seems only men live with the images and ghosts of past wars, of soldiers, leaders, and rebels, collaboration and resistance, murder, blood and mud, as if the feminine imagination stops at the threshold of our histories and resolutely refuses to enter the battlefields on which men—husbands, fathers, sons, brothers—sacrificed their lives and left behind millions of women, orphaned and widowed. I have yet to meet a woman who knows what the Maginot Line is, which battle was fought at Verdun, what the letters SS stand for, and why which war was fought where. Of course, as an American she did not
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