Here we get to be as loud as we want, scream out the shittiness of not loving someone anymore, of becoming boring in someone else’s heart.
There’s something particularly marvelous in reading a book about an actual time and an actual art movement in which the female figures come naturally to the fore.
A good dick joke makes everyone laugh, but a good vagina joke tends to just make people feel uncomfortable.
Sweeping violin, round, slow drums, little threads of plinky piano pile up on top of one another…
The list could go on for miles, but I’ve chosen ten.
You don’t prioritize the male gaze in what’s supposed to be a feminist book. This shouldn’t even need to be said.
Here’s where to start with ten series, ranging from classic to contemporary, featuring smart, unconventional women bringing murderers to justice.
I’m allowed to be fucking enraged about a situation that DIRECTLY TOUCHES on MY LIFE and MY EXPERIENCES and the experiences of TOO MANY OTHER geeky women to fucking count.