I spent a semester in grad school writing about Fraser’s work, and Ann-Marie MacDonald’s Fall on Your Knees, and Camilla Gibb’s Mouthing the Words. I’d moved three thousand miles from my past, from London, UK, to Toronto, Canada, and I was in love with Canadian feminist literature. For months, I studied and framed these, and more—accounts by daughters of sexual abuse by their fathers. Immersed. It would be another two years before I had any inkling that this immersion was personal.
