RIP, my crush on Zambreno, now at a complete end after her pushing two mediocre books into the market this year, bemoaning her lack of motivation/energy/whatever since she birthed a baby. Did motherhood rot her brain somehow, or have I outgrown her? I no longer need her roadmap to discover other writers, movies, poets, historical figures. Instead, she comes off as a nervous name dropper, trying to gin up an intellectual reputation for herself by dropping enough Kathy Ackers into the stream, or going on and on about how someone else may have plagiarized her idea for writing about Barbara Loden (the other author did a much better job than Zambreno could have). At one point she determines to name all the new narrative poets like Killian and Bellamy. There’s plenty of Valerie Solanas and Shulamith Firestone and Warhol and Susan Sontag here for anyone in need of a basic guidebook for intellectualism 101. Perhaps most pitiable were the “stories” she frontloads the book with, snippets of misfired brain synapses and musings only a mother could love. Dullsville.