The literary world has become more gender-inclusive since the beats of the 1950s. Just as well, because it’s jarring to find yourself in love with a world that doesn’t love you back
The first real book I ever read was Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. I read it simply because, in the stubborn way of a 12-year-old, I wanted to read the longest book in the library. It was kind of the librarian to point me towards Mitchell rather than Tolstoy, because I found myself in Scarlett O’Hara in a way I didn’t even realise was possible in literature.
Related: The 100 best novels: No 76 – On the Road by Jack Kerouac (1957)
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