Reading Barbra Streisand's autobiography felt like sitting across from her at a dimly lit piano bar—intimate, unfiltered, and punctuated with that iconic Brooklyn wit. The way she recounts her first Broadway audition had me laughing out loud on my couch; her deadpan 'Why can't you decide now?' to producers is peak Barbra—equal parts nerve and naivety.

What stunned me most was her self-awareness. At 7 years old, she already knew who she was—a clarity most adults never achieve. Her refusal to cry during a Funny Girl rehearsal ('I can’t cry with these words') reveals the artistic integrity that shaped her career. I found myself pausing the audiobook (her voice is like cognac—smooth with bite) to YouTube obscure ballads she mentions, hearing them anew through her storytelling.

The book’s physicality surprised me—it’s hefty enough to be a doorstop, yet I carried it everywhere for weeks. The glossy photo inserts felt like discovering buried treasure, especially seeing young Barbra’s defiant grin backstage at Wholesale. Pro tip: Get both Kindle and Audible versions. Her narration of the Laurents feud (complete with recreated shouting matches) deserves an Emmy of its own.

As someone who grew up rewinding Yentl VHS tapes until they snapped, I wept reading about the deleted blacklist scenes. Her description of mediating between warring directors made me appreciate the film’s final cut even more—every frame was a battle. This isn’t just a memoir; it’s a masterclass in creative perseverance that left me starstruck all over again.