Big Thoughts on Little Weirds
By Jenny Slate
A book that changed my life
Review by Kiley Miller
I learned about this book on a late night show, where Slate talked about the title, having sent her editor another round of essays which she referred to as “little weirds” rather than stories, or a collection. Always a fan of memoir and celebrity autobiographies, I was immediately drawn to this.
Each vignette was a new chance to engage, whether with the world around me, or with myself and my memories. I challenged my worldview and was comforted that someone else has such absorbing off-the-wall fantasies and hauntingly morbid musings. Between conversations with herself or with her dog, in made-up obituary-esque death scenarios that reflect on a break-up that has killed her, and a series of beautiful pauses to just observe and enjoy nature, I’ve made a to-do list of thought experiments and baking projects.
Reading this during the COVID stay-at-home order slowed me down, let me flit around in my head, coaxed me off the couch and through the house and yard, quieted a too-busy mind, and engaged idle hands. Though my fiancé plans to read this too, I couldn’t help chirping at him with small quotes and beautiful lines. I bookmarked a chapter where she describes her last death, far in the future after losing her long-time partner, reminiscing on the memories that will have been; I expect parts of this chapter make it into my wedding vows, which are also on hold for another year while the world heals.
My only complaint about this book was the extent to which it encouraged and normalized my daydreaming. I found my mind wandering, as if waiting for permission to fade into the recesses of my imagination. Why does that even feel like a complaint, or a guilty pleasure?
This is a book for a solitary hot bath where you don’t realize your skin has pruned. This is a book to read with a dog curled on your lap, where you can laugh about drool stains. This is a book for lovers and singles and families, for youthful, fragile, and wild hearts. This is a book for weeping happy tears and madly plotting adventures, for saying yes when either springs up spontaneously. This is a book for dreamers and the down-trodden. This is a book to be shared, because it is all of us – chaos in curated form, in ambiguous trials of the every-woman scorned and discarded who comes to find herself, because no woman is just any woman.
I am touched, comforted, angry, loved, inspired. I can see that more clearly now and enjoy it when the moment comes. I hope I hold this one in my heart for a long time.