Tuesday, April 12, 2005

 

A Voice, Stilled

Andrea Dworkin died recently. Few people I know--or can even imagine--agreed with her on everything: she was allied with the Christian right in her repugnance of pornography, with radical feminists in her rejection of male hegemony over women. Firebrand, former prostitute, protester, rape victim, crusader, a lesbian who lived with a man, she was to me a beacon of what a responsible citizen and a good writer should be: clear, and courageous. She thought for herself. She said what she meant. She was radical, outrageous, provocative, wrong, but she made us think and talk and argue and see things differently, even if we didn't agree with her, and she walked the walk she talked. She died, far too young, at the age of only 58, after a long illness. I think of the books we've lost, the ones she would have written at sixty-five and seventy and eighty.

Along with many others, I will miss her voice.



The Quotidian Meander


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