A Farewell to The Falconer

Oh no. How do we appropriately grieve for someone who has taught us so much about grief? 

Joan Didion may not have been your personal hero, but she and her work probably influenced them in some way. Flynn and I have been preparing for this moment for years — but like all great losses and crushing blows, no one expected it to come today. Which is absurd, of course, because Joan was 87, managing Parkinson’s, visibly condensing day by day, and — I’d assume — getting very tired of having to think so much. 

I’ve wondered hundreds of times over the last five years what she thought about the cluster-fuck unfolding around us, if she was writing about it, if we would ever get to hear about it. 2017’s Joan Didion: The Center Will Not Hold — her nephew Griffin’s documentary love letter to his incredible aunt Joan — made it abundantly clear that her brain was still churning out cultural criticisms, sideways glances and perfectly succinct insults at a velocity that most of us will never experience, and it gave us hope that maybe, maybe, we would get another book before she left us. 

We did, in 2021’s Let Me Tell You What I Mean, and even though a lot of what was contained within were re-prints or expanded editions of things we’d already come to love, it felt rejuvenating and comforting. Her brain was still out there, forming these opinions for us, curating these essays. Her brain was still in there, in her formidable head, under those bangs she clipped to the side every day for decades. 

But today, for the first time since December 5th, 1934, her brain is not here. The falcon cannot hear the falconer. Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. Etcetera. 

I have only had a few great losses in my life, but in each instance, it’s their brain I miss the most. As soon as we heard she passed (Flynn and I unfortunately flung across the country from each other at a most inconvenient time), Sean read this aloud from The White Album:

People often cite this passage as evidence of Joan’s unflappability, but it’s always felt different to me. I think it's evidence of someone who knows themselves very well. Someone who knows what they need to feel keeled evenly, and someone who knows that they can be difficult to manage, especially for themselves. It speaks to her desire for control, mostly over herself, and for her preference for efficiency. And also her proclivity for drinking bourbon in a hotel room. 

If you can, drink a Coke out of the bottle for her today, or, if you’re feeling ambitious, make parsley salad for 35-40.

Joan Didion’s Parsley SaladServes 35-40

8 bunches Italian parsleyBlend 16 T olive oil with one head parsley until smoothBlend in 4 T balsamic vinegar, salt and pepperWhen ready to serve place parsley and 1 1/3 C grated parmesan in bowl, toss with dressing.

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