Watching Leslie’s journey from lost runaway to absolute devotee of a madman is an exercise in the mechanisms behind loneliness, a yearning to belong, and to be free.
I was wrong and I was wrong because it is so very easy to be wrong as a male in this arena. It is so incredibly easy to think of me first. It is beyond easy to not consider everything that vitally needs to be considered simply because I have a penis. It is a painful admission to make even as I seek to correct it and do better.
Do we dare to watch? Do we dare to look at women’s brains? No matter how ambitious, how whimsical, how inclusive or exclusive, how morbid or light, how vapid or cerebral? Are we willing to embrace the cynicism? The bluntness?
