When Andrea Dworkin died, both the press and her moderate feminist critics responded with a mélange of barely concealed glee and smug relief. Christopher Hitchens was one of the few to speak out in her defense, lamenting that the world had become a lonelier place without an Andrea Dworkin to dispute with. “[S]he could write, and think, and argue,” he wrote, “and it was often a pleasure to disagree violently with her, which is more than I can say for some of her detractors.” I suspect this is how many feel at Hitchens’s own passing. It’s certainly how I feel.
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