This is by no means the best written book I’ve read this year–which is a shame, because Carrie Fisher is a skillful writer. It is, however, probably the funniest thing I’ve read since I Love You, Beth Cooper.

Adapted from her one-woman show, Wishful Thinking is an autobiography by anecdote–a series of recollections from her star-studded childhood, through her early addictions while starting in film, through her later addictions and failed marriages, and to her hospitalization in a mental health facility and electroshock therapy–and a bunch of stuff in between.

Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it? Well, here’s the opening paragraphs, where she explains that.

I have to start by telling you that my entire existence could be summed up in one phrase. And that is: If my life wasn’t funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.

What that really means, other than what it sounds like, is, let’s say something happens and from a certain slant maybe it’s tragic, even a little bit shocking. Then time passes and you go to the funny slant, and now that very same thing can no longer do you any harm.

So what we’re really talking about then is: location, location, location.

Fisher’s clearly at the point where this material can do her no harm, what it can do is entertain. You can hear her voice reading the book–I’ve got to remember to see if she reads the audiobook, gotta grab it–I can only imagine how fun seeing the show would be.

Yes, there are cheap shots at Republicans, Sarah Palin, President Bush, and several other things that will offend many. But Fisher is so refreshingly honest and frank in telling her story that you really just don’t care.