Your Greeks, after all, Sarah said, jabbing her finger into Eva’s shoulder, who do you think they were? Who was Medea, Clytemnestra, Antigone? They were men, ma chère Eva! And Ophelia, and Lady Macbeth, and Desdemona! Centuries of men, filling the stages with themselves, every role at their disposal, wearing gowns or breeches as they pleased. And so now, to be a great actress, you must learn: no more shall we be confined to their cast-offs, to their bits of mothers and maidens and ladies-in-waiting. No, chèrie, we do not stoop to consider the sex of our parts.
