In any case, calling someone a monster didn’t solve the problem of what to do with the work. I could denounce him all I wanted, but Polanski’s work still called to me. This insistent calling—and my unwillingness to throw away the work—disrupted my idea of myself. It made me (and others) question my claim to feminism. I had asked, at first, what we should do with the art made by monstrous people.
