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In the hierarchy of internet content, the 20th-anniversary commemoration ranks somewhere between the deep-thinking oral history (see GQ's treatment of Goodfellas and Freaks and Geeks) and a Buzzfeed slide show of "23 Reasons Why [X] Rules!" Sure, such anniversary-based commemorations land with a certain expedience—and a good risk of superficial nostalgia trumping inspired reflection—but done properly, they can cover the sort of territory typically traversed only by obituarists, with none of the depressing death baggage. (Sometimes I feel guilty about how not-sad I will feel about the passing of my beloved Bob Dylan—because what else is going to make America's best writers sit down and summarize their deepest feelings about Bob Dylan?)

Ultimately, the value of such commemorations comes down to one's level of interest in the work being celebrated, and for me, 2013 has brought the 20th anniversaries of three endlessly commemorable works, each made by a female artist determined to say something new and profound about the oldest story in the book: the life-bestowing, life-enhancing, and occasionally life-ruining entanglements of dicks and pussies.

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