review

Adee's writings have a purity that I envy. As a writer, reading her collections, I become excited by the energy that every line possesses. There is nothing there on that page that has not come straight out of her. It is absolutely addictive reading that makes me wish my writing had an ounce of that purity, personal truth and urgent energy.
As a reader, reading her work is like arriving at a fountain after crawling through a dark fucking dry yellow land. Bukowski once said that, as a young writer, after spending time in the library trying to read the supposed literary greats, he was starving for a truth that flowed without manufactured sentences and thoughts. John Fante was the only writer who fed that starvation. I feel that way about Adee. I can't stand manufactured writing; that sweet, assembly-line, Columbia built, multi-influenced effect writing. Expressing a thought through a "tried and true" method only makes me slam the book closed, book after book, like Bukowski, day after day, in that library. Adee doesn't even know the word "manufacture". Call it "stream of conscious" call it "modern prose poetry" I don't give a fuck. There are no filters that her words pass through before they hit the page. It is pure expression. And that is all I want. And it happens to be an expression that I relate to and find joy in. It is a unique command of words that she possesses and an instinctual way she has to make them dance to her own groove. And once you tap in you hope it goes on and on.
                     -peter rinaldi, writer/filmmaker