When I first read Virginia Woolf (sometime in my high school), I was struck by her distinctly feminine voice. I was so enchanted by it, I didn’t want to read anything that did not sound like her. At that time, I had been reading hard fast-paced masculine mystery and thriller novels by John Grisham, Jeffrey Archer and some Sydney Sheldon, and suddenly there was this soft feminine voice going on for pages and pages on the mysteries of the inner world. Was this allowed? She seemed to be writing the way I thought, and I wasn’t sure if my thoughts were important enough, I had not had read anything that sounded like it before. And I knew, that if she was writing like this, there must be more…more such writers, women writers, and I started to hungrily seek them out.