Joan Didion

Play It As It Lays? 

Wow, I wasn't ready for that. 

Published in 1970, Didion's novel read - for me, at least - with a cadence reminiscent of the Beats. The novel's structure, too, reminded me of Kerouac and the boys. 

But then, in its despondency and flirtation with a modern form of nihilism, Play It As It Lays also evoked something of The Bell Jar. The focus on femininity, sorrow, and a sloping path toward enlightenment - all of this reminded me of Plath's masterpiece, first published in 1963. 

And finally, there was nothing of John Barth's The End of the Road, which first appeared in 1967. Barth came to mind during my reading because of his fascination (shared, it appears, with Didion) with the waning afterglow of the 1960s. Both novels are testaments to a collapsed dream. 

Despite its sadness, Didion's novel is difficult to put down: this is in part because of its format, but also because, as Maria chases nothingness, she uncovers a version of the truth. 

It is a brutal, violent, confusing truth. And yet, it is a version of the truth that speaks to self-discovery (even if the discovery is itself laced with despair). 

"'Listen,' she said as if by rote. 'I love you.'" 

I tip my cap to Joan Didion. But let's not lie: this is a harrowing novel, one which charts an unrelenting path toward both comfort and crisis.