Words from a Princess
Sunday, I finished reading my sixtieth book of the year. I questioned my logic at the beginning of the year, to finish The Count of Monte Cristo and read Rebecca for my mom before starting my standard six professional books and fifty-odd genre books. I read half of one book in January, when I was supposed to read at least five.
Even so, I made it.
To celebrate, I’m reading Wishful Drinking, by Carrie Fisher.
Postcards from the Edge is one of my favorite books of all time. I read it when I was in eighth grade. It was one of the most adult books I’d read at the time. It’s probably still one of the most adult books I’ve ever read about drugs. (Yes, I’ve read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Meh.)
Postcards was the book I picked up again the summer between ninth and tenth grades, when I contemplated suicide. And again between eleventh and twelfth grades, just because. I’ve re-read Postcards more than any other book, except Witch Week by Diana Wynne Jones.
For that reason, I didn’t pick it up again. It seemed unfair to continue reading old words from a woman who left us so many words, so many books, both fictional and biographical.
Wishful Drinking is everything I needed it to be. It’s her voice, the familiar friend I grew up watching. There must be millions of girls, just like me, who wanted so much to be like Princess Leia. So much so, we watched every single movie, from The Burbs to When Harry Met Sally, wishing for more screen time for our favorite actress.
She was funny, real, beautiful, ruthless, and honest to a fault. She admitted her pitfalls. She wrote about addiction, celebrity, life, death, and everything between. She was an amazing human being. The world lost a true light last December. I’m so sad she’s no longer here.
That’s why I take solace in her words. Irreverent, honest words. Words from a Princess.
Tomorrow, I’m going to enjoy one of her final movies. Then, I’m going to binge-watch Family Guy just to hear her voice.