Let Me Tell You What I Mean

Let Me Tell You What I Mean by Joan Didion (2021) I must admit I have not read very much by Joan Didion—just a little here and there—never an entire book before this one. Haven't gotten around to it. Don't know why that is, really—besides being the slowest reader I know—because what I have read by her has been worthwhile. It might be because her last name is the same as my next door neighbors, growing up, and though I know that's silly, it can be hard to reconcile the baggage you have with names. Especially for someone like me who attaches a great deal of significance to things—no matter how much it might seem like superstition. If Joan Didion, say, wrote books about kids making a treehouse out in the woods, I'd be more than comfortable with that. The little I've read by her, however, here and there, has impressed me, surprised me, and sometimes challenged me. This recent collection is a dozen or so previously published but uncollected works—with no real focus or theme—other than Joan Didion telling you more or less what she means—which is never simple—and always takes me to a different level than I had expected. I liked them all, and got something out of each piece, usually more than I had anticipated, at surface level. I especially enjoyed, and was compelled to reread, the articles about director Tony Richardson (“The Long-Distance Runner”), and Ernest Hemingway (“Last Words”), as well as an article called “Why I Write” and one called “Telling Stories”—which are quite fascinating takes on what is admittedly my favorite subject to read about (and write about), which is writing.