South and West: From A Notebook
From one of the most important chroniclers of our time, come two extended excerpts from her never-before-seen notebooks–writings that offer an illuminating glimpse into the mind and process of a legendary writer.Joan Didion has always kept notebooks: of overheard dialogue, observations, interviews, drafts of essays and articlesHere is one such draft that traces a road trip she took with her husband, John Gregory Dunne, in June 1970, through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. She interviews prominent local figures, describes motels, diners, a deserted reptile farm, a visit with Walker Percy, a ladies' brunch at the Mississippi Broadcasters' Convention. She writes about the stifling heat, the almost viscous pace of life, the sulfurous light, and the preoccupation with race, class, and heritage she finds in the small towns they pass through.And from a different notebook: the "California Notes" that began as an assignment from Rolling Stone on the Patty Hearst trial of 1976. Though Didion never wrote the piece, watching the trial and being in San Francisco triggered thoughts about the city, its social hierarchy, the Hearsts, and her own upbringing in Sacramento. Here, too, is the beginning of her thinking about the West, its landscape, the western women who were heroic for her, and her own lineage.
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4th Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
This eBook first published in Great Britain by 4th Estate in 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Joan Didion
Foreword copyright © 2017 by Nathaniel Rich
Joan Didion photograph © Los Angeles Times Photographic Archives (Collection 1429). UCLA Library Special Collections, Charles E. Young Research Library, UCLA
Joan Didion asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780008257170
Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008257187
Version: 2018-01-09
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Foreword by Nathaniel Rich
Notes on the South
California Notes
Also by Joan Didion
A Note About the Author
About the Publisher
“The idea was to start in New Orleans and from there we had no plan.”
This has been the idea of many people who have come to New Orleans. It was the idea of the French explorer René-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle, who in 1684 set out to establish a city near the base of the Mississippi River, only to fail to find the river’s mouth from the Gulf of Mexico and, after three years, to be murdered by his mutinous crew. It was the idea of William Faulkner, who quit his job as postmaster at the University of Mississippi and moved to New Orleans because he despised taking orders, and of Tennessee Williams, who wrote in his diary, “Here surely is the place that I was made for if any place on this funny old world.” One does not have to stay long to learn how easily plans in New Orleans, like its houses, become waterlogged and subside into the mud, breaking to pieces. “This life,” wrote Williams, shortly before returning to New York, “is all disintegration.”
Joan Didion explained her decision to visit the Gulf Coast in her 2006 Paris Review interview: “I had a theory that if I could understand the South, I would understand something about California, because a lot of the California settlers came from the Border South.” It is a counterintuitive theory, for the South and the West represent the poles of American experience—the South drowning in its past, the West looking ahead to distant frontiers in a spirit of earnest, eternal optimism. “The future always looks good in the golden land,” Didion wrote in “Some Dreamers of the Golden Dream,” “because no one remembers the past.” In the South no one can forget it.
Didion toured the Gulf South for a month in the summer of 1970, making notes and recording conversations, but never completed a piece. She visited San Francisco in 1976 to cover the Patty Hearst trial for Rolling Stone, but found that she wanted mainly to write about her own childhood and the West’s conception of history. Didion’s notes, which surpass in elegance and clarity the finished prose of most other writers, area fascinating record of this time. But they are also something more unsettling. Readers today will recognize, with some dismay and even horror, how much is familiar in these long-lost American portraits. Didion saw her era more clearly than anyone else, which is another way of saying that she was able to see the future.
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South and West is, in one regard, the most revealing of Didion’s books. This might seem a far-fetched claim to make about an author who has written about her ancestry, her marriage, her health, and, with painful candor, her grief—Didion’s readers are, after all, on familiar terms with the personal details of her life. But the writing itself—the cool majesty of her prose, written as if from a great, even empyreal distance, elevating personal experience into universal revelation—has an immaculacy as intimidating as Chelsea porcelain. South and West offers for the first time a glimpse inside the factory walls.
For each piece she reported, Didion converted pages of loose-leaf notebooks into scrapbooks of material related to her theme. She inserted newspaper articles and other writers’ works, like C. Vann Woodward’s “The Search for Southern Identity,” biographical summaries, lists of suggested themes, and overheard dialogue, which often seems taken from one of her novels. (“I never been anyplace,” says a Biloxi woman, “I wanted to go.”) In her notes we learn of her “reporting tricks,” which are less tricks than an intuitive genius for locating the people in a given community who will best reveal its character: the director of the local College of Cosmetology, the white owner of the black radio station, the bridal consultant of the largest department store. The notebooks also include transcriptions of her observations, which she typed at the end of each day. These notes represent an intermediate stage of writing, between shorthand and first draft, composed in an uncharacteristically casual, immediate style. There are sentences that are ideas for sentences, paragraphs that are ideas for scenes: “The land looks rich, and many people from Birmingham, etc. (rich people) maintain places here to hunt.” “The country way in which he gave me names.” “The resolutely ‘colorful,’ anecdotal quality of San Francisco history.” “The sense of sports being the opiate of the people.” “The sense of not being up to the landscape.” The effect can be jarring, like seeing Grace Kelly photographed with her hair in rollers or hearing the demo tapes in which Brian Wilson experiments with alternative arrangements of “Good Vibrations.”
