This style is fine but it too often feels as though the person telling the story isn’t sure of the point they want to make as they talk. The narrative flows and meanders in the manner of someone telling a story. If you’ve ever seen Carrie Fisher on stage, or if you’ve read Wishful Drinking, her memoir, you know that she has a very stream-of conscious style. Her relationship with her mother is only passingly referred to, and it’s difficult to tell if the longing you feel for more time with the mother is genuinely derived from the pages or a result of wanting what you saw in the movie. Instead, Postcards is more like a series of vignettes in the life of actress Susan Vale as she struggles toward sobriety. It’s a great shock, then, to read Postcards from the Edge in this modern context. It’s her most famous work as an author and it just so happens to be a thinly fictionalized version of Fisher’s own relationship with her mother. Author Carrie Fisher’s unexpected death (followed closely by her mother, Debbie Reynolds’ own passing) last December also gave the book a sort of notoriety. First of all, the movie adaptation is extremely well regarded and features sterling performances from Meryl Streep and Shirley MacLaine as a complicated mother and daughter in Hollywood. It’s difficult to come into Postcards from the Edge without a certain expectation.
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