Where were you when you found this out? Was it right now? For me, it was yesterday. Yesterday morning, had you said to me, “Do you think your maternal grandmother has ever subscribed to a magazine edited by Andrea Dworkin’s life partner?” I would have, taking the fact that almost anything is possible into account, have laughed a jolly, whole-throated laugh rooted in health and certainty and told you, “No. Between my maternal grandmother and the work of Andrea Dworkin there are at least nineteen degrees of separation.” By evening I was a broken man, weighed down with terrible, glittering knowledge.