... this is one of the most laugh-out-loud books I’ve read in a long time.

It isn't great literature, but it is weird (which counts for a lot) and fun (which also counts for a lot), might be an elaborate prank being played by the author, and it is absolutely a book that could've only been written by Brent Spiner.

That this is a work of fiction in no way demeans the story or makes it any less gripping or believable.

Spiner blends behind-the-scenes details of working in television and charming observations about his castmates like Patrick Stewart, Jonathan Frakes, and LeVar Burton.

The story is quite accessible to non-Trekkies while never being overexplainy in ways fans would find tedious. Because it’s all told in a campy, dime-store–noir voice, one can never be sure what’s true and what’s fiction. Because Spiner is the victim, not the detective, he doesn’t get to break down doors or solve the crime, which makes the book less satisfying than it might have been. Spiner also sticks with the noir penchant for defining female characters by their looks, which is unfortunate. Though the writing is pithy and humorous, the book feels like it's directed at the stereotypical middle-aged, cis, male fans of the show even though TNG itself appeals to a much wider audience.

... diverting.