Tools of the Patriarchy: What Book Bans Take From Women and Girls

Tools of the Patriarchy is a column on the tools that establish men’s dominance in society, or, in other words, uphold the patriarchy. Whether or not these tools are used intentionally, they contribute to a world in which women are not equal to men.

The books disappearing from shelves are not random. Censorship campaigns continue to sweep up stories about women’s sexuality, sexual violence, reproductive autonomy and girls coming of age, alongside books about LGBTQ+ people and people of color.

Stories are also one of the places girls first encounter women who leave, resist, desire, survive, refuse motherhood, question authority or name the harm done to them.

Another gendered aspect of the censorship story: the people expected to absorb the backlash. Librarians are trusted to help children find books and create welcoming spaces … until their professional judgment includes a book about queer identity, reproductive autonomy or sexual violence. Then the helpful librarian can quickly become an “activist.”

For Louisiana librarian Amanda Jones, speaking against censorship at a public library board meeting turned her into a target. She was accused online of promoting pornography to children and subjected to harassment and threats. Her experience shows how quickly a librarian defending access to books can be recast as the danger herself—especially when a woman in a feminized profession refuses to quietly enforce someone else’s definition of what is “appropriate.”

‘The Story Is Not Finished’: Robin Morgan, Feminist Pioneer and Former Ms. Editor in Chief, in Her Very Last Interview

I had the privilege of interviewing Robin Morgan this summer. It turned out to be her last ever interview, as it was only a few weeks for her death.

On a hot afternoon in August, I arrived at Morgan’s New York home, situated on a tree-lined block. “Come in, come in!” she exclaimed, gesturing with her hands from her front door.

Then there were the rows upon rows of books lining nearly every wall, all neatly organized. There were no nooks and crannies in Morgan’s apartment, only books. “I wish I’d written more,” she said to me quietly, looking at her overstuffed shelves. “I should have written more. I know I’ll be on my deathbed thinking, ‘I should have written more.’”

As we walked outside, she smiled and gestured at the true source of her pride: her garden. I marveled at the lush greenery and took great pleasure sitting under the shade of a large, ancient-looking linden tree while listening to the gentle bubbling of a small water fountain.

“I used to sleep out here,” Morgan said, pointing to a reclining day bed and smiling wistfully. Parkinson’s disease had reshaped her body, her speech, the ability to travel freely and her relationships. She was trying to “make something of the disease, rather than what it would make of me.”

Her formal politicization, not surprisingly, was rooted in the liberal left—and then it was not. The left, like all ideological political groups in those days, was male dominated. She joined leftist movements believing in shared liberation and thinking the genders “were marching together toward freedom and we were all equal—but we weren’t,” she said.

“The women were doing all the shit work, and the men were running around being leaders and heroes. It made me furious.” Her fury lit a spark under her and she wrote “Goodbye to All That,” a direct name-naming attack on the male left.

Why Does Getting Menopause Care Still Require So Much Work?

Around her 50th birthday, Oprah Winfrey began having heart palpitations so frightening she thought she might die. She went to five doctors; none connected her symptoms to menopause.

She happened to pick up a book that finally gave her a possible explanation. “Heart palpitations and sleeplessness were indications that The Change was coming,” Winfrey writes. “But no one, including my trusted doctors, had warned me (did they even know?), and when my symptoms showed up, we looked for the most dire explanation—heart disease—instead of the most likely.”

Later, a friend’s experience prompted Oprah to ask her doctor about getting on an estrogen supplement. “After I started hormone therapy, the world returned to technicolor. … For the first time in years, I was sleeping the whole night through.”

That sequence—doctor, book (or article), friend, doctor again—will sound familiar to many women who have had to assemble their own understanding of this major health transition that remains underfunded and underdiscussed, despite affecting 51 percent of the world’s population.

It also runs through two new books arriving this month: Jennifer Weiss-Wolf’s When in Menopause: A User’s Manual and Citizen’s Guide and The Book of Menopause: Real Talk, Real Science, Real Strategies for Your Next Chapter, from the editors of Oprah Daily.

You Deserve Better Menopause Care. Here’s How to Demand It.

“As women we have become way too comfortable with suffering,” said menopause expert Dr. Sharon Malone, MD, at a New York City book launch event for Jennifer Weiss-Wolf’s When in Menopause. “Menopause is just the last on the long train of suffering stops we’ve had.”

Weiss-Wolf’s new book makes the case for changing that, from demanding better care in the doctor’s office to fighting for policies that take women’s health seriously. As she put it during the conversation: “We’re saying we demand to be seen. We demand to be heard.”

In the following excerpt, Weiss-Wolf offers practical guidance for becoming your own best champion and receiving informed, respectful midlife healthcare.

When in Menopause: A User’s Manual and Citizen’s Guide is out Tuesday, Oct. 6, from Sheldon Press.

October 2026 Reads for the Rest of Us

Each month, Ms. provides readers with a list of new books being published by writers from historically excluded groups.

I love autumn in the Midwest. It’s cooler, the leaves are turning and change is in the air. I also love reading horror and watching scary movies at this time of year, so you know I’ve included a couple spooky stories this month—and a couple nonfiction titles I think are particularly terrifying.

