“…by looking only at the author, you’re losing stories and voices.”
A duly interesting read.
It feels so weird to write this sentence, but Katie Roiphe is completely, totally right: if Karl Ove Knausgaard were a woman writing as meanderingly and passionately about the minutiae of life, the reviews of My Struggle would be much different. Certainly, as Roiphe observes at Slate, “what in a male writer appears as courage or innovation or literary heroics would be read, in a woman, even by the liberal, enlightened, and literary, as hubris or worse.”
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