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The Princess Diarist Paperback – October 24, 2017

by Carrie Fisher (Author)

4.1 7,919 ratings

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This last book from beloved Hollywood icon Carrie Fisher is the crown jewel of ideal Star Wars gifts. The Princess Diarist is an intimate, hilarious, and revealing recollection of what happened behind the scenes on one of the most famous film sets of all time.

When Carrie Fisher discovered the journals she kept during the filming of the first Star Wars movie, she was astonished to see what they had preserved—plaintive love poems, unbridled musings with youthful naiveté, and a vulnerability that she barely recognized. Before her passing, her fame as an author, actress, and pop-culture icon was indisputable, but in 1977, Carrie Fisher was just a teenager with an all-consuming crush on her costar, Harrison Ford.

With these excerpts from her handwritten notebooks, The Princess Diarist is Fisher’s intimate and revealing recollection of what happened on one of the most famous film sets of all time—and what developed behind the scenes. Fisher also ponders the joys and insanity of celebrity, and the absurdity of a life spawned by Hollywood royalty, only to be surpassed by her own outer-space royalty. Laugh-out-loud hilarious and endlessly quotable, The Princess Diarist brims with the candor and introspection of a diary while offering shrewd insight into one of Hollywood's most beloved stars.

Review

Praise for The Princess Diarist
People Magazine’s Best Book of Fall 2016

“Fisher offers a thoughtful, sardonic meditation on the price of fame, cost-of-living adjustments included.”—J.D. Biersdorfer, The New York Times Book Review

“Characteristically frank and unflinching, funny and true...The Princess Diarist is about a woman’s relationship with desire—her own, and of others’ for her—writ large, as large as Star Wars.”—Julianne Escobedo Shepherd, Jezebel.com

“In her funny and frequently touching new memoir The Princess Diarist, the iconic Star Wars actress and author reveals the diaries she kept as a 19-year-old starring in the blockbuster sci-fi film.... It’s an eye-opener for fans, but it also shows a gifted writer even at a young age. There was a lot going on between Princess Leia’s hair buns.”—Brian Truitt, USA Today

“There’s tremendous insight into the volatile heart of a young woman, seen through the eyes of her wiser, older self still seeking her place in the universe.”—Anthony Breznican, Entertainment Weekly

“Are you a woman who’s ever fallen for a man who might fit this description? ‘With him love was easier done than said/instead of taking you to heart he would take you to bed/and you take what he has to offer lying down/you’re getting more involved while he’s still getting around.’ Yes? Read on...[The Princess Diarist] is a radical truth bomb.”—Julia Felsenthal, VOGUE.com

“An unflinching, sometimes painful, sometimes hilarious look inside the mind of a 19-year-old actress in the throes of a Hollywood locationship.”—Meredith Woerner, Los Angeles Times

“An unexpectedly emotional read.”—The Verge

“Fisher [is] a force to be reckoned with, both on the page and in real life.”—Heather Havrilevsky, Bookforum

“A frank, self-deprecating memoir...outspoken, honest commentary of what it's like to be Princess Leia on and off the screen.”—Kirkus Reviews

“The Princess Diarist...is about the making of Star Wars in 1976, but it’s definitely not for the kids — a wry, witty look back through the diaries she kept at the time, its main event is her steamy affair with co-star Harrison Ford.”—Colette Bancroft, Tampa Bay Times

About the Author

Carrie Fisher was an author and actress best known for her role as Princess Leia in the Star Wars franchise. She appeared in countless other films, including Shampoo and When Harry Met Sally and wrote four bestselling novels: Surrender the Pink, Delusions of Grandma, The Best Awful, and Postcards from the Edge, as well as the memoirs Shockaholic and Wishful Drinking. She passed away in December 2016.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

From The Princess Diarist:

