Oh my Lord! I loved Jenny Slate's stand up and her movie Obvious Child, but wondered about her new book, Little Weirds. But after consuming it in its entirety on a recent trip, the sensation is that of being hit by a love truck. The effect is like joyous treads left on my body and soul.
But now the question is, where do I place this wonder of onomatopoeia and self-discovery? Little Weirds does not belong on a shelf with other books. Slate’s inventive vision board of how she’d like her life to end belongs lit from above as one would do a trophy. Yes, why not? A word trophy! I want to shout out page numbers that are must reads, but you'd get pretty bored of my counting 1 to 222!
This is for single women who have been single-shamed. Women whose well meaning but low EQ married friends brag about their bliss. Even for men who’ve had trouble dating (there’s some big hints on what not to do). And especially for women who’ve become their own worst enemy by comparing themselves to the fantasy women portrayed in media.
Little Weirds is also for anyone who just needs a shot of silliness, a wake-up call that every day is a gift and as long as you have peace, nature and art, you really have all the love you ever need.