| Some of the nastiest, dirtiest fiction I've ever read were written by women (Anne Rice writing as Anne Rampling for one). I'm pretty convinced the quality and shortage of female novelists isn't a function of talent or some weird magical limitation imposed by being the owner of a cunt, but some institutional lack of vision on the part of the publishing industry and the market pressures.
If Bronte or Austen were born today, I have doubts if they'd get published or even win some shelf facings from the recent Dan Brown or recovering rockstar Tell-All SKU at Borders. |