I put off reading Joan Didion's book for years. Not, I think, due to everyday ordinary old procrastination, but a bit more due to fear. When I was first widowed I read as much as I could about widows, fiction and not. I think I was searching for role models not having any idea how to be what sudden life circumstances had forced me to become. But for some reason that I am still unsure of I couldn't bring myself to read The Year of Magical Thinking.
Recently I came across a copy in a used book pile and thought that the time had come for me to read it. And I tried. I tried really hard. But I have not succeeded. Not yet anyway. It brings up so many emotions. Basic author envy, that I wish I had written it or something like it. And lots of bad memories about the mistakes that I made during my year (or two) of magical thinking. And the paralyzing fear that a bigger, badder loss could be on the way. So I seem to have abandoned it. It is lying on the vacant side of the bed, splayed open in the middle, and seems best left at that, for now. http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/21/joan-didion-blue-nights?CMP=twt_fd