By Eliza Duckworth

As a child, I loved to read. My idol was Roald Dahl’s Matilda, a little girl who spent her days going to the library, picking out books, and absorbing new worlds. I think being an only child had something to do with why I loved Mathilda so much. I admired her strength, her courage, and her ability to occupy herself. I remember so vividly aspiring to read Charles Dickens at the age of eight as she did – spoiler alert, I still haven’t read any Dickens. But I tried to read like her. Soon enough, a world of young women in fiction opened up to me: Tracy Beaker, Hermione Granger, Johanna Morrigan. I wanted to be them all. 

And then I hit puberty, and suddenly reality became more important. As a teenager, I became more and more aware of the ways in which women are constantly pitted against each other. Arguments and name-calling were an everyday aspect of being a teenage girl, not to mention the constant comparing of boob size, waist size, hip size, hair length, eyebrow style, toe shape… 

All of this, however, seemed petty and insignificant when I became aware of just how easy I had it in life. The more socially aware I became, the more I realised that the brand of feminism that I had been exposed to in the fiction I was reading was petty and insignificant too. It was white feminism, liberal feminism, the type of feminism that tells you that all women are equally oppressed and that all women can succeed if they work hard enough. I learnt very quickly just how embarrassingly ‘#girlboss’ my feminism had been.

At university, I studied English Literature. Suddenly I was reading more books than ever, and the days of analysing Of Mice and Men in a sweaty classroom felt like a lifetime ago. Something I was keen to do at university was read more women writers, and although the patriarchal literary canon was an ever-present shadow on my degree, I did get the chance to read more women’s voices. These books, these stories, taught me more about feminism than any article, essay, or history lesson. They opened up different worlds to me, different perspectives; they opened my eyes to the importance of intersectionality, and the vast spectrum of women’s lived experiences.

Now, I am much more aware of the books that I choose to read because I know that my choices matter. I’m always looking for feminist texts to read, or anything about women, really. If you are the same, then here are just some of my recommendations: 

1.  The Testaments, Margaret Atwood

The Testaments is Atwood’s sequel to her legendary dystopian novel, The Handmaid’s Tale. Set in Gilead decades after Offred’s account of her life as a Handmaid is discovered, The Testaments follows three women’s accounts of life both in and out of Gilead, which is on the brink of collapse. For me, it was the inclusion of infamously terrible Aunt Lydia’s narrative by Atwood that made this a must-read. By giving us insight into a woman who seemingly always followed the fascistic, misogynistic, and downright torturous world of Gilead, Atwood allows her readers a glimpse at the psychology of surviving. After four years of Trump, the recent horrific cases of police brutality, and the crackdown on trans rights and reproductive rights in the US, Atwood’s Gilead seems closer than ever. 

2. Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston

Hurston, a key figure in the Harlem Renaissance, was one of the most prominent black women authors of the twentieth century, and reading this novel, you understand why. Following the life of Janie, who suffers two bad marriages before falling truly in love, Their Eyes Were Watching God is one of the most heartbreaking novels that I have ever read. Hurston’s beautiful prose creates a mythical energy within the novel, and the honesty with which she writes her characters means that you simply can’t stop reading it. 

3. Nervous Conditions, Tsisti Dangaremba 

Nervous Conditions is the first in a trilogy that follows the life of Tambudzai. As a young woman growing up in Zimbabwe, Tambudzai gets the opportunity to go to school when her brother, who was the only one in the family to receive a formal education, dies. The novel’s opening sentence reads, ‘I was not sorry that my brother died’ and hooks you into Tambudzai’s life straight away. As her experience grows and she reflects on the experiences of other women in her family, Tambudzai begins to wonder if a Westernised education is really worth it. 

4. Brick Lane, Monica Ali

I first read this novel in sixth form whilst searching for a contemporary novel to compare to Ibsen’s play A Doll’s House, and I found it in the brilliant Brick Lane. A bestseller when it first came out in 2003, I encourage anyone who hasn’t come across this novel before to read it. Following the life of Nazneen, a young Bangladeshi woman who moves to England for an arranged marriage, Brick Lane explores life in Tower Hamlets, London, at a time of deep racial tension and social change. Brick Lane follows Nazneen from her youth to the youth of her children, and you become her best friend throughout her journey.

5. Shame on Me, Tessa McWatt

Subtitled ‘An Anatomy of Race and Belonging’, McWatt’s memoir explores her life through her mixed heritage and the history of her foremothers. Originally from Guyana but growing up in Canada, McWatt travels through her life via her physical features, each chapter offering up a deeply personal account of how her self-perception has altered throughout her life, changing with the places that she has lived and the relationships that she has had. Amounting to a personal-political account of how the structure and psychology of the plantation continues to oppress black people and people of colour in the world today, McWatt’s work is a timely call to arms for any reader who believes in social action.