Somewhere a few chapters or so into this book there was an essay–well, a chapter, really—about homework. It appeared to have *nothing* to do with the book’s subject, and that was because it didn’t. Flipping to the front of the book I saw the listing of the essays that had been previously published in magazines and other books. As I continued to read, it was absurdly evident that this book was a patchwork of repurposed prewritten work that often had little to nothing to do with the subject of Bad Mothers. The first chapter was clearly all that she had in her to write on the subject; an essay’s worth. Aside from that annoyance, I also came to dislike the author by the book’s end. Enough already about her wanting to jump her husband still, 15 years into their marriage. Enough already about living in entitled liberal-groovy Berkeley. Enough already about how smart she and her husband are. And when she touched on topics that had the potential to be compelling—like her bipolar disorder—she discussed them at such a high level, their was nothing interesting or compelling about them. After all the repurposed ramblings I did finally feel like I got a sense of who Ayelet Waldman is, and the distinct feeling that I have no need to get to know her any better, bad mother or not.