The old infrastructure for evaluating literature is crumbling beneath my feet, and not for the right reasons.
Suppressing women’s writing—which, make no mistake, is what our culture does—is suppressing our thought.
The online reading public has made clear that it does not want tastemakers telling them what to like.
Literature happens not because editors and academics give it the nod, but because a writer puts her whole self on the page.
I imagined Atwood as a magician who had allowed herself to be handcuffed and locked in a box, just to show how easily she could break free.
