Like most of the planet, I mourned Carrie’s “drowning by moonlight, strangled by her bra” death at the end of last year. Reading this book was at times painful, her voice clearly coming through the pages, her snark and sass encapsulated for all time. I wish I’d known she was a writer before she was gone. This is a quick read, 160ish pages including some photos interspersed. She slays, continually. Her love for mother, Debbie Reynolds, and daughter, Billie Lourd, and brother Todd comes through strong. Her disdain for Eddie Fisher (pop) and his continuous face lifts and marriages is equally strong; her acknowledgement to him at the end “To my father, Puff Daddy, who gave in part by taking away —thanks for the highest grade of absence available on Earth.” I didn’t realize that she’d had ECT to fight the bi-polar disorder, and also didn’t know that it wipes your memory. Her answering machine asked you to leave name/number/and brief history of how you know Carrie. There’s humor and sadness and candid exposure. She was an honest soul. I’m looking forward to reading the rest of her work.