A heartbreaking work of staggering, uh, something.

You’d never know it from the trashy books I tend to write about here (apologies to Rielle Hunter, Loni Anderson, and whoever was responsible for Hedy Lamarr’s Ecstasy and Me), but my personal library is mostly full of works by serious authors. Alas, we aren’t here today to discuss Ivy Compton-Burnett, our favorite Graham Greene novels (The End of the Affair), or whether Pevear and Volokhonsky translations are overrated. We’re here to begin a beautiful literary journey through the life of Susan Lucci.

I’ve reviewed no fewer than four Lucci telefilms in recent months, with more in the pipeline. (Those titles were Ebbie, The Woman Who Sinned, Blood on Her Hands and Seduced and Betrayed.) Curious about whether she discussed the making of any of these movies in her 2011 autobiography, All My Life: A Memoir, I borrowed a copy from the library. So far my reading has turned up nothing interesting about her extracurricular TV work, though the book covers her forays into stage and music.

The Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald of daytime television performing a holiday classic.

Her singing sideline is worthy of its own post, including her gigs with Regis Philbin, but I think the best way to handle All My Life might be to highlight one special thought or anecdote per chapter. Here is my selection from the first chapter. I hope you enjoy it as much as you’ll undoubtedly enjoy the smooth musical stylings of Lucci and Philbin. Please note that the sloppy editing preserves the presentation of the e-book. There’s also an audiobook edition read by Lucci herself.

I adored my mother’s mother—my grandmother Nana. She was very jolly and had a warm spirit. She was exactly what a grandmother should be—kind, loving, and affectionate. Nana had a very sweet fox terrier named Snookie, whom I also adored. But I must be perfectly honest with you. Until recently, the name Snookie has always meant so much to me because it reminds me of my grandmother. Now unfortunately, I can barely say the name without conjuring up thoughts of the Jersey shore. It just isn’t right that such a precious memory has been tainted—make that tanned—by the association!

Susan lucci, All my life: a memoir