Women are wary of the literary establishment.

Receiving a grade based upon the extent to which you were able to stomach and occasionally even half-heartedly contribute to a semester of three-hour almost wholly masturbatory intellectual bunking and debunking sessions between socially inept men- covering, yes, even the subject of women's desires and experiences- is absolutely horrendous to most women. Absurdly horrendous enough to, at one point, induce unstoppable subversive laughter. Enough, in this woman's case, to leave for good.


Women find it incredibly ironic to read Middlemarch in such courses.

Women continue to roll their eyes at the theorizing of writing and at the writing of history.