She just doesn’t like the idea of metamorphosis. It terrifies her to picture that some unforeseeable change could take place in her body abruptly and she’d wake up a foreign object.
You may think of Kafka; you may think of Ovid; you may think of Transformers, of cars turning into terrifying robots.
If this were a novel, the writer might have preferred an epiphany to occur right here; but in reality, it took some more time to realise how I had changed in the four seasons I had been away.
The capacity to imagine has always been the driving force behind feminism; a radical, stubborn, luminous imagination which has allowed women, again and again, to move beyond the narrow confines of the possible.