The Year of Magical Thinking

Joan Didion

2007

242 pages / 5 hours and 5 minutes

Nonfiction

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American writer Joan Didion is something of a legend. She has been writing excellent prose for decades. But even by her high standards, The Year of Magical Thinking is something special. Didion was married to another excellent author, John Gregory Dunne, who dropped dead while they were eating a meal in their home. This book is Didion’s unvarnished look at the year that followed.

There are numerous ways for memoirs of grief to go bad, but Didion is much too good a writer (and too honest) to fall into any of the familiar traps. Six years later she wrote a second such memoir, Blue Nights, recounting the death of her daughter. While it is equally gut wrenching, if I had to pick one, I think Magical is the better book.

As Didion reflects on her experience, she thinks it takes a year before she actually enters into what are now the familiar steps of grief. But it is that first year that is filled with what she calls magical thinking. For example, she keeps her late husband’s shoes even though she knows he will never need them again. It is as if his death has not become entirely real yet. Her writing has the ring of truth for anyone who has been through such an experience.

Much of the book is about the grief of ordinary things – things that once would have been done together but now she must do alone. And here we have what has always made Didion an especially great writer: she’s such a keen observer of her own life and feelings, with the ability to turn that critical eye inward as skillfully as she turns it toward the outside world.

I cannot help but notice a great irony, full of pathos and sadness. When this book came out, it was somewhat overshadowed in the public mind because another book was all the rage. That book, propelled by Oprah Winfrey, was James Frey’s searing memoir of addiction and recovery, A Million Little Pieces. But of course that story is now well-known and often told. It turns out that much of Frey’s book was made up and Winfrey, to her everlasting credit, offered a mea culpa.

There are no sensational moments in Didion’s book. Despite her personal celebrity, the book is simply about what any human being goes through when someone they love suddenly dies. It is humane, honest, humble, and has that one crucial thing missing from Frey’s book: authenticity.

I have often recommended this book to those who are grieving, and all of them have affirmed how true it is. It is eloquent in a very simple way, although there are plenty of quotable moments. It received the National Book Award, and long after more cringe-inducing memoirs will become bestsellers and then disappear, this little book will remain. When it comes to honestly dealing with grief, Didion’s book goes to the top of the stack.