Looking back over the books read, the papers written, the piles of clippings, notes, scraps of paper accumulated during the past three years of study, one wonders what it all means, where it all leads. When I started reading feminist prose, I had never heard of Charlotte Perkins Gilman or Kate Chopin. A feminist writer to me was Virginia Woolf, Doris Lessing or Betty Friedan. As a journalist, I know Woolf was right when she said a woman who wants to write must have a room of her own and money enough to live on. But what is a woman to write in the 1990s? Has it all been said? Do we have new stories to tell? Yes. But how will we tell them?
