It was October 2012 when the Homeland Security agent showed up on my porch with a team of policemen. The agent was gentle as he came closer, wearing a hesitant smile and holding out an official badge, but my heart immediately began racing.
Misogynist female book reviewers prefer self-loathing discussions on James Lasdun’s very important fiction about peeping on black women over my story of being raped. They want to shower him with accolades as a “writer’s writer” for using salmon as symbolism for a dead Asian woman’s vagina. Oh, and don’t forget his description of lady bits as smelling “pungent” (Maybe yours, ladies, but not mine.).