Andrew's Reviews > Heroines

Kate Zambreno is at her best when she is writing about writers. When she is writing about her own academic life, she verges on obnoxious. “Canon/cannon,” really? Which is a shame, because a lot of her more memoir-y books are actually really excellent in a fun, scattershot way. But when you groan about the lack of vegan options when you’re among the heathens of Ohio, you’re not winning me any points. Nor are you when you’re banging on about how you hate a specific kind of novel because it reminds you of some dude you used to bang (and I think she's referring to Garth Risk Hallberg?). I mean I want to be on your team, when you a deliver a line like…

“I realize my therapist has probably never read Deleuze. I remember I am against psychiatry. I don’t return.”

…then I want to like you because it’s both bitchy as hell and also laden with implicit self-criticism, which inspires empathy. And like I said, when she writes about writers and their foibles, she’s amusing. But I only have so much time for gripes about insufficient inclusivity in the academy.