Today in my literature class ("Kentucky Masters of the Short Story") we were discussing Robert Hazel's challenging "White Anglo-Saxon Protestant." Hazel is probably best known outside the Commonwealth for his poetry, but within it, he's most often mentioned for the years in the late fifties he spent teaching writing at the University of Kentucky, where he mentored people like Ed McClanahan, Gurney Norman, Wendell Berry and Bobbie Ann Mason. (Here's a good article about that particular spike on the Kentucky literary timeline).
Hazel's story is a troubling look at racism and sexism among leftist Village intellectuals in the sixties, so naturally, the conversation turned to category romance novels. (Don't ask me, I couldn't track it and I was there, taking notes even.)
One young lady in class was very emphatic in expressing her view of Harlequins in particular. As she put it, "Nothing in them slut novels is true!"
I can't think of anything to add to that, really.
