<span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="19.999999999999996" data-atex-uat="{KerningValue:LTg=}">"</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10" data-atex-uat="{KerningValue:OTA=}">C</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">ertain places seem to exist mainly because someone has written about them," wrote Joan Didion in her essay </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="Italic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>In the Islands</em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">. "A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his image."</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">California</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10"> belongs to Didion herself. As Martin Amis put it, she is "the poet of the Great Californian Emptiness". </span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">It is the subject she returns to over and over </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">in her work, most memorably in 2003's </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="Italic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>Where I Was From</em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10"> – which combined first-person memoir with a history of the state – the origins of which, we now learn, are to be found in notes she made three decades earlier, in 1976, while reporting on the Patty Hearst trial for </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="Italic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>Rolling Stone</em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">.</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">Her latest book, </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="Italic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>South and West: From a Notebook </em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">consists not so much of previously unpublished work, but rather notes taken in preparation for work that then went unwritten.</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">"This is not about Patricia Hearst," she writes in</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="NormalItalic" data-atex-track="-10"><em> California Notes</em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">. "It is about me and the peculiar vacuum in which I grew up, a vacuum in which the Hearsts could be quite literally king of the hill."</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">The piece as originally envisaged was never completed, but it set her to "examining my thoughts about California". "I am trying to place myself in history," she wrote. </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="NormalItalic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>Notes on California </em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">is the significantly shorter of the two parts that constitute </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="NormalItalic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>South and West</em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">. The majority of the volume belongs to </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="NormalItalic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>Notes on the South</em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">, </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">taken during a month-long road-trip </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">with her husband, John Dunne, </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">in 1970.</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">"In the South," she writes in </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="NormalItalic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>California Notes</em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">, "they are convinced that they have bloodied their place with history. In the West we do not believe that anything we do can bloody the land, or change it, or touch it."</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">This "they" versus "us" is everything. As many have pointed out before</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">, the South is unlike any other part of</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10"> the United States, and </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">remains resiliently unknowable, sometimes even to its own people. Didion battles with this. She is equal parts intoxicated and confused: "I had only some dim and unformed sense, a sense which struck me now and then, and which I could not explain coherently, that for some years the South and particularly the Gulf Coast had been for America what people were still saying California was, and what California seemed to me not to be: the future, the secret source of malevolent and benevolent energy, the psychic centre. I did not much want to talk about this."</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">It is intriguing to read such uncertainty – albeit written with the same pin-point-precise prose as ever; I have never read "notebooks" so near perfectly formed – from a writer who has defined how we think about a state that, although only a short flight away, could be another world entirely.</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">Didion and Dunne set out from New Orleans, where "the air is heavy with sex and death, not violent death but death by decay, overripeness, rotting, death by drowning, suffocation, fever of unknown etiology".</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">They drive into Mississippi, where she buys "a cheap beach towel printed with the Confederate flag", on through run-down Gulf Coast resorts where everything has gone "to seed" – "walls stain, windows rust. Curtains mildew. Wood warps. Air conditioners cease to function" – and </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">into Alabama.</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">Though, as Nathaniel Rich </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">notes in </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">his introduction </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">to the volume, "the road-trip aspect is barely commented upon; instead we have the surreal image of Didion swimming her way across the Gulf South through its motel pools".</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">This Southern-take on John Cheever's evocative short story </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-fs="Italic" data-atex-track="-10"><em>The Swimmer </em></span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">is just as unnerving as the original, perhaps even more so since the elegant, landscaped garden pools of New England's prosperous upper middle classes have been replaced with grotty, run-down, algae-filled concrete and plastic tubs full of water that "smells of fish".</span> <span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">Heat, languor, danger: all the trademarks of Southern Gothic are here. Also a "vertiginous preoccupation with race, class, heritage, style, and the absence of style" permeates </span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">already leaden air</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">. It is not the comprehensive portrait of the South one might wish for</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">, but in this incarnation, it was never meant to be</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10">. In many ways, it is all the more fascinating to see what evaded one of the America's most famous</span><span data-atex-cstyle="$ID/[No character style]" data-atex-track="-10"> 20th-century chroniclers. </span> ________________ <strong>Read more:</strong> <a href="https://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/munich-then-and-now-author-robert-harris-on-hitler-appeasement-and-the-resurgence-of-the-far-right-in-germany-1.662565" style="">Author Robert Harris on Hitler, appeasement and the resurgence of the far right in Germany</a> ________________