There’s memoir and history, stories and essays. Even the scariest are packaged in lovingly written prose that educates and entertains. And there’s a first: I don’t think I’ve ever featured the new releases of both a mother and a daughter in a single month. So there’s that. 

With further ado, here are the 13 titles I’ve chosen for the month. Read, reflect, learn, enjoy, resist and repeat.

Antiabortion Politics Blocks Research on Fibroids, Endometriosis and Breast Cancer. The Media Is Finally Paying Attention.

Mifepristone is known as the abortion pill, but it has other uses most Americans have never heard about. For more than three decades, scientists have known this medication could do far more than end a pregnancy. Research shows mifepristone and a similar drug ulipristal acetate (sold under the brand name ella) can shrink fibroids, treat endometriosis and may treat and even prevent breast cancer.

Despite this huge potential to improve women’s health and well-being, abortion opponents have obstructed research into these treatments for decades, fearing anything that could make mifepristone more available would weaken their fight against abortion.

The burden of this obstruction has fallen on women, left to suffer from years of painful fibroids and endometriosis, heavy bleeding and reduced fertility, or death from aggressive forms of breast cancer, while research that could help sits on the shelf.

For years, the fight to unlock mifepristone’s lifesaving potential was a story only feminist media would tell, but mainstream media is finally catching up.

Whitney Houston Was Always the Artist Behind Her Own Stardom

In 1983, Whitney Houston appeared on The Merv Griffin Show to sing “Home.” The performance reveals the bright, complex selfhood Whitney sought to express even in spaces that were framed for her, not by her.

Whereas hosts today speak with artists themselves, not their male chaperones, the segment begins with Merv introducing not Whitney but Clive Davis, the head of her label, Arista, whom he praises as “a giant of a man, probably the most knowledgeable man the record business has ever known.”

The gesture was likely meant to secure the gentleman’s agreement, whereby Clive would break new Arista artists on the show.

Their exchange was as good a point of origin as any for the mythology always ready to spring up around the female artist: She is the raw material, the spark of gold, that the great man discovers and shapes.

Black women are often commandeered in this way, their rise attributed to some power beyond themselves, and to the men who recount their own crucial role to whomever will listen.

In ‘Lotus Leadership,’ Kamini Ramani Explores What Immigrant Daughters Owe the Mothers Who Taught Them to Be Strong but Quiet

Before any of it, there was a girl on a bus. Kamini Ramani grew up in Bombay, trudging through knee-deep monsoon water to board the Number 122 red double-decker while watching for men who would try to grope girls in the crowd. She was also raised on stories about goddesses—fearsome women who fought back.

Ramani is clear about what came with those stories: pressure to achieve, expectations that women be humble and meek, and rules about whom they could marry or love. Every Indian daughter is handed two things at once: goddesses who fight back, and a warning never to be one of them. Her new book, *Lotus Leadership*, treats the two as separable.

In the interviews I’ve done for this series and for a book of my own, the story that surfaces is often about a mother: whether she made a single refusal or still resents that she never did. Either way, the daughter is the one who finds out what it was worth—and which parts of that inheritance she wants to carry forward.

(This piece is part of an ongoing series, Redefining Power: How Indian American Women Are Rewriting the Rules of Leadership, Identity and Care. The series explores what it means to modernize without losing our roots—through candid conversations with Indian American women reshaping culture, power and possibility.)

Amid Reproductive Rights Rollbacks, a New USPS Stamp Honors Sarah Orne Jewett, Who Imagined Lives for Women Beyond Marriage

The U.S. Postal Service (USPS) issued a new stamp late last month honoring 19th-century writer Sarah Orne Jewett—putting a woman whose work centered on female independence and unconventional lives, into mailboxes and collection books across the country.

The stamp, the 35th in USPS’ Literary Arts series, was unveiled in Jewett’s hometown of South Berwick, Maine. Its portrait of Jewett appears against the Maine coast, a reference to her best-known work, The Country of the Pointed Firs. USPS says renewed interest in Jewett’s writing has been driven partly by her strong female characters.

In 2025, Ms. selected Abortion Stories: American Literature Before Roe v. Wade, edited by Karen Weingarten, as one of the most anticipated feminist books of the year. The published collection brings together literature documenting abortion before Roe v. Wade, including an excerpt from Jewett’s The Country of the Pointed Firs.

Jewett never explicitly writes the word “abortion” in the published passage. Instead, one of the novel’s central characters, Mrs. Todd, is an herbalist who gathers plants and receives women who arrive privately at her door seeking remedies and whispered instructions. Weingarten said she included the passage because abortion exists in its subtext, reflecting a period when reproductive knowledge could be encoded in language about women’s networks of care.

That history makes the timing of Jewett’s stamp particularly striking. More than four years after the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, abortion remains banned outright in 13 states, with additional states enforcing early gestational limits. Battles over reproductive healthcare continue at both the state and federal levels—from access to medication abortion, to funding for family-planning services.

Jewett’s face is now traveling through a postal system caught up in that debate, across a country still contesting reproductive freedom. The stamp itself makes no claim about voting or reproductive rights. But there is something notable about a federal institution commemorating a woman whose work has become part of the literary history of abortion at the same moment reproductive autonomy is again being fiercely contested.