Maybe this is just the exception to the rule,
maybe I’m inclined to like this book more than other feminist works because of
my walks through De Beauvoir Town (North London) on my way to basketball
practice, maybe I liked it because she was the best at her trade, maybe because
it’s a series of short stories and, because of that, it’s less daunting than it
could have been, or maybe I simply read this book at a time when I was more
open to a different kind of literature from the one I normally enjoy.
Or probably it’s just that the final
monologue is simply so, so beautifully written.
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