My issue with many self-indulgent works by white men (the ones I’ve read, the ones I’ve given up on, and the ones I’ve refused to try) is not that I think they’re evil or poorly written or even, necessarily, offensive (though plenty of them are), but that I can’t find any entry point — and nothing incentivizes me to find one except other men’s approval.

Deirdre Coyle on dull while men.

Not from the last link, but from a works-related-to-the-last-link link.

Also, huge content warning in that the opening paragraph of Coyle’s essay is an offhand description of a man who sexually assaulted her with illicit drugs.