I begin working as a temporary lecturer at different colleges around the city. It is my first time teaching undergraduates and it feels almost as natural as writing does. I make it a point to introduce my students to the literature of their home state, which includes Joan Didion, a standby and giant of what we now call creative nonfiction.
I teach my students about Didion’s ancestor, Nancy Hardin Cornwall, who trekked westward with the Donner-Reed party in 1846. When they reached the Humboldt Sink in Nevada, Cornwall in a fateful decision decided to split with the party. The Donner-Reeds ended in infamy and Cornwall landed in Oregon. Didion’s family eventually settled in Sacramento, where several generations would tend to their roots and Didion would eventually be born. The lesson is an introduction to the history of California and one of its most potent myths: that of the pioneers. This myth, among others, such as California’s economic dominance and its reputation as a peaceful liberal haven, Didion sought to problematize in her writing.
It’s Didion’s ability to undermine — to slip a blade between the ribs — in a single sentence that has always thrilled the critic in me. Her strict economy, honed by her early years of writing and endlessly revising (under the exacting eye of Allene Talmey) tight captions for Vogue, thrills the editor in me…