In other reviews of this book, I keep reading words like “impressive,” “hilarious” and “imaginative.” I guess I must have been reading the wrong book, because the words I’d use to describe Disappearing Ingenue: The Misadventures of Eleanor Stoddard include "boring," "clichéd" and "for Chrissakes can we stop writing about whiny, screwed-up Baby Boomers?" Our heroine, Eleanor Stoddard, is no different than the dozens of other Boomer women I’ve read about in dozens of other books. Her struggles with sexuality, religion, death and other life problems shed no new light on any of these subjects, and her supposedly bizarre adventures have been (and most certainly will continue to be) easily out-bizarred by scores of more talented authors. Hell, Audre Lorde’s autobiography was more exciting and bizarre than this collection of fictional stories. So dull, I can’t even muster up enough emotion to hate it.