To devotees of current academic feminism, there must be something faintly embarrassing about Andrea Dworkin. Whereas women’s studies trailblazers—and many of their followers—favor a torturous prose style laden with postmodern jargon, Dworkin’s own writing is as unadorned and unfashionable as it is wrathful. Dworkin, an arch-feminist and anti-pornography crusader famous for claiming that all heterosexual intercourse is tantamount to rape, has been on the scene for some time, and thus her ideological comrades would be loath to ostracize her because of her earlier contributions to the cause of radical feminism. Yet one gets the distinct impression that Dworkin—much like Mary Daly, another old-school provocateur—has outstayed her welcome: to the postmodern crowd Dworkin must seem so vulgar, so retardataire.