The author makes it clear that this short book is an essay on her thoughts concerning the effects of feminisism on college campusus; in particular she refers to her experiences at Princeton.

I found the book to be very easy and enjoyable reading. As someone who has attended a "Take back the Night" events on a college campus, her observations really resonated with me.

This is really not a reference work; someone who wants studies and data needs to look elsewhere. But, if someone wants to think about the various ideologies on the relations between the sexes, this essay is a good place to start.

First of all, Katie Roiphe is a very talented writer; this book had no slow spots and was easy & entertaining reading. I've read her previous two books and this one is true to her early excellent form while being in a quite new direction.

I rarely read fiction so I wouldn't know how it stacks up against other books in the "novel" category, but I thought the setting and characters were well-drawn, especially the former.

My main question after reading the book is about whether or not fictional writing using actual historical characters should really be called a novel. After all, these are not new (i.e., novel) characters. Roiphe is clearly launching, under the cover of the "fiction" heading, what she thinks is plausible speculation about the mysterious relationship between Alice and Lewis Carroll. The story as she writes it does come across as being plausible in most regards, not that I think she has the crucial plot twist (which I won't give away) correct.

I'd have liked for the Author's Note which appeared at the end to have been at the beginning -- I was constantly confused throughout the book about whether or not the correspondence and the excerpts from Carroll's diary were real or made up. Perhaps that was intentional. It was easy enough to set the conundrum aside, and the effect was definitely to cause me to question what's real and what's not, which seemed appropriate given the subject matter.

Katie Roiphe's novel of the relationship between Charles Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll) and Alice Liddell (for whom he wrote Alice's adventures in Wonderland and Through the looking-glass) is one of the most beautifully-written books I've read in some time. The questions surrounding the relationship are long-standing - was Dodgson's obsession with Alice grounded in innocence or in lust (even if repressed)? How did Alice herself view the relationship, both as it was happening and, as she grew older, in retrospect? There is mention of a reference to Dodgson by Alice, written for a magazine when she was in her 80s, that is warm and sentimental - but even in this reference, she mentions the fact that all of the letters Dodgson wrote to her when she was a child were destroyed by her mother. This novel might not answer these questions completely and thoroughly - how, indeed, could it do that, given the passage of time and the destruction of crucial 'evidence' - but it seems that Roiphe has done her very extensive research with accuracy in mind, and the results make for an extremely readable, compelling and moving story.

Like any relationship that involves even a hint of the possibility of child abuse or pedophilia, there are undercurrents and subtleties swimming just beneath the surface of the more obvious events and emotions. The story of Dodgson and Alice raises questions as questions are answered. The mathematics lecturer met Alice and her family (her father was his dean at Oxford) when the girl was only four years old, and remained close to the Liddells until Alice was eleven, when events caused the tensions which had been simmering for seven years to boil over. There was very obviously some degree of discomfort on the part of Alice - despite her honest affection for Dodgson and his attentions - that was harder and harder for her to contain as she approached adolescence. As she became less and less of a little girl and more of a young woman, she found it difficult not only to reconcile her feelings for and about Dodgson, but to come to grips with the natural changes occurring within her own psyche and body - a transition that's difficult at best, challenging each of us as a rite of passage into adulthood.

Like another reviewer, I had some serious and deep-rooted questions about Alice's mother's ongoing reaction to Dodgson's attentiveness to her middle daughter. She expresses misgivings about it from the beginning, mostly based on 'gut' feelings and motherly instinct. Why in the world would a mother experiencing any misgivings about another adult spending time with one of her children not look into the matter more thoroughly and take action to prevent lasting emotional damage to her child? The answer to this perhaps lies in the age in which the events took place. While pedophilia undoubtedly occurred then as it does now, I'm sure it wasn't given the media attention it receives today, especially considering what was considered 'discussable' in Victorian England - and that's a shame, in hindsight, because we know today that open discussion of this (and other) atrocities in our society can help to prevent their occurrence as well as aid in the healing of those who have been victimized.

