[In the following review, McHugh considers Only Words to be a valid and notable contribution to the discussion of the limits of free speech under the U.S. Constitution.]

This book [Only Words] offers a continuation of Catharine MacKinnon's earlier writings on the subject of speech, freedom of expression, and constitutional law from her unique perspective of feminist legal thought. It extends her already familiar approaches to this broad issue by challenging dominant civil libertarian attitudes regarding the relationship between women and speech. While readers might object to her apparently rigid style and equally inflexible approach, there is an important challenge presented by this book which anyone with an interest in this profound subject needs to address.

The dominant theme of this book revolves around the relationship of speech to power, and particularly to the issue of women's lack of empowerment as represented by, and inflicted through, pornographic expressions. This theme is hardly a novel one, but MacKinnon pushes it to new limits in her attempt to compel her readers to challenge prevalent attitudes within society, including attitudes shared by many feminists, regarding the distinction between erotica and pornography. At first glance, her examples (and, indeed, her entire approach) may appear to verge upon hyperbole. However, upon further reflection the nondismissive reader is forced to think critically about her arguments—even if for no other reason than to offer a meaningful reason to dismiss them as being extreme.

The most profound problem experienced within this book is the lack of a specific and consistent distinction between the concepts of “pornography,” which refers to sexually explicit expressions that are harmful in some sense, and “erotica,” which refers to sexually explicit expressions that are not strictly harmful (and which may, in fact, promote positive expressions of human sexuality) and which may indicate a broader and meaningful message. MacKinnon appears to rely upon the easier, though unsatisfying, premise that all expressions of a sexual nature which involve women promote an image (and thus the reality) of the general dominance of women by men within society and, therefore, deny women in their quest for empowerment.

While there may be obvious problems with adopting such an inflexible premise, it must be understood as being part of the larger process through which MacKinnon attempts to compel her readers to accept her essential argument that pornographic expressions should not be protected as free speech. This argument ultimately contends that pornographic expressions are fundamentally wrong, not because they are objectionable from the view of a Victorian sexual sensibility, but because they promote inequality, violence, and other forms of “harm”—particularly when they are legitimized through such legal sanctions as the protection offered by the “free speech” clause of the American First Amendment. Thus MacKinnon ultimately (and perhaps ironically) uses a liberal democratic principle to promote an argument that has been more readily embraced by radical, rather than liberal, feminist legal scholars.

For example, when MacKinnon challenges Manet's painting of clothed men and naked women at a picnic through use of this standard, she is also challenging the reader not to dismiss such an example out of hand. After all, there is a defendable case to be made that such an artistically acclaimed and aesthetically pleasing representation nonetheless promotes a male fantasy and dominant attitude regarding female availability in the presence of male power and dignity. It would be a gross mistake simply to denounce such an example as prima facie ridiculous, as many critics have been tempted to do. Instead, MacKinnon does here what any good scholar should do; she challenges the reader to explain exactly why this painting should not qualify as pornography. It is unacceptable simply to declare that it is a great work of art and, therefore, beyond the realm of harmful expressions which may be proscribed; one needs to be able to define such concepts specifically and apply them critically.

It is for that reason that MacKinnon's comparative analysis is so useful. Canadian constitutional development has been extremely instructive regarding the growth of such principles and definitions as MacKinnon seeks to explore within this book. It is a constitutional development which originates in the twentieth, as opposed to the eighteenth century, so that it reflects a more sophisticated evolution of the rights tradition than is evident within recent American jurisprudence. While the American constitutional tradition has limited freedom of expression upon the basis of a rather parochial definition of the liberal “harm principle” (such as Oliver Wendell Holmes's “clear and present danger” test), the Canadian tradition has extended that definition to include the presence of a broader and more pervasive sense of “social” harm, including the sort of harm which MacKinnon addresses within this book. While critics may decry such legislative “social engineering,” as represented by Canadian “hate crime” statutes, and judicial intervention that are compared so favorably here, MacKinnon offers a very real challenge to prevailing American constitutional norms which must not be dismissed in a cavalier fashion.

Even if one rejects MacKinnon's final analysis as presented within this work (and it does appear to be too unqualified to be sustained entirely), the legitimacy of the challenge itself should not be denied. There is a growing diversity of approaches regarding women, society, and sexually explicit expression from a theoretical and a policy perspective. Regardless of one's attitudes regarding the author and her thesis, Only Words makes a valid and notable contribution to that growing body of literature.