Name: The Year of Magical Thinking
ISBN: 9781400078431

Joan Didion

An autobiographical portrait of marriage and motherhood by the acclaimed author details her struggle to come to terms with life and death, illness, sanity, personal upheaval, and grief.

The Year of Magical Thinking

Helen 

Naïa

aywen

We are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. As we were. As we are no longer. As we will one day not be at all.

Caitlin

Paulina 

Julia

lianna

I used to have on a bulletin board in my office, for reasons having to do with a plot point in a movie, a pink index card on which I had typed a sentence from 

 about how long the brain can be deprived of oxygen. The image of the pink index card was coming back to me in the room off the reception area: “Tissue anoxia for > 4 to 6 min. can result in irreversible brain damage or death.” I was telling myself that I must be misremembering the sentence when the social worker reappeared. He had with him a man he introduced as “your husband’s doctor.” There was a silence. “He’s dead, isn’t he,” I heard myself say to the doctor. The doctor looked at the social worker. “It’s okay,” the social worker said. “She’s a pretty cool customer.” They took me into the curtained cubicle where John lay, alone now. They asked if I wanted a priest. I said yes. A priest appeared and said the words. I thanked him. They gave me the silver clip in which John kept his driver’s license and credit cards. They gave me the cash that had been in his pocket. They gave me his watch. They gave me his cell phone. They gave me a plastic bag in which they said I would find his clothes. I thanked them. The social worker asked if he could do anything more for me. I said he could put me in a taxi. He did. I thanked him. “Do you have money for the fare,” he asked. I said I did, the cool customer. When I walked into the apartment and saw John’s jacket and scarf still lying on the chair where he had dropped them when we came in from seeing Quintana at Beth Israel North (the red cashmere scarf, the Patagonia windbreaker that had been the crew jacket on 

) I wondered what an uncool customer would be allowed to do. Break down? Require sedation? Scream?

I remember thinking that I needed to discuss this with John.

There was nothing I did not discuss with John.

Because we were both writers and both worked at home our days were filled with the sound of each other’s voices.

I did not always think he was right nor did he always think I was right but we were each the person the other trusted. There was no separation between our investments or interests in any given situation. Many people assumed that we must be, since sometimes one and sometimes the other would get the better review, the bigger advance, in some way “competitive,” that our private life must be a minefield of professional envies and resentments. This was so far from the case that the general insistence on it came to suggest certain lacunae in the popular understanding of marriage.

That had been one more thing we discussed.

What I remember about the apartment the night I came home alone from New York Hospital was its silence.

jujur bacanya istighfar 🩷 MY HEART HURTS

Saffy

I've written all over the pages, going through my feelings while she was going through hers and it felt like such an intimate reading. The way grief was portrayed in this book is so real, so raw and genuine... Someday everything truly just changes, in a simple moment that will never get to be so simple as a memory ever again. 

Larissa Campos

I've written all over the pages, going through my feelings while she was going through hers and it felt like such an intimate reading. The way grief was portrayed in this book is so real, so raw and genuine... Someday everything truly just changes, in a simple moment that will never get to be so simple as a memory ever again. 

* A book I can't wait to lend to the love of my life, with my thoughts all over it

A good capture and example of what it feels like to grief. 

Darryl Laiu

First audiobook I’ve read with music playing at some parts 😹😹 lowk a snooze fest I feel like I’m not wise enough for this yet but it was kinda wholesome 

Angeleeka

From one of America's iconic writers, a portrait of a marriage and a life – in good times and bad – that will speak to anyone who has ever loved a husband or wife or child. A stunning book of electric honesty and passion.

an easy but heartbreaking read, which i guess makes it not so easy. the language is smooth and makes you understand the illogical thinking behind grief, the realisation that we cannot prevent it no matter how hard we try. sobering. don’t know if i could reread this 

Ianna Chia

Lili

i picked this up for no reason i can recall. interesting to read such a detailed account of a personal experience, i liked hearing about someone else’s logic and thought processes in such depth. i often got the feeling that more context about the author’s life/marriage/other works would have been helpful, so i will probably read more about those things

julia

Introducing the Collins Modern Classics, a series featuring some of the most significant books of recent times, books that shed light on the human experience - classics which will endure for generations to come.

The number of times the word "Israel" was mentioned in this book annoyed me so much.

shaymaa

This book is so profound and raw, and I loved the stream of consciousness way of writing. The constant repetition and call backs to the concept of turning back time / time stopping highlighted the obsession that grief can bring. 

Had to take a minute to digest it but I was so enamoured, I finished the book in 2-3 days. Thoroughly enjoyed it and will be reading more of her works.

This book is so profound and raw, and I loved the stream of consciousness way of writing. The constant repetition and call backs to the concept of turning back time / time stopping highlighted the obsession that grief can bring. 

Had to take a minute to digest it but I was so enamoured, I finished the book in 2-3 days. Thoroughly enjoyed it and will be reading more of her works.