George Lucas held his auditions for Star Wars in an office on a lot in Hollywood. It was in one of those faux-Spanish cream-colored buildings from the thirties with dark orange-tiled roofs and black-iron-grated windows, lined with sidewalks in turn lined with trees—pine trees, I think they were, the sort that shed their needles generously onto the street below—and interrupted by parched patches of once-green lawns.
Everything was a little worse for the wear, but good things would happen in these buildings. Lives would be led, businesses would prosper, and men would attend meetings—hopeful meetings, meetings where big plans were made and ideas were proposed. But of all the meetings that had ever been held in that particular office, none of them could compare in world impact with the casting calls for the Star Wars movie.
A plaque could be placed on the outside of this building that states, “On this spot the Star Wars films conducted their casting sessions. In this building the actors and actresses entered and exited until only three remained. These three were the actors who ultimately played the lead parts of Han, Luke, and Leia.”
I’ve told the story of getting cast as Princess Leia many times before—in interviews, on horseback, and in cardiac units—so if you’ve previously heard this story before, I apologize for requiring some of your coveted store of patience. I know how closely most of us tend to hold on to whatever cache of patience we’ve managed to amass over a lifetime and I appreciate your squandering some of your cherished stash here.

George gave me the impression of being smaller than he was because he spoke so infrequently. I first encountered his all-but-silent presence at these auditions—the first of which he held with the director Brian De Palma. Brian was casting his horror film Carrie, and they both required an actress between the age of eighteen and twenty-two. I was the right age at the right time, so I read for both George and Brian.
George had directed two other feature films up till then, THX 1138, starring Robert Duvall, and American Graffiti, starring Ron Howard and Cindy Williams. The roles I met with the two directors for that first day were Princess Leia in Star Wars and Carrie in Carrie. I thought that last role would be a funny casting coup if I got it: Carrie as Carrie in Carrie. I doubt that that was why I never made it to the next level with Carrie—but it didn’t help as far as I was concerned that there would have to be a goofy film poster advertising a serious horror film.
I sat down before the two directors behind their respective desks. Mr. Lucas was all but mute. He nodded when I entered the room, and Mr. De Palma took over from there. He was a big man, and not merely because he spoke more— or spoke, period. Brian sat on the left and George on the right, both bearded. As if you had two choices in director sizes. Only I didn’t have the choice—they did.
Brian cleared his bigger throat of bigger things and said, “So I see here you’ve been in the film Shampoo?”
I knew this, so I simply nodded, my face in a tight white-toothed smile. Maybe they would ask me something requiring more than a nod.
“Did you enjoy working with Warren?”
“Yes, I did!” That was easy! I had enjoyed working with him, but Brian’s look told me that wasn’t enough of an answer. “He was . . .”
What was he? They needed to know! “He helped me work . . . a lot. I mean, he and the other screenwriter . . . they worked with me.” Oh my God, this wasn’t going well.
Mr. De Palma waited for more, and when more wasn’t forthcoming, he attempted to help me. “How did they work with you?”
Oh, that’s what they wanted to know! “They had me do the scene over and over, and with food. There was eating in the scene. I had to offer Warren a baked apple and then I ask him if he’s making it with my mother—sleeping with her—you know.”
George almost smiled; Brian actually did. “Yes, I know what ‘making it’ means.”
I flushed. I considered stopping this interview then and there. But I soldiered on.
“No, no, that’s the dialogue. ‘Are you making it with my mother?’ I asked him that because I hate my mother. Not in real life, I hate my mother in the movie, partly because she is sleeping with Warren—who’s the hairdresser. Lee Grant played my mom, but I didn’t really have any scenes with her, which is too bad because she’s a great actress. And Warren is a great actor and he also wrote the movie, with Robert Towne, which is why they both worked with me. With food. It sounded a lot more natural when you talk with food in your mouth. Not that you do that in your movies. Maybe in the scary movie, but I don’t know the food situation in space.” The meeting seemed to be going better.
“What have you done since Shampoo?” George asked.
I repressed the urge to say I had written three symphonies and learned how to perform dental surgery on monkeys, and instead told the truth.
“I went to school in England. Drama school. I went to the Central School of Speech and Drama.” I was breathless with information. “I mean I didn’t just go, I’m still going. I’m home on Christmas vacation.”
I stopped abruptly to breathe. Brian was nodding, his eyebrows headed off to his hair in something like surprise. He asked me politely about my experience at school, and I responded politely as George watched impassively. (I would come to discover that George’s expression wasn’t indifferent or anything like it. It was shy and discerning, among many other things, including intelligent, studious, and— and a word like “darling.” Only not that word, because it’s too young and androgynous, and besides which, and most important, George would hate it.)
“What do you plan on doing if you get one of these jobs you’re meeting on?” continued Brian.
“I mean, it really would depend on the part, but . . . I guess I’d leave. I mean I know I would. Because I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Brian interrupted. The meeting continued but I was no longer fully present—utterly convinced that I’d screwed up by revealing myself to be so disloyal. Leave my school right in the middle for the first job that came along?
Soon after, we were done. I shook each man’s hand as I moved to the door, leading off to the gallows of obscurity. George’s hand was firm and cool.
I returned to the outer office knowing full well that I would be going back to school. “Miss Fisher,” a casting assistant said. I froze, or would have, if we weren’t in sunny Los Angeles. “Here are your sides. Two doors down. You’ll read on video.” My heart pounded everywhere a pulse can get to.
The scene from Carrie involved the mother (who would be memorably played by Piper Laurie). A dark scene, where the people are not okay. But the scene in Star Wars—there were no mothers there! There was authority and confidence and command in the weird language that was used. Was I like this? Hopefully George would think so, and I could pretend I thought so, too. I could pretend I was a princess whose life went from chaos to crisis without looking down between chaoses to find, to her relief, that her dress wasn’t torn.

