"Renee Gladman has always struck me as being a dreamer—she writes that way and the dreaming seems to construct the architecture of the world unfolding before our reading eyes."
—Eileen Myles
"Gladman’s talent for linguistic architecture makes for a supple, tight promenade through heady ideas whose appeal rests on the implicit connection it draws between a people, their language, and the shape of communication."
—Publishers Weekly
"She offers entry into a deliciously unsettling “narrative,” really, a sort of adventure. She reassembles art she likes and makes new art—all in service of creating a new art “experience,” suggesting a chain-letter of creation."
—Olivia Cronk, Bookslut
"Her wrestling with the basic ideas of fiction—and its osmotic border with poetry—can lead to spectacular instances of art, passages at home in strangeness, maneuvering with uncanny grace in fields of indeterminacy and unknowing."
—Eugene Lim
"Renee Gladman has always struck me as being a dreamer—she writes that way and the dreaming seems to construct the architecture of the world unfolding before our reading eyes."
—Eileen Myles
"Gladman’s talent for linguistic architecture makes for a supple, tight promenade through heady ideas whose appeal rests on the implicit connection it draws between a people, their language, and the shape of communication."
—Publishers Weekly
"She offers entry into a deliciously unsettling “narrative,” really, a sort of adventure. She reassembles art she likes and makes new art—all in service of creating a new art “experience,” suggesting a chain-letter of creation."
—Olivia Cronk, Bookslut
"Her wrestling with the basic ideas of fiction—and its osmotic border with poetry—can lead to spectacular instances of art, passages at home in strangeness, maneuvering with uncanny grace in fields of indeterminacy and unknowing."
—Eugene Lim
