I’ve loved Japanese Breakfast, the musical project of Michelle Zauner’s, ever since she released her sophomore album Soft Sounds from Another Planet. So I always planned on buying her memoir, regardless of the reviews. With that being said, though, I didn’t have the highest expectations - musicians, in my experience, are better writing lyrics than narratives. To be glib: a lot of musicians are dumb as hell. In addition, I generally avoid memoirs. They can too often fall into a pattern of self pity and navel gazing that make for grueling reads. But Zauner subverted my expectations in the best way possible. Her light hand proves adept at mining the depths of her relationship with her mother, her identity, and her creative endeavors without ever veering into self importance or sappiness.