I expected more humor from this Jenny Slate project, because that is the context through which I know her. Mostly, I know her from Parks and Rec and her recent stand up special on Netflix. That's not to say that this collection is devoid of humor, but I would not classify this as a humor book. Mostly the essays are a deeply personal look into Slate's views on loneliness, feminism, and herself. I would recommend this title to people who enjoy Rachel Cusk and Samantha Irby.

Little Weirds is a word painting — a quirky, funny, heartfelt poetic ramble that often seems like a peek into someone’s private journal.. Would love to read more from Jenny Slate.

LITTLE WEIRDS adequately describes this book. Slate has a delightful way of expressing herself. Each essay has a unique theme and manner in which she reflects her own voice and personality. Maybe not a book for everyone, but thoroughly enjoyed by this reader.

This book was completely different than I expected, but it was very original and fascinating. Jenny Slate's voice really shines through in this very unique essay/memoir book. I love how she added her own twist on the genre. People who are looking for something a little different will really enjoy this.

This is a tough book to review. In all honestly, I gave up reading about 1/3 of the way through. While this is a memoir, it is written in a stream of consciousness style which I found alienating. While this seems to be a very personal book I don't feel like I came away knowing Slate any better. I read about her innermost thoughts and feelings, but not much about how she interacts with the world. This is definitely a different kind of memoir. I may have liked it more if I had listed to the audiobook. I could tell that the writing was good, hence the three star review.

4.25/5 STARS

I randomly picked this up off my shelf and I read it in less than 24 hours.

I have always loved Jenny Slate and this latest piece of art of her is no different. I love how unique and multifaceted she is; and I’ve always admired her versatility (I.e. going from Mona-Lisa Saperstein in Parks & Rec to a more emotional role in Gifted). And that’s exactly what I loved most about this book. Her personality was palpable while I was reading it. It felt like poetry at times, and like a conversation at others. It was such an enjoyable read.⠀

Little weirds was a lot weirds for me in the beginning. But as the book progressed I started to really relate to it. Honestly, there were some passages in the beginning that I read and didn't understand so I had to re-read said passage a few times and still didn't get it. Maybe it was too deep for me.

Jenny Slate's "Little Weird" reads like poetry and painting. Some parts are like a beautiful, lyrical fever dream while others take a deep (but sometimes surreal) dive into misogyny.

"Little Weirds" is artwork in words and it gives you a peek into the author's soul.

I'm not quite sure what I expected with this one, but it didn't totally work for me- a little too strangely twee, perhaps?

Little Weirds by Jenny Slate is a series of essays in which the actor/comedian describes events from her life as well as her thoughts on feminism, love, and the pursuit of happiness.

At times the writing is...a little weird. At other times, it can be a little over-the-top. Her work is infused with a kind of magic and surrealism; in one essay she channels Kafka, except instead of becoming an insect, our heroine becomes a croissant.

I certainly had moments where it all seemed a bit much, but I held out because of the insights she dispensed along the way. I'm too old to be the millennial that Slate is, but her thoughts on love, heartbreak, and womanhood resonated with me, and when the book explores Slate's journey to self-acceptance and love in the face of romantic disappointment, it's at its best.

No, it's not Tina Fey's "Bossypants" or Mindy Kaling's "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?" But for the right reader at the right time, it's a strange, silly, charming, devastating read.

A quirky, dreamy take on the memoir genre.

Slate brings her signature oddball humor together with a meandering but articulate written voice that reads like a floaty fever dream.

Though I wish the narrative had skewed more toward self-deprecating than self-indulgent, Slate writes well enough to (mostly) get away with what is essentially a vanity project.

Some of the little weirds are better than others, but on the whole it’s an entertaining little piece of frippery, long enough to establish the meta-reality that Slate has invited us into, and short enough to keep us from ODing on the concept.

Looky looky – it’s the annual “Kelly Actually Posts a Review of a Book on #pubday” post!

I don’t really know if Little Weirds will work for everyone, but boy oh boy did it work for me. To begin with, take a gander at the cover . . . .

Oh, it’s just so perfect. And the insides pretty much match the outside. It’s just a jumble of truly “little weirds” conjured up by Jenny Slate’s oddball brain. (Spoiler alert: I had no clue she was such a wordsmith, but wowza does she know how to use gajillions of the entries that can be found in the nearest Webster’s.) Basically, this is the literary equivalent of Marcel the Shell. Delightful.

