by Karen Karbo
Afterward, she was ready to listen to her doctor. She suffered from bipolar II—characterized by more and deeper depressive episodes—and hypo-, rather than full-blown, mania. Her lows were lower and longer, her highs less manic. When coupled with all the freewheeling self-medication, they laid waste to relationships, self-regard, and good career management.*5
Turns out she wasn’t just a celebrity with fairly standard addiction issues, but a woman with mental illness. A far less glamorous state of affairs.
In 1987, Carrie wrote her first book, Postcards From the Edge. It begins: “Maybe I shouldn’t have given the guy who pumped my stomach my phone number, but who cares?” Then we come to: “Instant gratification takes too long.” Then, reading farther along: “You know how I always seem to be struggling, even when the situation doesn’t call for it?”
Oh, I was jealous of Carrie when Postcards was published. First Star Wars, now a hilarious first novel that got a ton of attention, plopped onto the best-seller list, and was turned into a movie starring Meryl Streep? My generous response to her success: Why does she get everything?
In the 1990s, Carrie wrote several more novels and fattened her bank account with good money made doctoring scripts. Outbreak, The Wedding Singer, and Lethal Weapon 3 all benefited from her kick and sparkle. She also fell in love with a new guy, Hollywood “power” agent Bryan Lourd, who after three years famously left her to marry a man. (“He told me later that I had turned him gay by taking codeine again. And I said, ‘You know, I never read that warning on the label.’”)
Before their split, Carrie and Bryan had Billie, born in 1992, whom Carrie raised as a single parent. This broke her heart in a way she never was able to alchemize into uproarious material, reminding her of being raised alone by her mother after Eddie left.
Carrie sought treatment, and her disease was largely under control. But bipolar disorder isn’t a tidy disorder. Your meds work until they don’t. Often, a manic state is like a flood busting through a levy. In 1998, after a particularly bad manic patch, Carrie was institutionalized. I know all this because Carrie talked about it in writerly detail on Primetime With Diane Sawyer in December 2000. I vividly remember the interview.
Carrie was 44, prettier and more charismatic than she’d been as a younger woman. She wore her hair, still brown but strategically lightened, in a cheeky bob. Her voice had become raspier with age.
She described the exhausting, frenzied thoughts that led to compulsive monologuing, which in turn exhausted everyone around her. The sleepless nights, often many in a row, and the impulse to act on every bad idea that involved shopping, traveling, and sex (“Wow! Who are you, strange man who I suddenly want to bone?”). She described the two sides of herself: Rollicking Roy, the life of the party, and Sediment Pam, “who stands on the shore and sobs.” When people said they “loved” Carrie, who they really loved was Roy. She would call friends and whisper, “Roy’s in town.” And the party would begin.
“When we were shooting Harry Met Sally, I stayed up all night snorting heroin. You can imagine how proud my parents must be,” she said.
She talked about the time on the psych ward. Every day, her goal was just to feel less. In the hospital she went six days without sleep. She hallucinated, she jabbered at the television. She felt as if she could reach out and touch her mood with the palms of her hands (it felt cool to the touch), and out her window saw gleaming, futuristic cities. Bryan visited her in the psych ward, and she begged him to take their daughter, because she never knew whether she was coming back. But she did come back, of course.
“So, happily ever after?” asked Sawyer.
“There’s no such animal. It’s everything ever after.”
A woman less difficult might have stayed mum about the whole thing. Carrie’s life may have been public, but medical records are not. She could easily have confessed to her fondness for prescription painkillers and no one would have been the wiser. There’s a certain glamour associated with excess that doesn’t quite spill over to being perceived as batshit crazy.
But Carrie was on the front lines of oversharing. She was TMI-ing in advance of the abbreviation. She had no interest in protecting her image as a sexy space princess, or even the princess of so-called Hollywood royalty. She talked about it all, including electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). This had to have taxed even her candid nature. Carrie came of age during a time when admitting to ECT was career ending. (To wit: After admitting he’d suffered from depression and had undergone ECT, Senator Thomas Eagleton, on the ticket with George McGovern for a hot second in 1972, was booted off faster than you could say One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.)
