I was in another city for some meetings, and my colleagues had just treated me to lunch at a wonderful restaurant by the sea. We walked down to the beach, talking, somehow, of 'Gone Girl'. After warning her of spoilers, I explained a bit of the plot and how much I’d liked the first half, but it got “really weird” after that. I mentioned how the titular ‘girl’ (actually, a woman who’s over 30) is portrayed.
“But aren’t you a feminist?” she said.
We had never talked of feminism. She’s an older woman who has always treated me in a somewhat maternal fashion, and I appreciate our tentative work-fueled friendship. But she assumed I was feminist, or should be. I felt a surge of happiness, of contentment. This is how it should be.
“I am,” I said simply. “That’s why I didn’t like the book.”
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