Wendy Spero has pulled together parts of her acclaimed 2003 one-woman comedy show and stitched them into a funny and poignant book. Her brand of humor is whimsical and zany, making much out of the smallest, most everyday things—hence Microthrills, which is also something of an autobiography. In it, we are introduced to her overprotective, sex-therapist mother, her grandfather and his unceasing videography, her plucky 98-year-old grandmother, her hirsute, extremely empathetic boyfriend, and her boundless supply of stuffed animals and gummy candies. Woven throughout the book, we also get Spero’s steadfast love for her hometown, New York City.

What are examples of Spero’s meaningful minutiae? She shows us the absurd and the absurdly funny in the communal dressing room at Loehmann’s as seen by a bored preteen, the perils of door-to-door knife-selling seminars, the sometimes invidious Sunday wedding announcements of The New York Times. In each stage-crafted anecdote, Spero imbues her own puckish sensibility into every tiny detail; her stories are both antic and sweet as a result.

Yet, admittedly, something has been lost in the translation from stage to page. Even in print, Spero’s humor is so idiosyncratic and so intensely personal that you want to see her eccentric vignettes performed live. I plan to. MAGGIE TRAPP