In the end, whether Dodgson's obsession was innocent or lustful, what really matters is its effect on the subject - a young girl flattered by the attentions and affections of an adult, led into a relationship that becomes 'curiouser and curiouser', more and more confusing, as it progresses. There are countless cases of children being emotionally scarred for life that began with 'all good intentions'. The novel doesn't paint Dodgson as a monster at all - but the damage done to this little girl (and to numberless others before and since), the results of his actions, is the thing by which he should be judged, not his intentions.

While Roiphe's wonderful novel might not address these questions directly, it certainly makes their presence in the overall scheme of the story known - they are there, just below the surface, moving the characters and story just as if they were characters themselves. This skillful weaving of surface and subliminal plot and action is one of the things that make this such a great piece of writing.

'Still She Haunts Me' is one of the most beautiful books that I have read in the past year. Fiction or non-fiction, it doesn't really matter. What is written on these pages is not a minute by minute account of Charles Dodgson's life, but instead, a clever telling of the story of Alice Liddell and 'Lewis Carroll' and of what befalls the pair. Other books on Dodgson's life that I have read have left me bored, but this book held my intrest until the last. Anyone claiming that this is an uninteresting book could never be a true Carroll fan. Katie Roiphe makes you feel as though Dodgson is a person that you could know. He's the shy professor at your college or the witty man that you see at the library. This book is a must-read for all Carroll fans.

Not that anyone could call Katie Roiphe "balanced"...her debut, written while still in college, reads like a long talk with a loquatious new aquaintence at the campus coffee bar. She is not a sophisticated writer, and this book has no research to support it, really. And yes, it can be damn insensitive to people who have experienced sexual trauma.

However, it also bring up some very commonsense point which makes you wonder -- "Why has no one else thought of this?" Perhaps the key is Roiphe's writing style, which caught the attention of critics, because people have been worrying about the perpetuation of "victim mentality" with women for a while.

Roiphe explores the issues that she encountered at her insular, Ivy League college, which makes those experiences privleged ones. However, the same issues of which she speaks are prevalent at colleges around the country, an inherently privleged environment, but not unimportant to the rest of society. (Though, if there's one thing Roiphe is most guilty of, it has to be classism, which I chalk up to her age, her life experience, and her affluence. Her complete tunnel vision cripples the book significantly.)

But Roiphe gives voice to the ostracized in the mainstream feminist movement, and she articulates that alienation well. Sure, she believes that women should get equal pay for equal work, she knows about the glass ceiling, and she is aware & horrified by sex crimes. But she also feels like she can overcome those obstacles without placing herself in the role of victim of sexism. And she likes nail polish and reads fashion magazines too, probably. She wants to join the feminism club, but she feels that she can't.

She also voices the very funny politics of college sex life, where consentual sex is...well, ambiguous. (Which is, I think, one of her most interesting points, and it has spurred many a chat between my circle of friends.)

Now, I know that her stance of sexual assault is one of her most controversial, but I don;t think she is trying to play denial. She just argues for a better vocabulary of terms, and thinks that every construction worker whistling at you does not constitute harassment. And that's one of the big rifts between Roiphe and her early 90's feminist adversaries.

Like my feelings about Camille Paglia, I think Roiphe raises interesting issues, and I think she is worth reading. While her personal experiences do not enlighten the world, they are telling of what kind of experience is happening in our Ivory Towers of education. And her voice, as a dissenter, shouldn't be given automatic short shrift just for not agreeing with the Faludi party line of the era. (Although, on a side note -- Susan Faludi, what happened? Ugh, "Stiffed"? )

To be a balanced feminist on either side, peruse this short and surprisingly entertaining text. I guarantee, it will force you into some opinions, either way.

After I investigated five years of civil rights cases, the vast majority of which--in race OR sex--were found to be groundless, this was the first book I read that challenged the "feminist" doctrine. Since then, several other volumes have been released full of often well-researched and solid challenges to the same dogma. As the challenges become more substantial, the responses become all the more rabid. It makes me angry, when I'm not laughing.

To ensure their place in victimhood, middle and upper middle class women claimed they'd been raped, even created institutions, e.g., "date rape," to guarantee they'd have this place. The talk show switchboards lit up, the "victims" whined ad nauseum, and what did we get for it? More talk shows, switchboards, and whiners.

