The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

This is the second of two books that I read in a short period of time that fall into what I think is a very narrow genre--that is books that are written by authors who were married to authors about the profound grief they experienced with the sudden death of their spouse. The two books follow the same pattern--maybe this is how one does this genre--juxtaposing the event itself, in this case, Didion's husband dropped dead in front of her--and the aftermath. The book is a raw plunge into grief, confusion, and guilt. Much of it has the feel of talking to ones self about the experience and trying to make some kind of sense of it, and ultimately trying to move forward from it.. It intricately unravels the layers of grief. It reveals some truths that I have found in grief, which is that it isn’t static. It shifts daily. Some days, you lose yourself in memories. Other days, you try to fend off the sorrow. On others, the past, and the things left behind, pull you back into the stories attached to them. It is a new path, one that no one wants to be on, but one you cannot return from either.