Didion Reading at Folger
In a mumbled voice, Joan Didion began reading. Then she ended. Then she said “Thank you.” The questions began, the questions were answered. The reception began, and then the reception ended. In these ways, we the audience had a glimpse of going through the motions of bereavement. You do what you have to do. This evening was a PEN/Faulkner reading at the Lutheran Church of the Reformation.
The quality of her voice surprised me. A small woman should have a small voice, or at least a sweet one. In my mind I heard inflections, questions, pauses, a winding cadence of words through her experience of loss. The reality, like all realities, was far more grim. Her voice was rough, and droned through the reading
She looks as small in life as in the pictures. If not smaller. The publicity tour for “The Year of Magical Thinking” has produced many pictures of Joan Didion, an author I didn’t know of until I read the excerpt in the New York Times Sunday magazine. Give her a roll of quarters and she may tip over. No matter, it was a part of the message, the experience, the work.
Through the reading, the woman in front of me tossed her head back every couple minutes. I wondered if she was bored, restless, or got a new haircut and liked the way her hair felt on her neck. Restless seemed more plausible, since at the very ending of the reading, she had her coat folded in her lap as if ready to leave. Only when I saw her dab her eyes did it occur to me that she had been holding back tears.
We clapped at the end of the reading, and it seemed oddly normal after what we’d heard. What we heard transformed our collective and individual understandings of reality. Life isn’t what we think it is, neither is death. Both are more and both are less. Do you perform as routine a gesture as clapping when someone has elevated your thinking? Reoriented your mind’s thoughts on relationships, love, and sanity? Adhering to this routine also signaled the end the moment, that Didion’s reading had ended. Susan Stamberg, the moderator, called for questions, and no one wanted to be first or last. Being in the moment, in the circuit of questions and sharing was far safer than initiating or concluding the journey.
Such as the beginning of accepting death and grief. At some point you do, you acknowledge the loss, and remain in that place for however long. And then at some point, you conclude that period of grief, and have to move on. To the reception, to another city, to another year, another way of thinking…
The quality of her voice surprised me. A small woman should have a small voice, or at least a sweet one. In my mind I heard inflections, questions, pauses, a winding cadence of words through her experience of loss. The reality, like all realities, was far more grim. Her voice was rough, and droned through the reading
She looks as small in life as in the pictures. If not smaller. The publicity tour for “The Year of Magical Thinking” has produced many pictures of Joan Didion, an author I didn’t know of until I read the excerpt in the New York Times Sunday magazine. Give her a roll of quarters and she may tip over. No matter, it was a part of the message, the experience, the work.
Through the reading, the woman in front of me tossed her head back every couple minutes. I wondered if she was bored, restless, or got a new haircut and liked the way her hair felt on her neck. Restless seemed more plausible, since at the very ending of the reading, she had her coat folded in her lap as if ready to leave. Only when I saw her dab her eyes did it occur to me that she had been holding back tears.
We clapped at the end of the reading, and it seemed oddly normal after what we’d heard. What we heard transformed our collective and individual understandings of reality. Life isn’t what we think it is, neither is death. Both are more and both are less. Do you perform as routine a gesture as clapping when someone has elevated your thinking? Reoriented your mind’s thoughts on relationships, love, and sanity? Adhering to this routine also signaled the end the moment, that Didion’s reading had ended. Susan Stamberg, the moderator, called for questions, and no one wanted to be first or last. Being in the moment, in the circuit of questions and sharing was far safer than initiating or concluding the journey.
Such as the beginning of accepting death and grief. At some point you do, you acknowledge the loss, and remain in that place for however long. And then at some point, you conclude that period of grief, and have to move on. To the reception, to another city, to another year, another way of thinking…
posted by Rhonda Henderson at 2:59 PM
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