Didion on the brain

I find myself thinking about Joan Didion a lot this week; a typical "what would Didion do" time. I tend to look to images of her, like a good pair of Frye harness boots, as some model of strength when things get a bit cloudy.
This one's from 1970 and you get a sense of how she could've worn the t-shirt she slept in to the country club and dared anyone to turn their nose up at her:

but whenever I think of Didion I think of those giant sunglasses...

almost a shield from the world.
What would Didion do? I so often wonder. She fought through it, she wrote. She put on those giant sunglasses and went to interview prisoners. Turned failing relationships and depression into essays on place and time. Played it as it laid, so to speak.
Someone quoted "Slouching towards Bethlehem" this week - I can't remember who, Fred Thompson or a character on the Stand mini-series - and now I seem to hear it everywhere:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity...
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
We seem to be in one of "those" times. Who writes for these times, I wonder? Where is our Didion? What would Didion do?