Here’s a first: I’m writing a review on a book I didn’t finish because I couldn’t. Not because it’s terrible – it’s far from it. I couldn’t finish it because it was way too sophisticated for me.
Jenny Slate is a magnificent writer. She can take an every day situation like eating breakfast and turn it philosophical – a story that will really make you question your life’s choices. In one essay she writes about her house being haunted but then ponders the ghost’s love life which makes her contemplate her own. When I write my ghost stories the goal is to creep the shit out of you.
Her personal essays are filled with deep feelings and a creative, eccentric telling of them that include comparisons to things I would’ve never thought even go together. And sometimes they’re very funny.
I compare my life to Seinfeld episodes. I literally just named a post about my father-in-law’s habitual lying after an episode because it reminded me of the one where George Costanza lied to his former soon-to-be in-laws about having a house in the Hamptons and they went along with it just to mess with him.
Little Weirds is a fantastic book if you’re looking for a beautiful piece of work that’s about life. Unfortunately, my brain isn’t developed enough. I’m giving my brain a rest for a couple of days before I start my next read to see if that helps. If not, I may have to go back to Dr. Seuss books.
Typical Jenn 