At one point, Didion even uses the word “ante-bellum Hawaii,” making the parallels unmistakable, casting herself as a Scarlett O’Hara of the Islands: bemoaning a bygone paradise (for whom?), mourning the loss of our way of life. None of the other degenerate colonials remember the islands the way she does—the entire essay is essentially a “not like the other girls” argument about which type of rich white settler loves Hawai‘i best (her, of course). In fact, there is perhaps no description that captures Didion’s work better than to say that it is consummate pick-me writing.
