The essential dilemma after a date rape is also the essential dilemma before the novelist: Who’s in charge of the narrative, and what is his or her perspective? My rape was 26 years ago, in 1988, on the eve of my graduation from college. I’ve already written about that rape here, here, and in my memoir. It’s a typical story of acquaintance rape, no more or less interesting than any other. I was advised by a college psychologist whose advice I sought in the immediate aftermath not to press charges because (a) it would be brutal, in terms of name-smearing; and because (b) it would delay my life at the exact moment it was supposed to get started. So I took no action whatsoever. This is also typical. Especially for back then, but still today. Seeking justice in a date rape will always be messy and prolonged, no matter the era, because it will always come down to a question of he said/she said. And we, as a society, are really good at blaming the victim and saying boys will be boys.

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