No; in fact, her subject is always herself.
Didion's highly acclaimed style before I move on to her Politics.
Unlike those heroines of Didion's novels, Lucille Maxwell Miller never floated camellias in silver bowls to stave off encroaching madness or corruption -- no such exquisite desperation for her; she found a "reasonable little dressmaker" instead.
Didion's "style" is a bag of tricks.
This, you see, is where the lavender pillows come in: the body of Lucille Maxwell Miller's husband -- burned black -- offends Didion less than the fact that Lucille Maxwell Miller wore hair curlers.
always there where the barricade was.
If the plague is indeed coming (I ask you again to think of Camus), what is there to do but wait, curtains drawn and migrainous, contemplating -- if we are lucky enough to have them -- our roses?
She is the pawn of the protest movement.
"What is, is." In Play It As It Lays we are told: "Everything was happening exactly the way it was supposed to happen." "I am not much engaged by the problems of what you might call our day, but I am burdened by the particular, the mad person who writes me a letter." Few among us would raise three cheers for the mad person who writes us letters (Didion is not alone in preferring frangipane to obscene phone calls), but, leaving that aside, the point to be made is that -- I don't know how else to explain Didion's appeal -- readers find Didion's fatalism and her fashionably apocalyptic outlook comforting.
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"They [the unfeeling keepers of Maria's daughter, Kate] will misread the facts, invent connections, will extrapolate reasons where none exist, but I told you, that is their business here [in the loony bin]." In A Book of Common Prayer Grace says, "Our notoriously frequent revolutions are made not by the guerrilleros but entirely by people we know.