nothing but trouble can come from such a book. I recall loving the title-the evocation of the Bible that seemed almost sacrilegious to me, a child of a conservative Christian family. I felt the book must be some passageway to adulthood, some essentialness of feminism that both intrigued and bored me. I recall her clutching the book as though it were a lifeline, a rope to a past she never had. I recall the cover: gun-metal gray with white lettering. She majored in English and one day brought home, as a reading assignment, a copy of Slouching Towards Bethlehem. It wasn't until she divorced at thirty-six, the same year Ronald Reagan ushered in the folly of trickle-down economics and the prison-industrial complex, that she discovered "the sixties". Married at seventeen, her 1960s and 70s were spent as a young wife and mother of four. My mother was a freshman in college when I was a freshman in high school.
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