I started reading when I was a toddler, and it has long been both escapism and passion to me. However, whereas I used to devour fiction, my love for the written word has expanded in the past year to include historical works of non-fiction. If you think of the books in the world as existing in a candy store, you could say that I’d been enjoying one floor my entire life, blissfully unaware that thousands of equally delightful options existed.
One of the most important things I’ve learned is how little I really know, and this is as true of some of the historical bases for feminism as it is anything else.
I’d heard of Rosie the Riveter, of course, and had read a fair amount of feminist literature (from Mary Wollstonecraft to Andrea Dworkin) in college, but the “touched upon” nature that one receives in a survey class is completely different than diving …