Dieses traurige aber inspirierende Memoir hat mich mitgerissen und mich in die Perspektive einer trauernden Person versetzt. Ich fand es nicht sentimental, sondern nüchtern, reflexiv und poetisch. Joan Didion beginnt an dem Tag, als ihr Ehemann verstirbt und ihre Tochter auf der Intensivstation lag, und erzählt bruchstückhaft von beider Leben. Sie versucht, einen Sinn aus all dem zu ziehen, was ihr passiert und passiert ist, Sie geht gedanklich immer wieder die Ereignisse der Vergangenheit durch und fragt sich, was sie hätte anders machen können. Ihre Memoiren sind geschmückt mit Zitaten und Romanausschnitten, mit ihren durchdringenden Gedanken und mit dem Leben, das sie einmal hatte.

Das Buch hat mir einen Einblick gegeben, wie es Menschen geht, die leiden, wie ihre Gedanken und ihr Verhalten aussehen können und wie man mit ihnen umgehen sollte.

Zainab 

Dieses traurige aber inspirierende Memoir hat mich mitgerissen und mich in die Perspektive einer trauernden Person versetzt. Ich fand es nicht sentimental, sondern nüchtern, reflexiv und poetisch. Joan Didion beginnt an dem Tag, als ihr Ehemann verstirbt und ihre Tochter auf der Intensivstation lag, und erzählt bruchstückhaft von beider Leben. Sie versucht, einen Sinn aus all dem zu ziehen, was ihr passiert und passiert ist, Sie geht gedanklich immer wieder die Ereignisse der Vergangenheit durch und fragt sich, was sie hätte anders machen können. Ihre Memoiren sind geschmückt mit Zitaten und Romanausschnitten, mit ihren durchdringenden Gedanken und mit dem Leben, das sie einmal hatte.

Das Buch hat mir einen Einblick gegeben, wie es Menschen geht, die leiden, wie ihre Gedanken und ihr Verhalten aussehen können und wie man mit ihnen umgehen sollte.

giuli

Grief is a universal language and in some ways, I understood her. As humans, we never fully experience grief until one day it comes knocking on our door unexpectedly. 

Throughout reading, I can’t help but think about those who have to go through similar experiences with less connections or social status advantage. Although I won’t deny she’s at that level because of her hardwork. It’s just a food for thought that came across my mind. I got teary-eyed especially towards the end whilst reading.

Grief is a universal language and in some ways, I understood her. As humans, we never fully experience grief until one day it comes knocking on our door unexpectedly. 

Throughout reading, I can’t help but think about those who have to go through similar experiences with less connections or social status advantage. Although I won’t deny she’s at that level because of her hardwork. It’s just a food for thought that came across my mind. I got teary-eyed especially towards the end whilst reading.

You had to feel the swell change. You had to go with the change. He told me that. No eye is on the sparrow but he did tell me that.

This book may not have been life-changing, but it really was the first time in my life I've found someone who has the same line of thinking as I do. I would not have guessed to have found it in a writer known during the 60s but here we are. Didion tackles grief in such a didactic way as if it was a handwoven basket, carefully interleafing in each thread through an advanced weaving technique that allows it to create a beautiful pattern. I've never read a book thus far that handled grief in such a way. It was so refreshing, like I could relate to it in some way; even though, it never really happened to me. What is it in us that we shine light on people who try to hide their grief well? What is it in us that doesn't allow grief to be fully seen or heard? Why can't we ever allow ourselves to fully face the truth? 

You had to feel the swell change. You had to go with the change. He told me that. No eye is on the sparrow but he did tell me that.

This book may not have been life-changing, but it really was the first time in my life I've found someone who has the same line of thinking as I do. I would not have guessed to have found it in a writer known during the 60s but here we are. Didion tackles grief in such a didactic way as if it was a handwoven basket, carefully interleafing in each thread through an advanced weaving technique that allows it to create a beautiful pattern. I've never read a book thus far that handled grief in such a way. It was so refreshing, like I could relate to it in some way; even though, it never really happened to me. What is it in us that we shine light on people who try to hide their grief well? What is it in us that doesn't allow grief to be fully seen or heard? Why can't we ever allow ourselves to fully face the truth? 

