The Bookworm: Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion. 256 pages. Farrar, Straus and Giroux. 1968.

I remember one day when someone who did have the West Village number came to pick me up for lunch there, and we both had hangovers, and I cut my finger opening him a beer and burst into tears, and we walked to a Spanish restaurant and drank Bloody Marys and gazpacho until we felt better. I was not then guilt-ridden about spending afternoons that way, because I still had all the afternoons in the world.

Ahhhh — that Prairie Lights smell.

Along with Slouching Toward Bethlehem, I bought the next five books in the reading queue during my visit to IC in July. I hit up Iowa Book and (the new) Haunted Bookshop, but the bulk of my book buying was done at good ol’ Prairie Lights. (In October I plan to visit the original inspiration, City Lights, in San Francisco.) As mentioned before, the books I buy from PL smell exactly like the store. Strangely, though, the PL perfume only lasts for the first few times I open the pages. When I first opened STB my nostrils caught the scent and I was immediately transported to the ground floor of 15 South Dubuque Street. I stuck my nose into the binding and breathed deeply. After a couple readings, though, the smell was gone. It’s as if the aromatic air of PL trapped between the pages escapes. Seems stupid, but it could be true.

Anyway, besides smelling well, the essays collected in STB are also written well. I bought it based in the promise of Didion’s prose, which The New York Times Book Review says is “some of the best written prose…in this country.” I’d never read Didion, and I’m always open to experience new writers and styles.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say her writing is the best by an American, but it’s still well crafted. Despite my aversion to poetry, I’m much more of a lyricist when it comes to prose; I love flow and rhythm in writing. Didion’s writing has that, though it’s more stilted and stagy than I like.

Although Didion is a master wordsmith, her writing often chafed me. From the picture on the cover — of Didion in San Francisco during, I assume, her stay to observe the Summer of Love in 1967 — I associated Didion with the women of the California Cool of the ‘50s and early-‘60s: a stylish, liberated, and intelligent woman out to discover and write about world. But I found her writing to resemble a more East Coast mentality. At times it was a tad pretentious; the tone of a few essays is that of a superior subjectivity. Originally from Sacramento, she did live in New York for eight years during her 20s, so the likes of Updike and the others in the East’s inner literary circles may have corrupted her.

The collection was published in 1968, but many of the essays were written years earlier and printed in Vogue or The Saturday Evening Post. They’re grouped commonly into three sections: Life Styles in the Golden Land (about you know where), Personals, and Seven Places of the Mind. The pieces range from personal memoir to a descriptive type of investigative journalism I’ve never read before. In a preface, Didion says she doesn’t like doing interviews (neither do I), and it shows. The investigative pieces she did are almost completely devoid of quotes; they’re comprised of background and observations. I liked it, especially “Slouching Towards Bethlehem,” an inside look at the Haight-Ashbury District during the Summer of Love. Didion writes about the characters, movements, and happenings.

By the way, here’s something I picked up while working as a reporter: “towards” is not the correct usage, though people use it anyway. It should be “toward.”

New words I learned: Definitions courtesy of my MacBook dictionary. Atomization: “derivative of ‘atomize’; convert (a substance) into very fine particles or droplets.” Aphasic: derivative of ‘aphasia’; loss of ability to understand or express speech, caused by brain damage.” Acrimony (a word I’ve heard a lot lately but don’t know the exact meaning): “bitterness or ill feeling.” Efficacy: “the ability to produce a desired or intended result.” Bonhomie: “cheerful friendliness; geniality.” Laconically: an awesome word to describe me; “derivative of ‘laconic’; (of a person, speech, or style of writing) using very few words.” Antimacassars: “a piece of cloth put over the back of a chair to protect it from grease and dirt or as an ornament.” Anathema: “something or someone that one vehemently dislikes.” Ersatz: “(of a product) made or used as a substitute, typically an inferior one, for something else.” Apocryphal (which I see all the time, look up, but always forget what it means): “(of a story or statement) of doubtful authenticity, although widely circulated as being true.” Ectoplasmic: “derivative of ectoplasm; a supernatural viscous substance that is supposed to exude from the body of a medium during a spiritualistic trance and form the material for the manifestation of spirits.” Soufflé: “any of various light dishes made with beaten egg whites.” Sotto voce: “(of singing or a spoken remark) in a quiet voice, as if not to be overheard.” Weal: in the context used it is “that which is best for someone or something : I am holding this trial behind closed doors in the public weal.” Nosegay: “a small bunch of flowers, typically one that is sweet-scented.” Panglossian: “derivative of ‘pangloss’; a person who is optimistic regardless of the circumstances”. Limn: “depict or describe in painting or words.” Assignation: “an appointment to meet someone in secret, typically one made by lovers.” Donnée: “a subject or theme of a narrative.” Cf.: “compare with (used to refer a reader to another written work or another part of the same written work).” Lassitude: “a state of physical or mental weariness; lack of energy.” Congeries: “a disorderly collection; a jumble.”