I know it’s dull, but it’s necessary to start the book review of Joan Didion Notes to John with some background information. Otherwise the title is more likely to confuse than clarify.
As you probably know Joan Didion was an American writer, whose sparse and incisive style, was much sought after. Her husband was John Gregory Dunne, New York Times journalist and playwright. Together they adopted their daughter Quintana Roo, when she was just a few weeks old, and became a family of three. To outsiders, she seemed to lead a charmed literary life in the upper echelons of New York society.
But although lives can look perfect, they seldom ever are. As an adult Quintana struggles with alcoholism. The titular Notes to John are the notes Joan keeps for herself, but addresses to John, following her weekly therapy sessions with her psychiatrist. She addresses them to John as she finds it easiest to write as though she is talking to him. And also because, as Quintana’s father, he is heavily involved and invested in the sessions. Their daughter’s alcoholism is dangerous and destructive. Both Joan and John live in constant state of worry and fear for her health and safety.
Capturing the fear of loving someone you might lose
As a first hand account of what it’s like to love someone who is struggling with addiction Notes to John is unparalleled. Because Didion was never aware, nor intended, her notes would be published she doesn’t hold back. She writes without boundaries and lays bare the eternal push/pull of wanting to help someone but knowing you really can’t. She’s candid in her frustrations as she struggles to accept the reality that Quintana is the only one in charge of her life. She also explores her feelings of irritation with her daughter. She feels resentment for the cancelled work events, the holidays put on hold and the mental strain of scrutinising every conversation with Quintana. Is she drunk, is she depressed, is she happy or just masking?
And she notes down nuggets of wisdom from her psychiatrist. One in particular struck me, as Joan is considering whether to go to Washington for work, and leave a possibly suicidal Quintana. Her psychiatrist replies:
“Nothing anyone does or doesn’t do can stop someone from hurting herself if she gets it fixed in her mind to do so. All you can do is save yourself from undue guilt. Satisfy yourself that you did all you could. If you truly think you could save her by not going to Washington then don’t go. If you can truly accept that it won’t make any difference, then go.”
The reality of loving a person with an addiction
And of course, the pain of loving an addict takes it’s toll on Joan Didion’s mental health. She presents as the urbane, sunglasses wearing, New Yorker – but in reality Joan is recovering from cancer and drowning in mum guilt. She looks back at Quintana’s childhood, turning it over and over like a fidget toy. Wondering what she did wrong. Was she too distant? Too cold? Too overbearing? Was Quintana always going to be an alcoholic? And did this even start with Joan’s own childhood?
These are the questions she explores with her psychiatrist, and then again endlessly in her own head. Before I found my pace and rhythm with this book, I’d start reading and then realise I had fallen asleep. Reflecting on this, it’s probably because Joan’s constant ruminations go nowhere. It’s static, repetitive and then spirals into self-doubt.
The ethical considerations of publishing notes that were never meant to be published
As a counsellor Joan Didion Notes to John feels like a rare find. In the UK there are strict rules and regulations regarding the keeping and sharing of client’s notes. Client’s notes should be kept confidential and anonymous – and this continues even after their death.
However, notes that someone kept about their own counselling sessions is a different conundrum altogether. They are of course, deeply personal and intimate and we can be sure that Joan never intended for them to be published. However, she is now dead, her daughter is dead, and her husband John is also dead. No more harm can come for them, they will not be mortified by having their inner most thoughts and the realities of their private life laid bear…
And yet, it doesn’t feel comfortable. To consume something that is obviously so deeply private, is exactly like reading someone’s diary. There is absolutely value in the writing, and the many feelings it explores, but it comes at a cost. And I can’t help feeling that if it were me, I’d want those notes dead and buried alongside me too.