"I have not been the witness I wanted to be."

Well, I am an outlier and not a Didion-fanatic. This work—an intriguing thriller set in a fictional Central American country a few years before the USA and Soviet Union would begin violent unjust campaigns in the region—doesn't mean to explore the problems of white feminism, but it does. Didion is a great writer, as I believe Hemingway is; however, I like the work of neither. I can be objective in my old age and rate this four stars even though I don't like Charlotte Douglas, and I find Joan Didion insufferable.

Maybe there is no motive role in this narrative.
Maybe it is just something that happened.
Then why is it in my mind when nothing else is.

IN SUMMARY the above quote explains the entire novel. Of course “novel” is a loaded word when it comes to Didion; her journalistic essays and her fiction-prose always blur, which makes for awesome journalism and perplexing prose. I am perplexed as to why this novel exists. When I was finished with it – and I was glad that I was; too much time spent in such a stifling environment and it starts to rub off – I believe I wasn’t the only one perplexed. Didion was too.

What are we to make of Charlotte Douglas? Her grandiose vapidity is an easy target for social satire, but so is Hollywood, and LA culture, and third-world puppet regimes, and so is blatant, punishing misogyny. It might be just simple satire if the character of Charlotte wasn’t a distinct authorial stand-in for Didion herself. Which is perplexing. There is a current of masochism that runs straight from the depressing cesspool of Play It As It Lays right into this book, like Didion is trying to punish her younger self for being so stupid, like she wants to emphasize the criminally and damnably misogynistic former husbands to emphasize just how naïve and vain she felt she once was. This is uncomfortable, especially since it precludes said criminal misogy-dooshes from ever getting their comeuppance. What is comeuppance for someone that feels no empathy? Revenge against this kind of scum would be for them to finally feel for themselves what it feels like to treat someone so terribly; but if one feels no empathy then they are incapable of seeing how it feels. Every character in this novel, bar maybe the prime narrator (another Didion stand-in), seems like any reprimand would only be rationalized away, like a child getting spanked for doing something wrong and never making the connection between the wrong action and the physical pain of the spank.

After reading the synopsis I thought this would be a novel companion to Salvador, Didion’s excellent collection of journalistic essays on her time in Central America during the 80s, which for Central and Latin America, was a very black decade (re:genocide). This isn’t a companion to Salvador though, it is a companion to Slouching Towards Bethlehem, primarily for its key theme of the harmful effects that come from an inability to describe one’s own thoughts. Without the words, without the education in whatever form, to describe how one feels, one is vulnerable to every kind of atrocity. Not everyone that lacks this ability is stupid, just as not everyone that can’t read is stupid; they’ve just learned to deal with it, and after a certain point, it becomes easier to avoid than to apprehend. Meanwhile, the atrocities pile up.

Oh, but don’t worry: Even if you’re smart enough to understand yourself or your feelings or ascertain the contradictions of both, you won’t really be any better off. Things won’t make any more sense. What really happened and what you remember will be impossible to determine. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

A call out for patty hearst among other things. Short read but packs a PUNCH. Katherine Thomas or Katie Ovoian if you are reading this review I recommend you read this book in the spirit of 70s film themes

I just, didn't get it. Yes, it's a eulogy and there's a lot going on and Charlotte was kind of a crack pot of a person and her life was a reflection of that, but, I just, didn't get it.

I was excited to read Didion's acclaimed fiction after having been passed an essay she wrote that I found particularly vivid. However, I was disappointed in her storytelling, which, honestly is likely only personal preference.

The past few novels I've read have been epic-realistic-tales. I got frustrated reading Kerouac's poems recently. Diving into a medium length fiction piece that shoots from the hip is bound to be tough.

There were too many characters who I never fully understood. Too many events that didn't register. Too many cute sentences that only confused me.

I'll look into more of her non-fiction, but can't imagine being talked into another story.

Have at it. . .

Cool as a cucumber, cold as ice.

Nobody does detachment quite like Didion.

A says this, B does that, insert unexpected detail in the most journalistic fashion--something about an éclair, or gardenia, or trying and retying a scarf which whipped in the hot night wind.

The narrator is Grace Strasser-Mendana, dying of pancreatic cancer in a fictional Central American banana republic, but the protagonist is Charlotte Douglas. Who was Charlotte Douglas and why did she end up in Boca Grande? Her story is one of hearsay, but it's unexpectedly captivating.

