Many critics have said, in many countries all over this world (these books having been translated into 35 languages last I read) that Lisbeth Salander is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, heroines ever written in Fiction. I tend to agree, as she overcame obstacles and horrors I could never have endured, let alone survived. And, to my psyche, she made being a woman NOT a handicap.
I was one of those little girls born into a man's world nearly 84 years ago who was meant to be a boy and always lamented for not being one. When my (half) brother was born to my stepmother (my mother having been long despised for not delivering a boy) 15 years later, my father went ape. "The Boy! The Boy! The Boy!" was all the rest of us heard. Daddy rarely called him by his name thereafter, but called him "Son." When Daddy died, some 34 years later, he left me a teensy sum and left his entire estate to his "Beloved Son." Everyone in the family, including my dear step mother and, of course myself, were astonished at this final evidence of his obsession. So you see, I am an ardent feminist and when a Lisbeth Salander comes along, well, I go ape!
My father was quite typical of men of his time, though I have to attest to having known many who treasured their daughters. Hmm. To be treasured must be nice!
