Edith Wharton; about the best, simple thing about any writer is that she knew what the Hell she was saying. I could say that without reservation about Tolstoy, but not Hemingway.
I think Kate Chopin was a better writer than she was given credit for, and I don’t automatically assume that all women writers of the past suffered this same injustice. There were plenty of successful Fanny Hursts churning out stories to be read while nibbling Fanny Farmer candies, of equal nutritonal dearth.
I really wish I could read a women writer who’d bring what a woman could to transgressive fiction, but I have not. This goes into my wish for transgressive fiction to be what it could be and more than what the majority of what it is: icky for the sake of icky and claiming a greater pedigree than it’s earned the rights to. But that’s a whole 'nother thread.