It’s difficult not to compare this book with Tina Fey’s. I’m less familiar with Amy Poehler’s body of work (never watched much SNL, and I know I’ll enjoy Parks and Recreation when I watch it, but that hasn’t happened yet), so I’m judging this book on its own.
The first thing Amy makes clear is that she found the book-writing process especially difficult, and this book is lucky to exist at all. I’m a writer who well appreciates the difficulty of finishing a story, so I sympathize, but I do feel she went on a bit long about it.
My favorite parts of the book were those detailing her path to success, even the less glamorous times. I’m fascinated with whatever it took to get her where she is now, even the years that were just a slog, as she points out when talking about the overly hopeful artists who drop scripts into her lap while she’s sleeping on the train.
Other things she’s refreshingly forthright about:
- being a divorced mom of two boys in her early forties, and about the times she was sad.
- her trip to Haiti after the earthquake, and how she couldn’t entirely avoid the typical self-absorbed white woman thoughts, but caught herself reprovingly
- her experiences with drugs and how she laments the drink-and-drive culture of her hometown