The air gets weird. You feel it before you see it. In Los Angeles, there’s a specific kind of tension that creeps into the marrow of your bones when the humidity drops to nothing and the sky turns a hard, predatory blue. It’s the "Santa Ana."
Joan Didion didn't just write about these winds; she basically codified the way we perceive them. When people talk about the "Los Angeles Notebook," they aren't just citing a piece of reportage. They’re citing a mood. It’s that feeling that the social thinness of Southern California is about to snap.
Honestly, the Santa Ana Joan Didion describes isn't just a weather event. It’s a psychological break.
She famously noted that the wind "shows us how close to the edge we are." That’s not hyperbole for the sake of a magazine deadline. It’s a literal observation of how a pressure system in the Great Basin can drive a city to the brink of a collective nervous breakdown.
The Science of the "Red Ink"
Scientists call them katabatic winds. They start in the high-pressure areas of the Great Basin—think Nevada and Utah—and spill over the Sierra Nevada and the San Bernardino Mountains. As the air drops in elevation, it compresses.
Physics happens.
Compression leads to heating. By the time that air reaches the Los Angeles basin, it’s hot, bone-dry, and moving fast. We’re talking gusts that can flip a high-profile vehicle on the 210 freeway like it’s a toy.
Didion focused on the "meanness" of it. She pointed out that during a Santa Ana, the crime rate in Los Angeles often spikes. There’s actually some historical data to back this up, or at least a long-standing belief among local law enforcement. For decades, the mythos was that the positive ions in the air—carried by the dry wind—messed with human neurochemistry.
Is it true?
It’s complicated. While some studies suggest a link between these winds and increased irritability or serotonin shifts, the most direct impact is simpler: discomfort. When it’s 95 degrees in October and the wind is sandblasting your face, you’re probably going to lose your cool more easily.
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Didion captured this perfectly. She wrote about the "uneasy" stillness that precedes the wind. That eerie quiet. It’s the sound of a city holding its breath before the fire starts.
Why the Santa Ana Joan Didion Narrative Persists
Most writers try to make sense of the world. Didion was different; she tried to document the sensation of the world not making sense.
In her 1968 collection Slouching Towards Bethlehem, the essay "Los Angeles Notebook" stands as the definitive text on the Santa Anas. She described the winds as a "mechanistic" force. They don't care about your plans. They don't care about the sprawling suburbs or the swimming pools.
They just blow.
This resonates because California is a place built on a fragile dream of control. We irrigate a desert and call it a garden. We build on hillsides that want to slide into the ocean. The Santa Ana is the reminder that the landscape is actually in charge.
Think about the way she describes the behavior of neighbors. People stop talking. They stay inside. There’s a sense of impending doom that isn't entirely rational, yet feels more "real" than the daily grind of traffic and work.
The Fire Element
You can't talk about these winds without talking about fire.
In the Didion version of California, the Santa Ana is the "fire wind." It turns the chaparral—the dry brush covering the hills—into literal tinder. One spark, one downed power line, and the whole thing goes up.
We saw this in the Thomas Fire. We saw it in the Woolsey Fire.
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The winds don't just start the fires; they steer them. They push embers miles ahead of the actual flame front. If you live in a canyon in Malibu or Topanga, the Santa Ana isn't a literary device. It’s a threat to your house.
Didion lived this. She understood that the "malice" people felt in the wind was actually just the environment asserting its dominance over the people who dared to pave it.
Beyond the Myth: What People Get Wrong
People often think Didion was being overly dramatic. They think she was just a "moody" writer projecting her own anxiety onto the weather.
That’s a mistake.
If you talk to long-time residents—the ones who remember the fires of the 70s or the 90s—they’ll tell you she was being a realist. There is a specific "Santana" (as some call them, though the origin of the name is debated between "Saint Anne" and the indigenous word for "wind of the devils") energy.
It’s the smell of dust. It’s the way the light looks—thin and yellowed.
Some argue that the "positive ion" theory is mostly pseudoscience. Critics of Didion often point out that she leaned heavily into the "pathetic fallacy," which is the literary trick of attributing human emotions to inanimate things like weather.
Maybe.
But even if the wind doesn't literally "hate" us, the results are the same. Trees fall. Power goes out. The air quality turns toxic with smoke and fine particulate matter. In 2026, with the climate being what it is, these events aren't getting rarer. They're getting weirder.
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The Cultural Impact
Didion’s work on the Santa Anas changed the way Hollywood writes about the city.
Look at Raymond Chandler. Look at Chinatown. Look at the way modern noir films use the weather to signal that something bad is about to happen.
Before Didion, the Santa Ana was a local nuisance. After Didion, it became a character. It’s the "villain" in the story of Los Angeles. It represents the "hidden" California—the one that exists beneath the palm trees and the red carpets.
It’s the California that burns.
Actionable Insights: Surviving the Next Blow
Living with the Santa Anas requires more than just reading prose. You have to be prepared.
If you’re in Southern California, or moving there, the "Didion weather" is something you need to respect. It’s not just about the vibes; it’s about safety.
- Hardening your home: If you live in a WUI (Wildland-Urban Interface) zone, the winds are your biggest enemy. Embers cause more house fires than actual flame walls. Make sure your vents are covered with fine mesh to keep embers out.
- Air quality matters: When the winds blow, they kick up everything. Fungal spores (like Coccidioidomycosis, which causes Valley Fever), dust, and smoke. Invest in a high-quality HEPA air purifier for your bedroom.
- Hydration is non-negotiable: The Santa Anas can drop humidity to single digits. You will get dehydrated faster than you realize. This contributes to that "cranky" feeling Didion noted.
- Check the "Red Flag" warnings: Don't ignore them. These are issued by the National Weather Service when the combination of low humidity and high winds creates extreme fire danger.
The Santa Ana winds aren't going anywhere. Neither is Joan Didion's influence on how we see them. She taught us that the weather isn't just something that happens outside; it’s something that happens inside of us.
When the wind starts to howl through the canyons tonight, remember: it’s not just you. Everyone is feeling it. The air is "charged," the brush is dry, and for a few days, the city belongs to the desert again.
To better understand the environmental shift, keep an eye on the South Coast Air Quality Management District (SCAQMD) reports during wind events. They provide real-time data on how the "Didion wind" is actually affecting the air you breathe.
Don't wait for the first smell of smoke to prepare your emergency "go bag." In a true Santa Ana event, things move fast. Minutes count. Being ready isn't being paranoid—it’s just being a Californian.
Respect the wind. Read the books. Stay hydrated.