If you're interested in reading Boland, this is the book to get. Here you see a genuine artist grimly struggling with the details of her craft and often managing to say the true and difficult thing. Something terrible happens in the later books, I'm afraid, in which Boland develops possibly the worst case of complacency and hubris in contemporary poetry. It's almost as if she loses all faith in language and stakes her claim entirely on the basis of sociology, on being "an important voice" that must be heard. There are just too many other voices out there who are still struggling with their art, who have not yet succumbed to vanity and cashing in on the benefits of being an overstuffed "public" poet (facilitated by the academy, unfortunately, with their fat endowed chairs and inflated reading fees) to seriously accept the later books along with the grand claims Boland demands for them. This book, though, gives hints of what might have been.