I have no recollection now of how I felt reading the two scenes. I can only assume I beat myself up loud and long. Did they like me? Did they think I was fat? Did they think I looked like a bowl of oatmeal with features? Four little dark dots in one big flat pale face (“Me pale face—you Tonto”). Did they think I looked pretty enough? Was I likable enough for me to relax at all? Not on your life. Because (a) there was no relaxing anywhere in my general area, and (b) there was no relaxing anywhere in show business.
But George must have thought I did well enough to have me back. They sent me the Star Wars script so I could practice it before the last reading. I remember opening the manila envelope it came in very carefully, one edge at a time, before removing its unknown cargo. It didn’t look any different from other scripts—cardboard-like paper on each end, protecting the ordinary paper within—covered in antlike scratches of letters. I don’t know why, but I wanted to read this screenplay out loud.
Enter Miguel Ferrer. Miguel wasn’t certain that he wanted to be an actor yet—like me. But we were both intrigued enough that we continued exploring. Like me, he came from a show business background. His father was the actor José Ferrer and his mother the singer/actress Rosemary Clooney. We were friends, and I called him up and asked him to read this script with me. He arrived at my mother’s newer, much smaller house—since her dramatically reduced financial circumstances due to a second failed marriage—and we went to my bedroom on the second floor.
Like every young man wanting to be an actor in Hollywood then, he had also read for the film, so both of us were dimly aware what we were in store for. We sat on my bed and began to read. From the first page—STAR WARS: A SPACE FANTASY—the images and characters jumped off the pages. Not only into our minds, but into the chairs and other furniture that surrounded us. I’m exaggerating (a little) but it could have jumped onto the furniture, eaten all of it, and drank the blood of an Englishman—because it was as epic as any fee-fi-fo-fum rhyme you ever heard.
The images of space opened around us, planets and stars floated by. The character I was reading for, Leia, was kidnapped by the evil Darth Vader—kidnapped and hung upside down when the smuggler pilot Han Solo (who Miguel was reading for) and his giant monkey creature copilot Chewbacca rescued me. I had been (in the script) upside down and unconscious with yellow eyes. I’ll never forget that image. Whoever got the part of the princess named Leia would get to do this. I would potentially get to do this! Maybe—if I was lucky—I would be rescued by Han and Chewbacca (Chewie!) from the caverns underneath wherever they’d tortured me, and Chewie would carry me, slung over his shoulder through thigh deep water as we made it out of (interplanetary) harm’s way.
Unfortunately, none of this imagery was ever realized due to a combination of cost and the fact that Peter Mayhew—who they hired to play Chewie—couldn’t do the stunt due to his extreme height of over 7 feet. He had a condition that left him unable to stand up quickly and remain stable; it was impossible for him to lift up weight of any kind. And my weight, as everyone at Lucasland can recall, was, and remains, of the “any kind” variety.
But I can safely say that any girl cast in the part of the feisty Princess Leia would’ve been of the any kind size— because once Peter was cast, the lifting and being carried through those thigh-high drenched caverns was out. But I also recall hearing that the water-engulfed caverns were quite an expensive set to build, and this was a low-budget film, so they were out for that reason—leaving only Leia’s unconsciousness and those yellow eyes. Most of us know how inexpensive unconsciousness is or was to achieve, so that wouldn’t have been a budget problem—just inappropriate. But by the time you lose Peter’s inability to carry any feisty princess and consider the cost-ineffective underground water caverns—it doesn’t matter how beautifully you can portray insensibility—it ain’t happening anyway.
The Force was put in me (in a non-invasive way) by the script that day with Miguel, and it has remained in me ever since. I ended up reading for the film with a new actor, an actor I’d never seen before, but then he had never seen me, either. I’ll bet since that reading with me he’s rued the day—if he can get his strong hands on a rue that is—and if anyone could get their hands on a rue or a Woo it was Harrison Ford. We read together in a room in that same building I’d met George and Brian De Palma in. I was so nervous about the reading I don’t remember much about Harrison, and given how nervous Harrison would come to make me, that was plenty frightened indeed.
The following week, my agent, a man who’d been my mother’s agent, Wilt Melnick, and was now mine, called me.
“Carrie?” he asked.
I knew my name. So I let him know I knew it. “Yeah,” I said in a voice very like mine. Mine but hollow, mine but it didn’t matter because my stomach had swung into action.
“They called,” he said.
Great, ’cause that was really all I wanted to know. If they called, that they called, not what they said—that didn’t matter.
“They want you,” he continued.
There was a silence.
“They do? I mean they did?”
He laughed, then I laughed and dropped the phone and ran out into the front yard and into the street. It was raining. It didn’t rain in L.A. It was raining in L.A. and I was Princess Leia. I had never been Princess Leia before and now I would be her forever. I would never not be Princess Leia. I had no idea how profoundly true that was and how long forever was.
They would pay me nothing and fly me economy—a fact that would haunt my mother for months—but I was Leia and that was all that truly mattered. I’m Leia—I can live in a tree, but you can’t take that away from me.
I never dreamt there actually might be a day when I maybe hoped that you could

