We listened to Sarah Silverman’s memoir while driving to and from the North Shore last week.

She’s far kinder than this cover photo implies. As a traditional memoir should, Silverman discusses her childhood, her beginnings in comedy, and life as an actress/writer. I pushed this book to the back of my to-read list because I thought it was going to be satire. Far from it, my friends (hint: she really was a bedwetter). Even the dog was too entertained to sleep:

Silverman is a compassionate person who just happens to have a raunchy sense of humor. Maybe it’s that crudeness that actually gives life to the compassion. She has an eye for the human experience and a way of talking about depression that is more inclusive than I’ve ever heard. I laughed out loud. I winced at the embarrassing moments. You can’t ask for much more from an audiobook. I’ve said it before, the audiobook is the way to go with celebrity memoirs. Silverman’s intonation and voice-work pulls the whole piece together. Read it. Really.

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