Roiphe has made a number of valuable contributions with this volume. One: She questioned. The rape "statistics" flashing across the screens of the mainstream media, particularly on college campuses, have not been questioned. She exposes them as, at best, dubious, and, more likely, absurd. (I liked particularly the story of the woman who attended the anti-rape conference as a rape victim for four years. During the last year, someone risked investigating, and found that the alleged rape had never taken place. Then, the assumed victim and her cohorts proclaimed that it's the cause that counts, not the facts. I'd have expected the same from any loyal Nazi).

Next, walking contradictions like pseudo- intellectual "law professor" Catherine McKinnon rely on assumptions especially on items such as pornography. Among the assumptions are that the "practices" of porn are a manifestation of violence against women, whether or not violence actually takes place. (When I conversed with a woman not long ago who insisted that women who star in porn films are forced at gunpoint to appear in them, I laughed until my beer spilled). Roiphe points out, with the skill of an observer and not an ideologue with a bone to pick, that most of those she sees, for example, along 42nd Street in New York are desperate and hopeless rather than seeking their helpless female prey.

I guess what makes me most apprehensive about this doctrine which Roiphe has the balls (sorry) to expose, is that the feminists who claim a desire to be independent are demonstrating their dependence, their NEED to be victims with extremely limited ability to stand up for themselves. I have a great deal of respect for many women who can challenge me on any number of subjects. I have terribly little respect for women--or men--who insist they, or any traditional underdogs, are helpless victims, and rely on doctrine and platitudes to prove it.

Lest I go on for too long, I recommend this as a primer for those who are not opposed to feminism, but who don't buy into the claptrap that parades itself as women's rights these days. There are more volumes for those who're interested in real equality, an honorable and attainable goal, but this is a great start.

You may not agree with Ms. Roiphe's ideas and observations, but you should find the clear writing style and accessible arguments refreshing when compared to the writings of others of late, whether you consider them to be feminist or not.

One of my greatest sources of frustation in academic feminist literature is the appropriation of horrifically impenetrable jargon culled from French literary theory. I suspect more people don't rebel against this style and rhetoric firstly, because they want to include themselves among the fashionable and politically powerful (and to criticize these theorists is suicide), and secondly, they cannot argue against something that is so vague and rarified in its specialist vocabulary, filled with tautology and a sense of its own unique insights.

Katie Roiphe sees through the mess and mire and writes clearly, passionately and resolutely in her analysis of the fashionable victim-based feminism (also called gender feminism or establishment feminism) that has taken root in the Ivy League, not to mention elsewhere in academe. I think those most opposed to her ideas of personal responsibility in the academic, emotional and sexual realms willfully cling to immature phases in their own development. Perpetual victimhood, to sum up Roiphe, is a dead end.

I think some of the resistance to this book arises from Roiphe's own poise, not to mention her own loveliness, to judge by her photograph: resentment-based feminism is deaf to common-sense, it seems. Also, that Roiphe wrote the book while still a student must account for another great surge of resentment from many quarters.

I recommend this book as palliative and antidote to anyone whose mind has been stifled by trendy gender feminists who hide their intellectual bankruptcy within the thickets and labyrithine tangles of post-structuralist theory.

There's something deeply creepy about the use the Roiphster is making of her sister's HIV+ status. Never a writer in control of her effects, Roiphe weeps crocodile tears but you see her between the lines, choreographing the step she'll dance on her vanquished rival's grave. "Ha-hah, you're dead and I'm a famous writer and handbag model, ha-hah, now I've got mommy all to myself." Till that day, she can still spin a buck out of the situation. Other than that, I have no idea what the point of this book is meant to be.

It's been about two years since I read this, but I remember the book as being dark, brooding, meandering and questioning rather than preachy. Rophie should be admired for not pretending to have all the answers on this difficult and complicated topic.

I read the book in one sitting, the writing was that good. I know it's hard to find a positive review of this book on the I-Net, but I liked it a lot even if I'm left now with an impression rather than specific info gleaned. I'll definitely read her next book because even if I disagree with her on some points I think she's an important writer worth listening to.

She does have a point, but the problem is not definable. The nations growing social conservative mood has no true definable center, it is a movment of two seemingly diffrent forces, a need for a force beyond lust (yet is also a part of lust) and a love of preaching what is "right". The virus of the SAFE is covered here with Kate's eyes wide open.