Un libro prodigioso por su sinceridad y pasión conmovedoras, Premio Nacional de Estados Unidos a la Mejor Obra de No-ficción de 2005 (The National Book Award), escrito por una de las más emblemáticas escritoras norteamericanas. Joan Didion explora una experiencia intensamente personal y, no obstante, universal: el retrato de un matrimonio - y de una vida en los buenos y en los malos tiempos - que impresionará a cualquiera que haya amado a un marido, a una mujer o a un hijo. Unos días antes de la Navidad de 2003, Quintana, la única hija de John Gregory Dunne y Joan Didion, cayó enferma con lo que en un principio parecía una gripe, pero que rápidamente evolucionó a neumonía y acabó en un choque séptico. Durante varias semanas permaneció en coma inducido y con respiración artificial. Unos días después, la víspera de Nochebuena, los Dunne se disponían a cenar tras haber visitado a su hija en el hospital, cuando John Gregory Dunne sufrió un infarto mortal. En unos segundos, la relación íntima y simbiótica de estos dos escritores a lo largo de cuarenta años, acabó. Cuatro semanas más tarde, su hija superó el coma. Dos meses después, a su llegada al aeropuerto de Los Ángeles, Quintana cayó desplomada a causa de una hemorragia cerebral masiva y tuvo que ser sometida a una intervención de neurocirugía en el Centro Médico de la Universidad de California (UCLA). Este poderoso libro es el intento de Didion para encontrar sentido a las “semanas y meses que desbarataron cualquier idea previa que yo tuviera sobre la muerte, la enfermedad [...] el matrimonio y los hijos y el recuerdo [...] la precariedad de la cordura y sobre la vida misma”. Joan Didion Nació en California en 1934 y actualmente vive en Nueva York. Autora de cinco novelas: Run River, Play It as It Lays, A Book of Common Prayer, Democracy y The Last Thing He Wanted; de ensayos sobre la cultura y la política norteamericanas como Slouching Towards Bethlehem, The White Album, Salvador, Miami, After Henry y Political Fictions y de un libro de memorias, Where I Was From. El año del pensamiento mágico se publicó en Nueva York en octubre de 2005 y recibió The National Book Award en la categoría de no ficción. Aunque su hija Quintana pareció recuperarse durante la redacción de este libro, murió el 26 de agosto de 2005 a los 39 años.

El año del pensamiento mágico

Rocío de la Hera

Hay muchos libros sobre el duelo, pero no sé si alguno trabajará tan bien esta idea: el pensamiento mágico. La perdida absoluta de razón y lógica que sucede a la pérdida. Creer que el otro volverá y que al volver retomará su vida con total naturalidad. Creer que hay una arruga en el tiempo y que podremos colarnos por ella para volver al tiempo previo, donde el otro estaba. 
Me resultó demasiado personal, demasiado suyo, lo cual es lógico y se le agradece, pero por eso en ocasiones me distraía, como si no me correspondiese o, lo lamento, interesarse, meterme en esa historia. 
Muy muy interesante e íntimo.

Princess Doe 

3.5/5. While not the most transformative depiction of grief, it’s still worth it for anyone who may want to deal with grief

Louisa

I think I might read this again and then review it.

cried a lot and I never cry when reading so that tells you all you need to know 🙂‍↕️

muskaan bal

Filled with so much heart and loss. Not what I was expecting but everything I hope it would be at the same time. 

𓃹

she repeats time and time again that she went to the literature for understanding and then she made this for all of us

Nova

i did not go into this thinking i would relate to didion, but grief is a universal language, and i understood her. while she did everything i did not while dealing with her grief, we had the same greed when it comes to making sense of things. i can see myself going back to certain chapters and/or passages whenever i feel stuck with my unprocessed grief. one passage that particularly resonated with me is the one touching upon self-pity in people who are grieving. she's so real.

The realest account of grief I’ve read thus far, Didion lays out her vulnerabilities in this personal recount. I like her careful, measured writing of the ways she grapples, rejects or accepts reality. I was having a reading block but something about her voice made me finish this book. I think I will reread this when I have those emotions of denial, disbelief, and irrationality surrounding grief. 

“We have no way of knowing that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind of narcotic regression in which we are wrapped in the care of others and the gravity and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself.” 

Xiang

The realest account of grief I’ve read thus far, Didion lays out her vulnerabilities in this personal recount. I like her careful, measured writing of the ways she grapples, rejects or accepts reality. I was having a reading block but something about her voice made me finish this book. I think I will reread this when I have those emotions of denial, disbelief, and irrationality surrounding grief. 

“We have no way of knowing that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind of narcotic regression in which we are wrapped in the care of others and the gravity and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself.” 

Rodrigo Figueiredo Severino

This one really hit home actually. It was really well done. Some of the analogies kinda went over my head, same with the technical medical terms, but this was beautiful

Isabella 

a beautiful, raw, and honest reflection on grief and mourning. it made me sad ):

Didn't expect the difficulty I experienced in reading this. Similar family experiences would flash through my brain, and I realized that maybe I've started to accept that the sensations those memories elicit will forever stay unresolved. 

As usual, Didion does it again with her ability to expand on and transcend an experience. I was in awe particularly with her ability to communicate the way she would navigate the tricks of the brain as a mechanism for survival when in a state of grief. Kept annotating that I remembered my mother a lot, and wondered if her feelings were similar back in 2021. Anyway, I am always in love with Didion's prose, and greatly admire her as a writer. 

Didn't expect the difficulty I experienced in reading this. Similar family experiences would flash through my brain, and I realized that maybe I've started to accept that the sensations those memories elicit will forever stay unresolved. 

As usual, Didion does it again with her ability to expand on and transcend an experience. I was in awe particularly with her ability to communicate the way she would navigate the tricks of the brain as a mechanism for survival when in a state of grief. Kept annotating that I remembered my mother a lot, and wondered if her feelings were similar back in 2021. Anyway, I am always in love with Didion's prose, and greatly admire her as a writer. 