I have mixed feeling about fictional countries, and do I have mixed feelings about this book. And if I was Didion I would insert here at least two more things I have mixed feeling about.

Just for the sound of it.

The rhythm of the thing.

The echo resounding from one page to the next.

Point being, I do like to feel things (sometimes), and this book seems to discourage it.

The moral of the story is: don't screw around in Central America if you are a norteamericana/o.

Or know when to get out.

n  "Unlike Charlotte I learned early to keep death in my line of sight, keep it under surveillance, keep it on cleared ground and away from any brush where it might coil unnoticed."n

Troubling, hard to read, no through-line of plot, the book seems to imply that life is meaningless, that we are helplessly trapped in an intricate world of others' making. While I admire the quality of Joan Didion's prose in any format, I much prefer her essays to her novels.

The main character of this novel is Grace, who initially appears to be narrating Charlotte's troubled, disaffected life of irrational denial and self-inflicted pain. Widowed, wealthy, expatriate Grace has Didion's own stoic, ironic, detached world view. Charlotte has a vapid, listless aura, and a pair of ex-husbands who are, in their various ways, self-centered, abusive, and controlling. No one in the book is pleasant or likable; they are all greedy and selfish, with backstories that defy analysis or sympathy. (An exception might be Charlotte's daughter, a terrorist.)

Despite the fastidious prose, I regret having spent 6 hours in the company of this crew of fools, liars and misanthropes.

She's just not the most terrific novelist (so stipulated), but do stick around for the feel and tone of the sentences and structure. Also, this is a kind of stage-setter for Didion's journalistic preoccupation in the decade to follow: "Salvador," "Miami," etc. She's setting her watch to a different time and place.

i like how enigmatic charlottes character is, that the reader cannot know what facts do or do not permeate her unresponsive facade
i enjoyed the analysis of different linguistic or grammar formulations to express varying meanings or perspectives on the same topic
i liked the setting, the few words of spanish here and there
how inevitable but futile the "revolution" is presented to be

Part 6, chapter 4’s description of Charlotte Douglas’s coffin draped with a child’s American flag t-shirt, when there were no actual flags to be found in Boca Grande, is perhaps the most telling part of this book.

most of the middle bit kinda sucked but the last 70 pages were actually kinda fire

“La paura del buio è una combinazione di quindici amminoacidi”
Una lettura eccellente, potente e sintetica. La storia è ambientata in uno staterello del Centro America dal colpo di stato facile, nel quale vive spiaggiato un piccolo gruppo di norteamericani d'alto bordo: l'atmosfera è resa benissimo, mi ricorda l'amato Graham Greene. Il racconto è affidato a una donna di cui si vuole suggerire l'imparzialità ricordando la formazione da antropologa, diventata poi studiosa dilettante di biochimica (scienziata, quindi razionale e super partes). L'oggetto dell'osservazione è una norteamericana, Charlotte, capitata per caso a Boca Grande e lì rimasta. Dapprima la signora bionda viene vista come un'oca sexy e molto sciroccata la cui conversazione è difficile da seguire, bellissima la prima apparizione al cocktail party a bordo piscina: poi acquista spessore e si rivela personaggio problematico che cerca di rimuovere la propria vita precedente e qualunque contrarietà dedicandosi con acribia protestante a missioni encomiabili, o anche futili (di nuovo every day Nirvana). Didion semina varie idee fastidiose, quali che i caratteri del Sud (anche degli USA) credono di poter andare avanti a colpi di fascino personale e i caratteri WASP per merito personale, spero che non lo creda anche lei; e alcune scemenze pseudoscientifiche quali la molecola della paura del buio. Un'altra cosa che mi ha stupito è che qui, come in Pastorale Americana, c'è l'amatissima e mediocre bambina di ottima famiglia che trova un suo riscatto nel terrorismo di ultrasinistra e si esprime con proclami standardizzati e insulsi (mi ricorda certi anni 70). Che negli USA sia una piaga sociale e noi non ce ne siamo mai accorti? A me viene in mente solo Patricia Hearst. Comunque, questi sono i piccoli difetti che aumentano il sapore di un libro costruito magnificamente e costruito è la parola giusta: ha una struttura perfetta che consente all'autrice di raccontare la storia di una vita a ritroso e sviluppare sempre meglio il personaggio principale ma anche i personaggi di contorno. Deve essere letto con una certa attenzione ma ne vale molto la pena. Dopo La pazza gioia, candiderei Valeria Bruni Tedeschi alla parte di Charlotte.