Ah...Joan Didion’s Democracy…opaque, discursive, mysterious, hums with a sense of quietly lurking menace, fragmented time, a time, Didion observes...as "Joan Didion," inserting herself into her work of fiction, an observer in this novel, who is relating her imaginative yarn as a journalist's quest for an assembled-and-organized meaning, a "Rosebud," to all these disparate snippets of time, place, personality, calling cards, rumors, last-minute flights to exotic destinations, press clippings, photos, oddly angled interviews, flash back, flash forward, all against the backdrop of the 1975 American evacuation from Southeast Asia...a time, a fantastic time, captured in the detached, almost surreal DidionVoice, observently, taking all into consideration as what one character notes as "'the long view' (by which) I (Didion) believe she meant history, more exactly the particular undertow of having and not having, the convulsions of a world largely unaffected by the individual efforts of anyone in it," a characterization various men and women of a certain disposition, including a central character, the well-heeled political wife Inez Christian Victor, tend to deny by virtue of their own experiences but yet are randomly, indiscriminately swept up in...
This is a novel of ellipses. Things fall apart, but they also trail off… Haunting, with sentences so sharp and surprising and economical and hinting at such depths of facticity and reasoned consideration that I had to stop and stare at these...these...these gists of worlds below the surface, trying to imagine how Didion manages to thread so much together into tight, lucid epigrams and aphorisms.
That said, a Didion “like” does not mean “for every taste.” She seems to piss off as many people as she delights. I'm a Vietnam-era vet, and the evacuation is vivid in my memory, as is the surreality of Michael Herr’s Dispatches and Tim O’Brien’s Going After Cacciato, and there were still Jack Lovett-style cowboys/international men of mystery aboard when I joined the US intelligence community. I enjoyed—no, I delighted in--the book's patient, deflecting discursiveness more than most readers will. Reviewers go off on her for her seemingly random structures.
As some literatus has blurbed on the back cover, "Didion can dissect an entire society with a single phrase." Well, here, she dissects a world at a very specific moment in chaotic time. I’m absolutely stuck on Joan Didion and have begun ripping through her oeuvre, fact, fiction, essays and all. I really go for her gonzo style…