarify, my “review” isn’t about the work as a whole. It can’t be. It’s my frustrations with the writing style and inability to find common ground. I am firm believer that you should be able to do that with what you’re reading. With my first two novels, I felt that connection I was looking for in a book. With Everything’s Tuberculosis I felt a rush of inspiration and was completely moved by the stories told in that book. And I have never been directly impacted by tuberculosis before. And yet, John Green made me want to read more and learn more about something that had never touched my life in any significant way. In Giovanni’s Room, I felt the anguish and the loss. I felt the struggle of David’s choices and search for identity as he navigated sexuality, religion, and society. I myself have had to deconstruct my faith as I’ve grown older and matured, as well as my American identity. Both of those books were relatable in very predictable and non-predictable ways. I absolutely do consider myself an authority on grief, as I’ve mentioned my credential’s above. And, after learning what this book was about, and adding it my list, I was just so let down.

Am I saying I’ll never read Joan Didion again? Absolutely not. I want to give more of her work a chance. I want to give this work more of a chance, too. But I think it’s best to leave it behind for now. I want to get further into this list and really, really commit to the other authors I’ve got lined up. I am sure that Didion’s other works are just as impactful and poignant as critics claim them to be. I look forward to experiencing that in the future. For now, we continue forward and we leave our bookmarks nestled between the pages. I wish I could say “thanks for reading along with me” this time, but as I didn’t finish this book, I won’t. I do hope you’ll meet in April’s pick. So for now, I look forward to meeting you in April’s pick.

See you soon.