Not everyone celebrated Carrie’s openness. Some people found her confessions to be just too much. The Washington Post, reviewing The Princess Diarist, predicted her honesty would make readers cringe. I conducted an unscientific survey of maybe two dozen men, and found that the more hard-core their Star Wars fandom, the less interested they were in seeing Carrie Fisher in any other role aside from Princess Leia. Most were unaware that she’d become a powerful, outspoken advocate for mental illness as just another human flaw, no better or worse than any other. “I am mentally ill. I can say that,” she’d been known to say. “I am not ashamed of that. I survived that, I’m still surviving it, but bring it on. Better me than you.”
PEOPLE HAVE ALWAYS ASSUMED that since the Star Wars trilogy had been such a massive hit, the Brink’s truck must roar up once a week and toss bags of money on Carrie’s front porch. But the only person who got stupidly rich was George Lucas. Carrie, just old enough to vote when she signed her contract to play Princess Leia, signed away her “likeness” and all merchandising rights. She was paid scale, and had no profit participation.
In her 2008 one-woman show Wishful Drinking, she discussed this inequity, and she was not sanguine about having her likeness superimposed on a shampoo bottle (when you unscrewed her head, shampoo poured out of her neck). Or a PEZ dispenser, or a lunch pail, or all the other Leia objets that have haunted her existence, while not making her a sou richer. She joked in her facerious way about how, because she never owned her likeness, she had to pay George every time she looked in the mirror.
Still, for a 20-year-old she was rolling in dough. She blithely hired a business manager someone recommended and forgot all about it. When she needed money, she got some—until sometime in her 40s, when she discovered she was more or less broke.
She thus began a lucrative side gig as a lap dancer. For Carrie, “lap dance” was code for signing autographs at Comic-Cons, of which there are hundreds all over the world. Truly, she could have made an entire career out of signing autographs for $70 a pop. She once referred to Star Wars fame as “an under-populated, empathy-free zone.” Being female, the zone was even more sparsely populated, with Carrie/Leia its queen and only citizen.
She would dutifully show up at some god-awful convention center, where the light makes even a dewy 20-year-old look sallow and blotchy, armed with her middle-aged woman’s body, thinning hair, failing eyesight, perimenopausal irritability. She would get writer’s cramp signing pictures of her ravishing, dewy self for hours on end, weekend after weekend. Can you imagine? In this culture that values appearance above every other female trait, there she was valiantly staring at herself in that damn metal bikini, aware that not only would she never wear a metal or any other bikini ever again, but that she might not even have the courage to squeeze into a Lands’ End one-piece. This is setting aside all the men—not looking so hot themselves, let’s face it—eager to tell her how she was their very first crush.
Once, a mother brought her little daughter, dressed as Leia in a tiny robe, with tiny buns capping her tiny ears, and the daughter took one look at Carrie and started wailing, “I don’t want the old one!”
Carrie felt as if she were both Leia and the custodian of Leia; given that she was also Roy and Pam, you can see how exhausting her life
could be.
IN 2008, CARRIE WENT ON THE ROAD with Wishful Drinking. Developed in L.A. at the beginning of the year, it also enjoyed runs in Berkeley, Seattle, and Washington, D.C., before a limited run on Broadway at Studio 54.*6 It closed in January 2010, and the reason I’m being so precise about the dates is so you understand how it was that tiny five-foot-one-and-a-half-inch Carrie Fisher came to weigh 180 pounds, thus committing the most unpardonable female sin in our hallowed land. For two years she was on the road. During those two years she didn’t exercise and ate large meals very late at night (room service, please). Also, for an addict living one day at a time, a pint of ice cream now and then, mostly now, seemed utterly harmless.
She was not unaware. She knew the jeans and skinny tees had been pushed to the back of her closet and she was living in leggings and tunics. But it wasn’t until she Googled herself and found someone had written, “WTF happened to Carrie Fisher? She used to be so hot. Now she looks like Elton John,” that she realized it was time to take herself in hand.
There was nothing for it but to lose the weight. And she did: Fifty pounds in nine months, at the age of 54. Anyone, male or female, able to maintain the focus and discipline to drop 50 pounds—especially staring down the barrel of 60*7—is a badass of near-superhero proportions. “I thought I was getting old,” she quipped. “It turns out I was mostly getting fat.”
