I imagine that there are people who would be disappointed to see me tackle such a topic—people who assume that, because I prefer to write about modernist literature, believe strenuously in something like beauty and its centrality in human life, and take issue with many of the most vicious incarnations of what I provisionally join lazy thinkers in calling “cancel culture” that I am “not like other girls,” by which they mean that I am Above Politics and therefore comfortably sequestered in the airy Realm of the Spirit, where complaints about sexism never disturb halcyon reflections on matters of Great Importance.