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272 pages
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English
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Blue Rider Press
Publication date

October 24, 2017
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5.5 x 0.6 x 8.2 inches
ISBN-10

0399185798
ISBN-13

978-0399185793
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Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Blue Rider Press; Reprint edition (October 24, 2017)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 272 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0399185798
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0399185793
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 6.4 ounces
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.5 x 0.6 x 8.2 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #125,661 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
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Carrie Fisher

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Carrie Fisher, the daughter of Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher, became an icon when she starred as Princess Leia in the original Star Wars trilogy. Her star-studded career included roles in numerous films such as The Blues Brothers and When Harry Met Sally. She was the author of six bestselling books, most recently The Princess Diarist.

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Michelle Slaughter

For all that I loved her as an actress, her greatest talent was her writing.

Reviewed in the United States on June 1, 2018

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"There's not much in my life that I've kept secret. Many would argue there are certain otherwise-private stories I might've been wiser to keep closer to the vest. That vest knows no proximity." - Carrie Fisher

What in the world can be said about Carrie Fisher's remarkable gift for writing except that it was, in fact, remarkable. For all that I loved her as an actress, for all that I truly ADORED her as my personal hero, Princess Leia, writing was where her true talent lay, and I believe this is where her heart really was.

"The Princess Diarist" was yet another entry into the brilliance of Ms. Fisher's mind, fogged and clouded as it was sometimes with her depression, sparkling at other times with her wit. This was the most personal book she has written, I feel, and one of the most uplifting and most poignant. She tells us in the first chapter that while going through some boxes of old writing she found the diaries she kept while filming the first Star Wars movie forty years beforehand. She begins briefly with how she got into acting 2 years before that, despite never really actively wanting to be in show business at all, and moves quickly to those days of auditions, when she read both for the parts of Princess Leia in "Star Wars" and for the titular part in the horror film "Carrie." "I thought that last role would be a funny casting coup if I got it: Carrie *as* Carrie *in* 'Carrie'." Her recollections of her own inner monologues after the casting call are fun and funny, and the way she remembers reading the script for the first is vivid and touching how much she loved it (even though that script would later be completely redone since Star Wars was not going to have that kind of budget). She tells us how much she wanted the part, how excited she was when she got the call that "they want you." She remembers laughing and running into the street in the rain. "It didn't rain in L.A. It was raining in L.A. and I was Princess Leia. I had never been Princess Leia before and now I would never not be Princess Leia. I had no idea how profoundly true that was and how long forever was."

