Why I Wish I Read "The Year of Magical Thinking" Sooner
Every month or two, I encounter my grandmother. It can be at a bookstore that carries her favorites, in the face of a random passerby in an elevator, or even in a Chopin piece she adored. I know this is not a rational way to think – she passed away suddenly two years ago – but in these moments, I become flooded with the unshakable feeling that she is still here.
Joan Didion describes this kind of illogical thinking that occurs when people are faced with a loved one’s death in The Year of Magical Thinking. Published in 2005, The Year of Magical Thinking was Didion’s first full nonfiction book, becoming an instant classic winning the National Book Award. The book carefully documents her reflections of grief in the year that followed the passing of her beloved husband and fellow author John Gregory Dunne. Her writing also follows her daughter Quintana’s battle against pneumonia, who tragically passed away right before the book was published. Despite the tremendous pain Didion embodies, she paints an honest portrait of her family, detailing the days she spent with them in both Los Angeles and New York as she attempts to understand the events that led up to her tragic loss. Her tone is sincere but witty, inviting us to grieve with her on one page while making us laugh on another.
Didion’s writing is something I have personally kept close to my heart the past few years as a student. I have repeatedly hammered her advice to “see enough and write it down” into my head to an extent to where I have learned to value experiences I may have previously dismissed. With her passing last year, I find myself increasingly turning to her writing. The Year of Magical Thinking distinguishes itself from her other works; compared to her other nonfiction works, it is painstakingly intimate and vulnerable. It was not until this book that I found comfort in others’ testimonies of grief. The book not only consists of Didion’s personal thoughts but also a range of references to psychological and medical studies on grief and death, showcasing her journalistic approach to grief as a phenomena that can be explained through writing. Her written reflections helped me understand that documentations of grief are empowering as they speak to the larger human need to understand our place in life when faced with close reminders of our own mortality. To learn that we are not alone in our thoughts, that our post-grief “derangements” in thinking are shared experiences, can be extremely reassuring when it feels like our world is suddenly taken away from us.
“Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity.”
Those are the first words to The Year of Magical Thinking, which Didion also describes as the first words she wrote after John’s death. From their fragmented nature, those words seem to have little desire to be understood, but rather to simply be written down. Her already candid writing style is even more spontaneous (she wrote the book in 88 days), coming from an honest place of an attempt to “make sense” of her loss rather than to demonstrate her certainty as an author. Her candid account of a personal terror conveys vulnerability like no other, as her honest but muddled state of mind is recognizable to anyone who has been touched by grief. Though her account begins on the night of John’s death and roughly follows Didion’s “year of magical thinking” after, throughout the book she repeats details, jumps between timelines and memories seamlessly, just as the grieving mind does. Perhaps what makes The Year of Magical Thinking uniquely sincere is that Didion seems to see little importance in her readers’ gaze, but rather uses her writing as a vehicle to organize her own thoughts which we are invited to navigate.
Although the loss of my own grandmother may not be as immediate as Didion’s (she makes a strong distinction between the loss of her husband and her parents), her feelings of denial of the loss resonated with me deeply. One of the first times Didion notices this is when she finds herself unable to donate John’s shoes in case he returns. “The recognition of this thought by no means eradicated the thought” – Didion notes that acknowledging her irrational thinking is separate from her actual wandering thoughts. I still do find myself revisiting my text messages with my grandmother in case she decides to message back, even after witnessing my father file stacks of paperwork to terminate her various contracts. There is something comforting in the belief of the reversible, under some kind of fear that accepting our losses makes them even more real than they already are. Didion captures this feeling so authentically that we hurt for her, and for ourselves in reminder for those we love, those who are with us today, and those who are not.
I finished The Year of Magical Thinking with a newly awakened mindset for appreciation. It exists beyond the realms of a standard mourning memoir, giving us a glimpse of the most tender moments in almost 40 years of marriage, highlighting the delicateness of family. It is a griever’s guide to cherish the moments we are gifted with, vulnerably showcasing the lingering aftermaths and unsatisfying truths of a tremendous loss. Didion’s words personally resonated with me through my ongoing attempt to navigate my grandmother’s absence, but The Year of Magical Thinking offers a valuable perspective for anyone in any stage of grief. As compassionate as it is to the griever, it is also a gentle reminder to love while we can.
