Sometimes, maybe in the heat of summer, a reader tires of heavy reading that requires thought and concentration. Something light and unburdened by doses of politics, human suffering, philosophy or governmental or corporate corruption seems to be welcomed. Such a diversion can be found in Hollis Gillespie's new book, "Trailer Trashed: My Dubious Efforts Toward Upward Mobility” (The Globe Pequot Press, $21.95). Gillespie, who has a reputation for writing that is funny and zesty as well as touching, doesn't disappoint in "Trailer Trashed” or any of her other writing. Another of her books, "Confessions of a Recovering Slut” was described in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution as "a very trippy trip through Gillespie's head, rendered in glittery, jangly, spectacularly vulgar prose.” The author by no means implies that people living in mobile homes are trash. Instead, she is mainly telling the story of how her family lived in various places — with wheels or otherwise — and her father sold trailers that had been trashed. She says she has lived in conventional homes that were smaller and less convenient than many of the double-wides. The book's collection of essays introduces the reader to Gillespie's siblings, Kim, Cheryl and Jim, and her three best friends, Larry, Daniel and Grant. Her daughter Milly, "the happy accident,” also gets space. One captivating essay tells how "Larry is at a loss as to why I'd turn down his offer to burn down my house. He thinks it would be the answer to all my problems.” That passage gives a clue as to how colorful the friends are. Gillespie, who lives in Atlanta, writing out of a trailer in her backyard, has written for television and has been a National Public Radio commentator, a keynote speaker and a writing instructor. Her heroes seem to be low-brow characters, perhaps because they make for more interesting prose than people of higher estate. Another reason these cheesy characters are appealing may be that most of us have both low-brow and high-brow preferences. For instance, classical is clearly my preference in music, while my likes in food include country-fried steak (gravy on the side, please). In a restaurant, I often order fried okra as a side. About all the places, even salad bars, have okra. After all, this state is called "Okrahoma.” Also, a person's culture can't be measured by where he lives. Many humble homes are in quiet, good taste. On the other hand, I've seen mansions with pink plastic flamingos on the lawn and Elvis photos on the walls.