The biggest chunk of the book is her recollections of the things that happened behind the scenes during the three-month shooting, wrapping up with the crazy-wild reception of the film after it's release. Did you know that the term "blockbuster" was born shortly after "Star Wars" premiered as way to describe the lines going around the block and continuing to the next one? Carrie tells us, "It was *one movie*. It wasn't supposed to do *that.* Nothing ever had. Movies were meant to stay on the scree, flat and large and colorful, gathering you up in their sweep of story, carrying you rollicking along to the end, then releasing you back into your unchanged life. But this movie misbehaved. It leaked out of the theater, poured off the screen, affected a lot of people so deeply that they required endless talismans and artifacts to stay connected to it... And on top of whatever else, Mark, Harrison, and I were the only people who were having this experience. So who do talk to that might understand?" She goes on to say that this was completely unlike starring in your average everyday movie because now she was a household name and there were cameras everywhere. "I had to comport myself with something approaching dignity, at *twenty.*" So her recollections of being in that movie forty years before could and can still apply to young stars today as an object lesson.

The last 2 chapters of the book tell us about Ms. Fisher's more recent fan encounters at the conventions where she signs autographs and gives pictures, how she feels about Leia now (you'll be surprised) and how life as Leia has affected her now that the has distance and perspective of forty years to better dissect the unadulterated fandom that has surrounded this character she brought to life.

Altogether a thoroughly entertaining read, and not just for the fans. Having read excerpts to my 65 year old mother who was never a fan (though she had been forced to at least peripherally watch the original trilogy multiple times due to *my* fandom and the fact that we were never so well off that there were TVs and VCRs in the kids' rooms), she was entertained enough to download the sample for herself and hooked enough from the start to buy the book. I would hear her laughing at loud when she read on her lunch break where we worked together, and also sometimes making sympathetic noises or faces at her Kindle. Trust me, you don't have to be a Star Wars fan to love this one.

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Michael C. Bryan

The Kvetching Princess Diaries (and this is written with genuine love for Ms. Fisher)

Reviewed in the United States on November 27, 2016

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Apparently Carrie Fisher's new book was originally called "The Kvetching Princess Diarist" but then they decided to simply call it "The Princess Diarist" for reasons unclear.

I'm joking. It was never called that. But it should have been, seeing how Ms. Fisher is all about honesty. I've always said New Yorkers (of which I am one part-time) have made kvetching an art form, and that's not a compliment but only a compliment if it's the end of a good joke.

Not that Ms. Fisher is that kvetch obsessed entirely, but as her swift read came to a close after a very quick 5-hours of reading time, she needs to buckle up if she doesn't think there is any value in the saying (probably created by a former professional kvetcher) "Don't bite the hand that feeds you." She's bit it and is licking the wounds and that's a shame because she's such a good writer.

I can imagine people in Hollywood and publishing dismiss Ms. Fisher's sardonic "Oh woe is me and my fame" as her charm. Hm. It's a curious charm in this book. The first half is fantastic writing as she details her affair with Harrison Ford. The insights are so smart and on-point. She turns her trademark lacerating wit onto herself and it's exactly right for memoir. The turns of phrases and her writing are a blast to read. Just when you think you've got a handle of where her flow is going, she throws in a tugboat and a steamer and you're taken for a ride in a new and frothy way. Yes, I wrote the word frothy.

She's smart as hell. She's got a rambling wit that goes off on tangents that are her great strength as a writer. She goes on and on and on and it all works. She draws out a quick romance for almost 120 pages. Then the book takes a turn after she shares her diary entries during the filming of the original Star Wars and after that, well, it's all about The Kvetch.

I mean, I get it. She's sick of being seen as Princess Leia. She's annoyed at the need to be viewed as an icon. She wants to be seen as Carrie, not Leia. But the strange thing is, she is. Postcards from the Edge is a fantastic read and the movie was brilliant. It was. Anyone who doesn't think so has very basic taste in films. Her subsequent books are fun as well. Delusions of Grandma and Surrender the Pink. Yes, I've read them all because I like her. Wishful Drinking is super and her stage show was honest and real and about something. That's rare.

