The collection embodies the title. Whether we are mad (free-spirited), crazy (victimized) or insane (fed-up), McCallum's Madwoman has a poem for us. They remind me of skin in varying conditions: some are brittle and dry, others are soft and fleshy while a few are sweaty the way only tropical humidity can make you greasy-greasy. No matter what, they all mad. They all celebrate women who are just too much for someone/thing, while acknowledging a history of colonialism and colourism without losing sight of the *woman* at core of each poem.