I think I read this back in January and never wrote it about it. Joan Didion's account of the year her husband died and her daughter was hospitalized with a mysterious, devastating illness.
The only non-depressing thing about this truly grim work -- because all of this horrible stuff really happened, all at once, and there's no making it un-happen -- may be that the book has been a top seller. I like it when the good, smart books sell.
This entry isn't exactly "writing about it", but at least I have down that I read it, which is the point of this blog, since I always forget what I've read.
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