I DISCOVERED MILAN KUNDERA at the age when his work is most appealing and most dangerous. At seventeen, I could still assume beautiful phrases were true ones and take characters as guides for living. It’s probably not fair to blame The Unbearable Lightness of Being for my disastrous first relationship. But the Czech novelist’s death this past July has me thinking about the male writers whose words have shaped my psyche and whether it’s time to shake them off.
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