Now to be very clear, I have had a massive girlcrush on Jenny Slate for quite some time. From her accidental dropping of an F Bomb on my standing Saturday night television watching date (which, unfortunately, led to her promptly being fired). To her stealing the scene as a guest star on another fave, Parks and Rec. To her voiceover work as mean girl Tammy on Bob's Burgers. To me trying to figure out how to rob a Brink’s armored truck in order to buy her childhood home that is currently on the market (and don’t even ask the level of commitment my stalkery has taken that I discovered that bit of information because I don’t even remember.) To her drunken narration of the invention of Coca-Cola. To her new stand-up special on Netflix. I simply adore her and I adored everything about this book – so much so that I’m breaking the rules and posting a taste despite receiving an advanced copy . . . .

A Tender Thief

One time, my dog sneaked six licks of coffee from my mug. I caught him on the sixth and I’m certain that he would have gone all the way. But I did catch him on the sixth. After he’d had his coffee he went and he stretched out on the armchair and spent a long time by the window, and I thought, “At least he knows how to have coffee property, even though he is a thief.”

Buy the book if you want, don’t buy the book if you don’t want, I don’t really care. I’m just happy to have these little weirds in my own life. However, you all should do yourself a favor and watch Jenny define a “Shit Show” . . . . .

https://twitter.com/drunkhistory/stat...

ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Thank you, NetGalley!

Little Weirds is a very apt title. The book is a collection of weird musings/stories/poems by actress Jenny Slate. While not weird in a bad way I did have a somewhat hard time getting into the book and an even harder time following along.

Little Weirds is a memoir that feels appropriately weird and kind of magical. Even though I knew this was nonfiction, it felt like I was reading an imaginary account of some mystical being who experienced a lot of the same things I have here on Earth, but had a completely unique way of seeing them.

I really enjoyed Slate’s writing. She has a very distinct voice, and it was just so lovely to read. I honestly want her to write some sort of magical fiction book so I can read it. Because I think it would be fantastic. The way she combines words is so interesting, and it made me stop and think about the world differently. She sees things in such a creative way, and I think she did a great job putting that into writing.

If you’re a fan of Jenny Slate, or you’re looking to read some nonfiction that doesn’t feel like nonfiction, I would definitely recommend Little Weirds. It’s one of the most unique memoirs I’ve ever read, and something that is going to stick with me for a long time.

I was born bucking the idea that I should have to be anywhere that I don’t like or talk to people who make me feel dead or trapped.

Jenny Slate is an actress, comedian, author and in a collaboration with director Dean Fleischer-Camp created Marcel the Shell With Shoes On. It’s adorable, I have a thing for stop motion and it has also become a book series. That aside, I have only been aware of Jenny Slate as an actress. This book is more musings, confidences, and reflections on her past. She is at times serious, often funny, a little on the sweet side (I’m a heavy reader of raw memoirs, people toughened by heavy issues so this was a pleasure) and always clever. When the book first opened, I thought it was going to be a memoir in poetry as she tells the reader “I was born like that”, born bucking certain ideas, with a love of nursing big scared things, and she was a ‘fast bad baby’. She gets lonely just like any single one of us and exhausted by heartbreak. Jenny longs for love, for someone who fits into her strange little world, because what else is love but having someone who carries in their blood your brand of weird? She shares her grievances, desires, hopes and ghosts with the reader and jumps from past to present, because doesn’t memory work like that in all of us? It’s never a straight line, life. We live in the present with the past calling us back, lingering as it does like a scent.

She wants to fall in love, can she find it online? Isn’t that the modern way? She both longs to join with someone and also exist in her own ‘vortex’. Waiting, waiting… surely he is out there somewhere? Jenny wants to live in a gentle place, filled with joy but she has her small deaths to shed, as all the living do. She travels, and in Norway tries to remain aware of her surroundings, to be strong on her own when she isn’t journeying with her friends. Often readers shy away from books written by famous people, what the heck can they have to say to the common folk? A lot it seems. Jenny has enough humility and refreshing honesty to not come off as some super ego monster. She is often just as lost, curious as the rest of us. She has times of success, love and fulfillment while experiencing the grace of being alive and moments of fear, emptiness and pain. She feels ugly, she feels lovely and absolutely comes off as a little quirky, a little weird! That is what makes this memoir a little pleasure.

Her style made me feel like I was hanging out with a close friend when she is warmed by wine, a little rambling with surprising moments of lucidity, clarity and open heart confessions. The style might not be for every reader, it’s lyrical, she wanders off the thought path often but her curious nature remains a constant delight.

Publication Date: November 5, 2019

Little, Brown and Company

I don’t care for books written by famous people so I never bother to read them. I’m not sure what drew me to Slate’s Little Weirds—maybe she exists in that sweet celebrity space where she’s known for funny and quirky characters but her personal life isn’t on constant display. Or maybe it was just that random George Saunders blurb praising her work. (Uh, okay, yeah, it was the second one.) Slate surprised me with this magical-realism-tinged memoir. It was good. It made me cry. I love/hate when that happens!

