Whenever I push the pivoting doors of a subway entrance in Montréal-large, heavy steel doors that sometimes exhale so much they’ll make your eyelids flinch-there’s a chance Didion’s peach will spring into my thoughts.
With time, and with every new reading, a connection’s been carved somewhere inside me. “I could taste the peach and feel the soft air blowing from a subway grating on my legs and I could smell lilac and garbage and expensive perfume,” she writes 2 Joan Didion, “Goodbye to All That,” dans Slouching Towards Bethlehem, New York, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2008, p. 228. She comes out with a peach in her hand and stands on the sidewalk to eat it. Yet, somewhere along Lexington Avenue, she enters a store. She’s twenty-something and new in town, and above all, she’s late to meet a friend.
With this one, we’re in New York at twilight, in a passage of Joan Didion’s Goodbye to All That ( GTAT, hereafter).
Sometimes the magic in an essay will leave markings on my bones, and help me heal. “We tell ourselves stories in order to live 1 Joan Didion, “The White Album,” dans The White Album, New York, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2008,, p.
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