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by Julie Andrews
is subtitled A Memoir of My Early Years. I want the rest of her years! So far, anyway. It was a lovely memoir. I wish it had gone a little deeper, but you know? If I were in her position, that's about as deep as I would have gone. It's none of my business to want to know all of the intimate details.
It ends in 1963, after Camelot and right at the start of Mary Poppins. Since I recently re-watched Saving Mr. Banks, reading her brief conversation with Miss Travers made me start singing all of the Mary Poppins songs over again, in my head. Endlessly. I love 'em to death, but enough!
By the way, it's beautifully written. I've never read any of her kids' books, but I suspect she's one of the few "celebrity" authors who deserves to be called authors.
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