What are the feminist tomes—or, really, any tomes that informed your conception of what it's like to be a self-possessed grown-ass female—that most shaped the woman you are now.

snpsnpsnp:

I discovered feminism when I read Jane Eyre in sixth grade, and I discovered *my* feminism when, at 26, I realized I was not the governess, the nurse, the schoolteacher of the romantic plot but the madwoman burning down the attic. Figuratively. The worst I ever did in real life was break dishes and faith.

In women’s studies, which I took at two different schools, I hated almost everything we read. I hated The Yellow Wallpaper. I hated sanctimonious poems about our bodies. I hated Friedan. I really hated Dworkin. I thought bell hooks was good, but so does everyone; bell hooks is an undeniable good. And I liked Germaine Greer cos she was a thoroughly self-glamorized badass. Then I read Paglia.

I’m reading Paglia again now in tandem with Dworkin’s Intercourse, and also the SCUM Manifesto, the latter two books being (I eventually learned) as excruciatingly funny and genius as they are impracticable. Is genius always impracticable? I tried to swear off saying “genius.” Anyway, it’s Sexual Personae I’m re-reading, and it makes me feel so many colours (mostly red, like Anne Carson’s red), but it’s not funny at all. I’ll have to read I Love Dick after. The thing is, I loathe men more every year, and I love *a* man more than I love my independence. Which is a lot, and a lot to figure out.

Lately I too have felt Red like Anne Carson’s red. When I wrote about red based on Anne Carson’s red and what my dad loved about red I had it all wrong. One day I hope to be yellow. And yes not in a yellow wallpaper kind of way. I hated that as well. But in an Anne Carson two egg-yolks in parallel kind of way. Floating on the water like a sunflower kind of yellow.