I, the Worst of All is a complex and heterogeneous book that combines Lamat's intense, almost manic lyricism with her prodigious mythopoeic imagination. The result is a challenging and ambitious project that invites multiple readings and rewards extended lingerings within its dense, linguistic thicket…This book quite literally takes your breath away–because of the demanding pace of Lamat's language (" language pours from me from every / pore ," she says in the book's opening invocation) and because of the hyperbolic ferocity of her "my eyes see / my forehead sees / and my fingers see / as if I were a huge uterus bombing clairvoyant sons." This is a vatic poetry that bombards the reader with bizarre visions that are as beautiful as they are terrifying.