Don't know what to say/think about this one; maybe it represents my struggle to figure out how to weigh/understand poetic craft vs. content. There's no right answer, of course—but this is one of those instances where I don't feel like I can say much that's just in the way of legitimate criticism—only that a good portion of the collection didn't sit well with me. (And here I am, feeling like I'm heading off the topic-cliff of taste and its whims.)

I've read some various poems in here. I quite liked them, but want to read Olds extensively.

I love the poetry of Sharon Olds, and recommend this collection highly. Her narrative style and unwavering voice bring her subject matters, often wrenching, a particular unique sensitivity. ( )

Sharon Olds writes a looser, more conversational verse. In this lovely book, she discusses childhood (and relations with parents), womanhood (and relations with boyfriends), and motherhood (and relations with children). She is unafraid to let her speaker name body parts, blood, and abuses, to speak uncertain things, and those that may be unconventional. Yet, through all of the violence and the fear, the speaker remains affectionate and hopeful. I believe this is what makes it the gold cell: a seed of treasure for the future. This is a very living book.

This book is probably not appropriate for anyone unprepared for graphic descriptions in their poetry, by age, training, or nature. ( )

The first book of Olds's that I read, and still the one that resonates with me. Olds is a bad-ass. ( )