This was “ Slouching Towards Bethlehem,” her first nonfiction book.

At some point, an editor suggested that she had the makings of a collection, so she stacked her columns with past articles she liked (a report from Hawaii, the best of some self-help columns she’d churned out while a junior editor at Vogue), set them in a canny order with a three-paragraph introduction, and sent them off. (“Newport is curiously Western,” she announced in the piece, sounding awfully like a writer trying to get away with something.) The column work left time for other projects, and Didion spent the spring through September of 1967 on a ten-thousand-word assignment about the hippie movement, the rest on a novel she’d been struggling with. A few weeks later, her “Points West” was about wandering Newport, Rhode Island. Didion’s first effort was a dispatch from her parents’ house. The Post was struggling to stay afloat (it went under two years later), and that chaos let the new columnists shimmy unorthodox ideas past their desperate editors. Didion wrote one column about touring Alcatraz, another on the general secretary of a small Marxist-Leninist group. The column, called “Points West,” entailed their visiting a place of West Coast interest, interviewing a few people or no people, and composing a dispatch. The Post paid them well, and Didion and Dunne each had to file one piece a month. The space they had to fill was neither long nor short-about twelve hundred words, a gallop larger than the Comment that opens this magazine. In the spring of 1967, Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne, freelance writers married to each other and living in Los Angeles, were engaged to write a regular column for the Saturday Evening Post.

Slouching towards bethlehem author joan