“I know that many women are writing about their personal experience, whether religious or not, as if in this postmodern time we can speak of nothing but ourselves. We cannot write authoritatively of history, we are told, for it was recorded wrong, and we have only tainted examples to examine. We ought not write theology or philosophy, some women say, for these disciplines are constructs of the oppressor class, men’s mausoleums. And since I and many other women are not novelists, we write about ourselves—pretending that a coherent record of our memories and reflections is not itself a novel, and imagined narrative giving sense to one damn day after another.”
–Gail Ramshaw, Under the Tree of Life: The Religion of a Feminist Christian, p. 11
