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I'm hoping that this will turn out to be the biggest literary let-down of 2015, because I can't think what could be worse. You know how Gordon is famous for being icy, opaque, inscrutable? This memoir is.. icy, opaque and inscrutable. Page after page of naming art dealers, a statement at the beginning about her whole reason for writing the book was because of her marriage ending - and you find out *nothing* about her relationship with her former husband, Thurston Moore. She disses several other well known female musicians with a kind of off-hand 'meh'. If you didn't know anything about KG before you read the book, don't worry - you'll know almost less after you read it.
All of which would be bearable if her writing was nimble, quirky or interesting. But 99% of it isn't. Really disappointing.