This felt, quite literally, like reading Carrie Fisher’s diary. There are excerpts from her personal journals, of course, but the entire book was a series of ruminations about the blurry delineation between Carrie and Leia. It’s a curious melange of lighthearted reflections and painful self-criticism. 

Although it’s clearly not her intent, Harrison Ford comes out looking rather—um—concerning. 

I’m not entirely sure how to rate this book. It was illuminating, to be sure. She dives well into the complicated, off-putting nature of parasocial relationships. But more than anything else, it feels quite sad, especially now that she has passed.