When my millennial spouse asked what I was reading here, I was quiet for longer than usual before coming out with "...she was really cool in the nineties". And she was, wasn't she? There are fragments of it preserved in films – not least that fabulous double act with Richard E Grant in the deeply underrated Hudson Hawk – but they weren't really why Sandra Bernhard was a big deal, any more than the later acting roles of Peter Cook or Peter Ustinov explain their significance. Yes, I'm sure you can watch the chat show appearances &c on YouTube now, but that wouldn't have the same impact as it used to when media was so much narrower and out of nowhere these fabulous, larger than life figures would just be there, making the world more fun all of a sudden. To be honest, I was expecting this memoir to disappoint, something like that slightly forced gag-heavy, US-stand-up-turned-writer effect of Carrie Fisher's books, which I like less than everyone else seems to. But it's not that at all, much more wistful and fragmentary, written in small sections (often just a paragraph, seldom more than a page) separated by a curious device which looks halfway between yin-yang and a dark elf throwing star. They more often end in a sense of lost time or bittersweet memory than a laugh: "That's the way Arizona was, kind of like thumbing through a magazine, looking at the pictures, then having somebody throw it out before you ever got to read the stories." And I have no idea how much of it is true, but I really hope the Isaac Bashevis Singer story is, not least because this bumped my first go at reading him, so the coincidence is perfect. It all adds up to a strangely tentative read; even more than the acting roles, the book is at most circumstantial evidence of the charm and chutzpah of her, her role in pop culture back then. But for some types of fame, once they've slipped far enough into the past, that's the best we get.