Slate’s voice is so naturally whimsical in an impressive way—her writing never feels forced or pretentious, but just that her brain must be such a charming and wistful place to visit. And though Little Weirds is a short trip into her bizarrely enchanting head, there’s a lot of different content to enjoy. Sometimes I felt that the book lacked the best flow, and so maybe it’s not best for a one-sit binge but rather to keep it on the nightstand for a few weeks and read some pages at random before bed. I imagine this would inspire the loveliest of dreams.

This book... oh my, this little weird book.

First of all, I *love* Jenny Slate.

While reading I alternated between periods of fascination and boredom. Sometimes the writing is poetic and beautiful while being funny and sharp. Other times, it's just... I don't know.

I thought several times how much more I might've enjoyed this one as an audiobook. To hear it read by Jenny Slate would be a treat.

Overall, LITTLE WEIRDS is an entertaining weird little book.

"In the last light of a long day, I sit on a chair on my porch and watch the sky drain colors down and out and I realize I want to hear my voice and only mine. Not the voice of my voice within a cacophony of old pains. Just mine, now."

I am loath to ever give a book a low number of stars, especially a memoir. Books are so much work and come from a place deep in one's soul. And who am I to judge that? And at the same time, there are books that connect with me and books that don't. This doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the book, or me. It just means that at this juncture of our lives, in this moment, this book and I are not connecting. And instead of attaching a bad rating to that, I decided to give it no rating.

"I was pleased that she made sure. Because in making sure, Kathleen gave me the opportunity to say out loud to another person that I would like my old dog to have flowers stuck to his face, and when I said it out loud—that yes, I would like that—I knew it was true. Then I admired myself. What’s more, I felt tenderness about my personality and my choices for delight. I said who I was, on my land."

I didn't know anything about Jenny Slate before I read this book. I don't watch the TV show she's famous for and I had no idea what to expect from this book. It's a most unusual style. I'd say if you don't like magical realism, you will have a tough time with this book but I love magical realism and yet I still had a tough time. It's maybe more on the eclectic/absurd as well as magical realism.

"I know what I want to hear when I hear myself in this life, and I am feeling very certain that there is absolutely no good reason to ever be disrespectful, no matter how upset you are. I do not need to hear bullying voices ever again and there is no reason to ever do that sort of emotional violence to anyone."

There were definitely beautiful and resonant moments in it. Thoughts around loneliness, belonging, and kindness. And I will remember these and leave the others.

With gratitude to netgalley and Little, Brown and Company for an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

Wow...How do I even begin to describe this book? Well...I can say you will LOVE it or you will HATE it. There doesn't appear to be much middle ground in the reviews.

This book is weird in the most wonderful way possible. It's kind of like stream of consciousness writing and kind of like poetry, yet it's neither of those.

This is a collection of essays and stories about being a human woman, living on this planet, loving lots of things, and having a heart that is vulnerable to being broken. The writing style is quite literal. Jenny's writing is sensory and emotional and magical. I'm not sure how it's all of those things at once, but it is. This book is unlike anything else I've ever read, and because I'm an emotion filled human woman with a beating heart, who has been lonely and angry, and also loves geraniums, it resonated with me in a deep, yet odd way. This is a truly special book that not everyone will "get," but those who do will love it every much, like I did.

Some of Jenny's stories reminded me of Aimee Bender's writing. So if you like that, you'll like this.

Many thanks to NetGalley for my advanced copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.

I felt like the little kid in the emperor's new clothes when I was reading this. People were saying it was so good and thought provoking, but I felt like I'm the only one who can see that it's prattle. Like I'm standing in the middle of a crowd screaming, "this isn't clever, it's just weird!"
And I get it, for the record: she is playing with thought and language and breaking words down to the most simplistic meaning to highlight how ridiculous everything is and I guess I see the art in that, but it brings up a lot of questions, doesn't it? Like, I won't get too philosophical in this review, but it definitely causes me to rethink the rules I've created for determining whether something is "good." Is it enough that she plays with language? My gut reaction is no because it's almost like she's amused and pleased by her own cleverness. When really, I didn't think this was particularly fresh. I just thought: Is this the 1950's? Are the beats back? Or maybe even more of a flashback, like a hybrid flashback: it was like Jack Kerouac and Gertrude Stein had a love child and not necessarily in the best way because Gertrude Stein at least had themes and Kerouac at least had a narrative. This had neither. There was no cohesive thought, it was just like this rant of free verse thoughts about Jenny Slate's childhood or boob basket and it was next to impossible to pull meaning from. I didn't like it at all.