Nancy Drew was always changing her outfits. I despised girls' clothing, I couldn't wait to get home from school and get out of it. The last thing I wanted to read was minute descriptions of Nancy's frocks.

Nancy Drew was always changing her outfits. I despised girls' clothing, I couldn't wait to get home from school and get out of it. The last thing I wanted to read was minute descriptions of Nancy's frocks.

If it weren't for the unconventionality of my desires, my mind might never have been forced to reckon with my body.

I'd been upstaged, demoted from protagonist in my own drama to comic relief in my parents' tragedy

When I was growing up in the 1960s, there was starting to be more books geared towards young adults.

It was a vicious cycle, though. The more gratification we found in our own geniuses, the more isolated we grew.

If there was ever a bigger pansy than my father, it was Marcel Proust.