In high school, I took four years of English, including advanced classes. I can only remember reading two works by women in all of high school, and they were both poems. One was by Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) and the other by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886). And I went to an all-girls school, where catering to the reading tastes and styles of boys wasn’t even an issue.
I just went through my set text list from my A-levels (and, fyi, I was at an All Girls school, and had one male English teacher and one female English teacher).
The Tempest, The Great Gatsby, the poetry of Sylvia Plath, The Handmaid’s Tale, Mrs Warren’s Profession, Don Juan, The Duchess of Malfi, The Beaux Strategem, Jane Eyre. That’s actually 1/3 female writers, which is quite impressive (although, if I ever have to read Plath again, it’ll be too soon). But it’s also not representative of my bookshelves as a whole, or even of the authors whose books you’ll be pulling from my cold dead hands (Wodehouse, Dickens, Murakami, Makine, Wallace…)
Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go and pull Ali Smith, Barbara Kingsolver and Marianne Robinson off the bookshelves and actually get around to reading them.