But she was also getting old.*8
When Carrie reprised her role as Leia in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, released in 2015, Twitter erupted with the usual nasty, pointless insults. In fairness, Carrie did disappoint every male fan of the original trilogy by refusing to spend her life maintaining the illusion that she was still that lithe, slim-waisted girl in a metal bikini. She could have, you know. Rather than write books, doctor scripts, speak out on behalf of those with mental illness, parent to the best of her ability, and care for Eddie and Debbie in their dotage—for she always adored her parents, despite the crap they put her through as a child—she could have obsessively tended her figure. She could have spent her life working out multiple times a day and lived on air and cigarettes, in the manner of a working supermodel. Instead, she had a full, messy, imperfect life.
When the ageist body-shaming schmucks came after her on Twitter, she was not silent. To her “fans” who blasted not Carrie’s performance, but her body, face, voice, posture—what am I missing?—she had the following retort:
@carrieffisher: “Please stop debating about whether OR not [I’ve] aged well. Unfortunately it hurts all 3 of my feelings. My BODY hasn't aged as well as I have. Blow us.”
CARRIE FISHER WAS NOT THE FIRST Princess Leia. In 1975, during casting, there was another, much younger girl named Terri Nunn whom George Lucas had tapped for the role. Nunn was 15, fine-boned and cool in demeanor. A somewhat textbook princess. She would have been fine. In fact, she looked much more like Mark Hamill’s actual twin than did Carrie Fisher. George Lucas is famously not great with actors. For all his visionary genius, he’s much better with starships, droids, and explosions. But he immediately saw something in Carrie: that she could be warm, tough, funny, and fierce, all at the same time. She was a princess with a blaster, but also a girl capable of becoming a woman who could lead people.
I hope she realized before she left us that it was her huge heart, her humor, and her complex personality that made Princess Leia difficult, and thus immortal.
*1On deciding to take the role: “I’ve been Princess Leia for 40 years, so what, I’m suddenly going to stop now?”
*2Debbie lobbied without success to change the line to “Wanna screw?”
*3Most of the time these guys are just boring; we all learn the hard way.
*4Also known as The Best Star Wars.
*5Example of poor role selection: Under the Rainbow, a devastatingly unfunny spoof costarring Chevy Chase and involving a Nazi spy, Japanese assassin, and gang of actors cast as the citizens of Munchkinville, all staying in the same hotel while filming The Wizard of Oz. Carrie wasn’t the only one doing a lot of drugs in the 1980s.
*6Yes, that Studio 54.
*7There is always doing it for your health, but at a certain point people tend to say fuck that too. I’m eating that piece of cake.
*8Because who isn’t?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ENGLISH NEEDS A BETTER WORD than gratitude to express my deep appreciation for my editor Hilary Black. There are editors; then there is Hilary, who had my back while I wrote and thought and rewrote and ate too many artisanal donut holes (I live in Portland) and developed an eye twitch and emailed like a lunatic. She is sui generis. Allyson Johnson, project editor, also deserves a big raise and a week off. Make that two. Thank you to everyone else at National Geographic: Melissa Farris, Nicole Miller, Ann Day, Kelly Forsythe, Daneen Goodwin, and Jessie Chirico. Judith Klein, thank you for the herculean task of manuscript wrangling. Kimberly Glyder, your glorious illustrations make my heart sing.
I am indebted to David Forrer for his endless faith in me. Also at Inkwell: Kim Witherspoon, Richard Pine, Michael Carlisle, Nathaniel Jacks, and Corinne Sullivan.
Writers of Renown, thank you for listening to me talk about “my women” over the years: Allison Frost, Angie Muresan, Deb Stone, Colleen Strohm, Dan Berne, Peter Wallace, Laura Wood, Debbie Guyol (thank you, too, for your razor-sharp copyediting eye). Danna Schaeffer, I owe you a year’s worth of kir royales for your sage advice and sharp observations. Deb Nies and Melea Seward, #thankyou, #whatwouldIdowithoutyou?
To the Collioure crew, merci bien to James Allen, Candace King, Jen Obermeyer, Wayne Obermeyer, Scott Hornyak, Jorge Argonz, Dan Berne, Aliza Bethlahmy, Kathy Budas, and Randy Rollison, for your company and good cheer during crunch time. Time for an aperitif.
