Intercourse, by: Andrea Dworkin - Feminish

Forewordattractive, even if we don’t like the reasons why, say, uncomfortableshoes and laboriously blow-dried hair are considereddesirable. We know it’s a deranged system, and that ourworth—including our self-worth—ought to be measured bythe same standards as men’s; that our intellects and talentsought to be more important than our asses. But this is thesystem. This is the real world. And to act otherwise is to incurconsequences: if you are overweight and you wear overalls,you will be mocked. If you don’t—or can’t—get legallymarried and a health crisis strikes, you will face additionalpain.I like to think that getting married was as much a concessionto romanticism as practicality for Dworkin. (By all accounts,her partnership with Stoltenberg was as successful as it wasnontraditional: they were soul mates who stuck together forover three decades. ) But as a general rule—and certainly on thepage—Dworkin made very, very few concessions indeed. Shedidn’t shy away from controversy or scorn or conflict. (“ Shecourted it, ” as Susan Brownmiller said to me. “ She would hangherself on her own cross. ” ) She was a difficult woman and adifficult writer, as she proudly acknowledged. Because if youaccept what she’s saying, suddenly you have to question everything:the way you dress, the way you write, your favoritemovies, your sense of humor, and yes, the way you fuck.Good. If you want to feel better, watch a rerun of Will andGrace. (Dworkin did; she was watching it the night she died. )If you want to revel in the exquisite, problematic rituals of femininity,go to a museum. . . or a mall. But if you want to bemorally and intellectually challenged, to be asked impossiblequestions, to see the mind of a revolutionary in action, readDworkin.