You know those celebrity memoirs that are clearly ghostwritten, stilted, and pseudo-deep?
Yeah, this isn’t one of those. This is pure Carrie Fisher, demented and crooked and wise and bluntly funny and irreverent.
I really recommend listening to the audiobook. Carrie reads it herself and I think her delivery adds a lot. Plus, of course, it’s rather moving to hear her voice now, as if from the grave. The writing also sounds like something meant to be read aloud, very conversational.
She starts off with her incredibly wild childhood as the daughter of Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher. One memorable incident involved her teenage brother accidentally shooting himself in the leg, barely missing his penis, and getting his famous mother Debbie Reynolds arrested and booked for possession of an unlicensed firearm. Debbie then asked her daughter Carrie and her hairdresser Pinkie to go to their house and hide all the firearms and drugs before the police got there, all said in a Transatlantic accent peppered with lots of “dears.”
Carrie called her father Puff Daddy because he smoked 4 joints a day, and her mother bought both Carrie and her own mother (i.e. Carrie’s grandmother) vibrators for Christmas. If that doesn’t sum up her childhood, I don’t know what does.
Then she proceeds to go through her life as an adult, her fame (someone told her to go fuck herself, so she bought the Princess Leia sex doll and spent hours trying to fuck herself in a hotel room), her struggles with mental illness, and particularly her drug and alcohol dependence. Though it’s heavy material, the book itself is never heavy; Carrie intersperses it all with great humor.
Some memorable quotes I bookmarked:
“My mother thought it would be a good idea for me to have a child with her last husband Richard, because it would have nice eyes. My mother had gone through the change, so she could no longer have children, and Richard had no children of his own yet. And he had nice eyes. My womb was free, and we’re related. Now, my mother didn’t bring this up just once or twice like a normal mother would. She brought it up many many times, mostly while I was driving. And when I finally suggested to her that this might be an odd idea, she said, ‘Oh darling, have you read The Inquirer lately? We live in a very strange world.’ But when The Inquirer becomes your standard for living, you’re in a lot of trouble.”
“[That I just had to go to the AA meetings, but didn’t have to like them] was a revelation. I thought I had to like everything I did. And for me, that usually meant I had to take a boatload of dope. Which I did, for many many years. But if what this person told me were true, then I didn’t actually have to be comfortable all the time— if I could in fact learn to experience of quota of discomfort— it would be awesome news.”
“I basically just have too much personality for one person, and not quite enough for two.”
“Everything seems so much better when you’re infatuated with someone else, and you’re telling each other everything about yourself, like I’m a Libra, I like fireflies on a summer night, I like long moonlit walks on the beach on acid . . . ”
“You have to sign yourself into the mental hospital. Like commitment papers, I guess. But I was so far gone at the time I didn’t know what I was signing, or doing, so when they finally put the papers in front of me, I took the papers and signed with my left hand, ‘Shame.’ That’s how I signed in for the mental hospital. How sad is that?”
~~~~~~~Book Riot's Read Harder Challenge~~~~~~~
#12: A celebrity memoir