(April 2015)
I need to read more of this kind of stuff:
mid-twentieth century writing by vaguely dissolute women. Of course, all that most
female writers from that era needed to do to gain a ‘vaguely dissolute’
reputation was to speak their minds and openly enjoy something other than
childcare or macramé, but on the occasions I do read them they seem infinitely more
contemporary to the present day than male writers of the same period. I’d be
the first to admit that my sample sizes for both populations are pitifully
small, but there’s something to be said for the theory that in order to compete
with the men women had* to be better
than them. Clearly this was grotesquely unfair, but as a reader it does mean
that you get access to books that are, well, better.