Carrie Fisher is very funny and writes well, in snappy sentences that go down like potato chips. And the effect is about as healthy. I got tired of the one-liners about her show-business upbringing. In case you haven't heard, her mom was Debbie Reynolds and her dad was Eddie Fischer, a couple she calls the "Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt" of their generation. But hey, in this case, you can judge this book by its cover: Carrie's still working her Princess Leia/Star Wars schtick over three decades after the fact. So far, so great, if you're a fan. I'd give the book three stars if not for one problem: she advocates electroshock therapy. Hah, hah, she's had so many treatments she forgets her way to the dressing room while on set. Well, if you're not a famous writer/actress/Hollywood princess, I'd suggest you read "Doctors of Deception" if you're considering following Carrie down that path. There's nothing funny about electroshock, which causes a closed head injury that releases masses of endorphins (hence the temporary feelings of euphoria), damages short-term memory, and lasts only as long as the worst of its effects do, about six months. Oh, except that cognitive impairment and memory loss can be permanent. Seems to me that if someone's abused their brain chemistry with illegal drugs and alcohol, psychiatric drugs and electrocution are a big no. It's okay of readers think I'm a judgmental you-know-what for saying this. And no, I haven't had electroshock myself. It's just that I've known people who have been subjected to electroshock, and because they're not celebrities with photographers and book contracts and editors to make them look good, their stories of horror and loss aren't often heard.