am gasit un minunat profil al scriitoarei mele preferate, Joan Didion
(tocmai am adus din America Blue Nights, noua sa carte pe care n-am inca curaj sa o citesc: e despre decesul fiicei sale)
probabil ca nu veti gasi carti scrise de ea sa cititi pentru ca nu e tradusa in romaneste, dar va rog cititi fragmentul de mai jos
“She never took her purse off her lap!” my mother said afterward of that night, gobsmacked. “She took it to the dinner table!”
If you had told my mother that Didion regularly served elaborately cooked meals to 60 people at a time, on Spode china in a rambling—and very Berkeley—house in the seedy part of Hollywood, and had interviewed Jim Morrison and entertained Janis Joplin, she would have been shocked. Didion seemed like a young woman who had never been to a dinner party without her parents. She seemed like someone who owned one good thing to wear, and would bravely wear it whenever an engagement even hinted at formality.
I can tell you this for certain: anything you have ever read by Didion about the shyness that plagued her in her youth, and about her inarticulateness in those days, in the face of even the most banal questions, was not a writer’s exaggeration of a minor character trait for literary effect. The contemporary diagnosis for the young woman at our dinner table would be profound—crippling—social-anxiety disorder.
***
am spus intotdeauna ca oamenii mari (ca rezultate, notorietate dar si caracter) sunt niste mari timizi.
intregul profil aici, poate-l vreti, cine stie
🙂
