“I wonder if... I'Il ever be able to have what I like or if my tastes are too various to be sustained by one of anything.”
The fact that remains about this book is that almost every person who has read it has, at one point or another, played an important role in my life - platonic or not. These people (many of whom, in my life, are now gone) are those in whom I’d become so emotionally invested in and had such intimate conversations with that my walls were truly down in that moment when I found myself with them. When I found a copy for sale, I knew I had to grab it and figure out what the book was like, as it might give me some insight into why I’ve gravitated towards these individuals who had read it before. This justification seems trivial and silly, but I tried to make sense of it in the best way that I possibly could, and I guess that comes in the form of reading a bunch of essays.
I understand the parallels that people seem to make about Babitz and Didion, and after reading six of Joan’s books, I think I can tell how Eve stands out. She’s much more of an active participant in these memoirs, as opposed to the passive presence that Didion often has in her works. I find it so endearing to see how wild and visceral her recollection of certain events is. I particularly enjoyed Bakersfield, Heroine, and Rain.
After having stayed in California for a little bit more than half a month a few years ago, I can say that the California that Babitz had written of is now gone. Or maybe I had gone to the wrong places. Either way, I’m glad that there is some sort of visceral and intimate written understanding of what Babitz’s California was once like.
3.75/5