In general, I enjoy a good memoir, and it happens that celebrities get a lot of memoirs published.
There are the comedic ones, like Samantha Bee’s I Know I am But What Are You?, Tina Fey’s Bossypants, Mindy Kaling’s Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns), Jane Lynch’s Happy Accidents, Amy Poehler’s Yes Please, Sarah Silverman’s The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption, and Pee, and Rainn Wilson’s The Bassoon King: My Life in Art, Faith, and Idiocy. They were all enjoyable, and funny, and my favorites among those were probably Jane Lynch (due to her upbeat attitude that was devoid of snark) and Rainn Wilson (in part because I learned more about Bahá’i than I did previously).
There are those that weren’t necessarily funny, like Rob Lowe’s Stories I Only Tell My Friends: An Autobiography and Penny Marshall’s My Mother Was Nuts, which may have been intended as comedic, but was more straight memoir than comedy book.
And then there’s Russell Brand’s Revolution, which I enjoyed, though by its conclusion I had had enough listening to Russell’s particular speech patterns and inflection. It became a bit much.
There are others in my listened-to-list-thus-far list that would qualify, since memoir is probably my favorite genre, but Patti Smith gets her own post. So does Aziz Ansari. And Amanda Palmer. And the memoirs by blog-famous semi-celebrities. Links forthcoming.