Yet something happens at the end of the book that I don't think she fully intended, and yet I bet you a $70 signed photo of her (actions she calls 'lap dancing', meaning, her whoring out herself to sign photos to pay for her spending - spending she could only do if she had the opportunity to 'lap dance') - I bet she had numerous people read this before it went to print and I wish someone had edited her.

She says she loves her fans and is moved by them, and yet she quotes long passages of what they say to her at conventions and it's all rather telling what she decided to put into print.

I love Carrie Fisher. I do. Carrie Fisher the writer. Carrie Fisher the memorist. Carrie Fisher the mental health advocate. It's as if she doesn't know some of us could really give a rip she played a space princess for awhile. Okay, sure. She's an icon. But she's created a very reputable body of work since then and yet it's as if she refuses to focus on that, only on some people's need to relate to a character she played in some movies.

I would recommend she republish the book as a novella. Keep all the Harrison Ford writing, the diaries - that's all so delicious and maybe jettison that other stuff that comes after. Because it's really not the best side of you Carrie Fisher. Extraordinary writer. Thriver. Lucky recipient of a role that made you famous. Writer who is beyond The Kvetch.

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Alessandra

Fantastico, come Carrie.

Reviewed in Italy on June 25, 2023

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Non sono mai stata un’appassionata di lettura, ma Carrie mi ha fatto innamorare delle parole. Questo resterà sempre uno dei miei libri preferiti, scritto e incentrato su una donna forte e meravigliosa che ci ha lasciati troppo presto. Lo consiglio assolutamente.

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A. J. Hawkins

Phenomenal Writing

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on June 3, 2022

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Carrie's writing style is simply incredible, being earnest and articulate throughout. The book is broken down into different parts, starting with Carrie telling the story of a brief but - for her - meaningful tryst with Harrison Ford while shooting the original Star Wars movie. She then publishes pages from her diary from that time, telling of her heartache after they all went home when the movie was done. It's heartbreaking but utterly gripping, her poetry reminiscent of material by the likes of Dr John Cooper Clarke. Then it goes into the dizzying success of Star Wars, and how unprepared for it she was, despite her mother's fame.
You can tell how cathartic writing this must have been for Carrie. It's clearly something she felt needed to be told, though as with several of her stories throughout the tome, you can just imagine she regretted publishing it once it was out there, but maybe not as much as some might expect.

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Alejandro Amparano

Llego en buenas condiciones

Reviewed in Mexico on March 9, 2018

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Entrega súper rápida y llegó intacto y en perfectas condiciones. No lo he comenzado pero por lo poco que he ojeado y leído se que terminaré llorando al final. Hermosa edición

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Mariana Lins

Diário de uma atriz

Reviewed in Brazil on September 5, 2017

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O título pode enganar um leitor desprevenido, achando que encontrará detalhes dos bastidores das gravações de Star Wars, mas na verdade o que vemos é um relato honesto da autora sobre o que se passou com ela durante as filmagens do primeiro longa da franquia e a transformação que se deu em sua vida logo em seguida. Entre outros episódios, Carrie abre o jogo sobre o romance secreto com Harrison Ford e o esforço por vezes humilhante de capitalizar a imagem da princesa Leia, depois de 30 anos, assinando fotos e fazendo presença VIP em convenções de quadrinhos. Ao longo do livro, a autora nos oferece a chance de pensar no papel ambíguo que a personagem criada por George Lucas desempenhou em sua vida, ora como um presente, ora como um fardo. A linguagem de Carrie, na versão original em inglês, deixa a leitura ainda mais fascinante, em função da sua escrita inteligente e despojada.

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Christine Burkimsher

A Must Read!

Reviewed in Canada on April 21, 2017

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I have always been fascinated with Carrie Fisher, and her life. Growing up in the midst of the Star Wars phenomenon had me fixated on it's stars: Harrison, Mark, and Carrie. All fascinating stories, but Carrie's was different. I have enjoyed all of her books, with her candour, and self deprecating reflections. She seems to be honest to a fault. The Princess Diarist continues with a wide open view to Ms. Fishers memories. A candid, back stage look at the making of a cultural dynasty. Her journal entries are raw, and witty. Just like Carrie herself. She is missed.

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