To Kim Dower, dear friend, your love, encouragement have buoyed me since our lemon bread days. Words can’t convey my appreciation.
Finally, to Jerrod Allen, the Man of the House, and Fiona, my little tomato: Thank you for being my people.
SOURCES
I BUILT A SIZABLE LIBRARY OF indispensable sources during the writing of this book. The following is a list of the books and articles whose pages became dog-eared, whose sentences I underlined and highlighted, as I strove to understand my subjects. I’m deeply indebted to the authors, who generously shared their ideas, passion, wisdom, and authority with the wider world.
This is far from a complete list of works about—and in some cases by—the difficult women whose lives I’ve explored. A complete bibliography can be found on my website: www.karenkarbo.com.
J. K. ROWLING
J. K. Rowling (@jk_rowling) | Twitter
J. K. Rowling: A Bibliography 1997–2013, Philip W. Errington (Bloomsbury Academic, 2015)
“Mugglemarch: J. K. Rowling Writes a Realist Novel for Adults,” Ian Parker (New Yorker, October 1, 2012)
Very Good Lives: The Fringe Benefits of Failure and the Importance of Imagination, J. K. Rowling (Little, Brown and Company, 2015)
ELIZABETH TAYLOR
The Accidental Feminist: How Elizabeth Taylor Raised Our Consciousness and We Were Too Distracted By Her Beauty to Notice, M. G. Lord (Walker Books, 2012)
Elizabeth Taylor: A Private Life for Public Consumption, Ellis Cashmore (Bloomsbury Academic, 2016)
Elizabeth Takes Off: On Weight Gain, Weight Loss, Self-Image, and Self-Esteem, Elizabeth Taylor (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1988)
How to Be a Movie Star: Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood, William Mann (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009)
GLORIA STEINEM
“Here’s the Full Transcript of Gloria Steinem’s Historic Women’s March Speech,” Diana Bruk (ELLE, January 21, 2017)
My Life on the Road, Gloria Steinem (Random House, 2015)
Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions, Gloria Steinem (Random House, 1987)
“Road Warrior,” Jane Kramer (New Yorke
r, October 19, 2015)
“Showgirls, Pastrami and Candor: Gloria Steinem’s New York,” John Leland (New York Times, October 7, 2016)
AMY POEHLER
“Amy Poehler and Tina Fey: When Leaning In, Laughing Matters,” Melena Ryzik (New York Times, December 3, 2015)
“Amy Poehler: Sweet Queen of Comedy with a Wicked Streak,” Hephzibah Anderson (The Guardian, October 18, 2014)
Yes Please, Amy Poehler (Dey Street Books, 2014)
RUTH BADER GINSBURG
“Heavyweight: How Ruth Bader Ginsburg Has Moved the Supreme Court,” Jeffrey Toobin (New Yorker, March 11, 2013)
My Own Words, Ruth Bader Ginsburg (Simon and Schuster, 2016)
Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Irin Carmon and Shana Knizhnik (Dey Street Books, 2015)
Sisters in Law: How Sandra Day O’Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg Went to the Supreme Court and Changed the World, Linda Hirshman (Harper Perennial, 2015)
“What Ruth Bader Ginsburg Taught Me About Being a Stay-at-Home Dad,” Ryan Park (The Atlantic, January 8, 2015)
JOSEPHINE BAKER
Jazz Cleopatra: Josephine Baker in Her Time, Phyllis Rose (Doubleday, 1989)
Josephine, Josephine Baker and Jo Bouillon (Harper & Row, 1977)
Josephine Baker in Art and Life: The Icon and the Image, Bennetta Jules-Rosette (University of Illinois Press, 2007)
Josephine Baker and the Rainbow Tribe, Matthew Pratt Guterl (Belknap Press, 2014)
The Many Faces of Josephine Baker: Dancer, Singer, Activist, Spy, Peggy Caravantes (Chicago Review Press, 2015)
RACHEL MADDOW
Drift: The Unmooring of American Military Power, Rachel Maddow (Crown, 2012)
“Rachel Maddow, the Lovable Wonk,” John Powers (The American Prospect, March 26, 2012)