There is a whole subgenre emerging now, in which young women (often those with blogs) write humourously self-deprecating memoirs celebrating/poking fun at their own ineptitude at ‘adulting’. These have the potential to be hilarious while also helping the reader feel successful by comparison, but few of them are as smart or as funny as one would hope, and many are downright whiny. Samantha Irby's books are a refreshing exception.

This writer is sassy and wickedly bright. Even though she and I have little in common, and I was unfamiliar with her TV, music and celebrity references, I found a few things in this book that made me wheeze with laughter. Her characterizations of people, in particular, are flawless.

Released inside the Little Free Library, around 7pm.