Hey, it's NPR's Book of the Day. I'm Andrew Limbaung. There's a phrase the actor Minie Driver

uses in today's episode. She talks about how she thought success and fame were going to hold

together all of the fragmented pieces of her life, that they would act as, quote, emotional

grout. What a phrase, eh? She's got a new

essay collection that goes into some of the messiness of her life, some of her mixed feelings about

acting and writing about the recent death of her mother. And what's interesting about this

interview with NPR's Elsa Chang is that at two different times,

driver says that the thing she was writing was never intended to be in the book.

She just had to write something because she had to.

In the U.S., national security news can feel far away from daily life.

Distant wars, murky conflicts, diplomacy behind closed doors on our new show,

Sources and Methods. NPR reporters on the ground bring you stories of real people,

helping you understand why distant events matter here at home. Listen to sources and methods on the NPR

app or wherever you get your podcasts.

For actor Mini Driver, becoming famous was a surreal experience.

Or to put it in her words,

becoming famous was like everyone else had taken hallucinogenic drugs, and I was the giant talking mushroom in their trip.

It was hardly noticeable at first. People would

smile in my direction sometimes, but it could have been something happening behind me. Then,

the next thing I knew, a guy was lying in the gutter as I'd get out of my car, trying to take a

picture of my vagina. For driver, fame always presented a bit of what she calls

a psychological paradox. You want to be seen, but not that much. Well, now two and a half

...