Little weirds / Jenny Slate.
Material type: TextPublisher: New York : Little, Brown and Company, 2019Copyright date: ©2019Edition: First editionDescription: ix, 224 pages ; 22 cmContent type:- text
- unmediated
- volume
- 9780316485340
- 0316485349
- Essays. Selections
Item type | Home library | Collection | Call number | Materials specified | Status | Date due | Barcode | Item holds | |
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
Adult Book | Dr. James Carlson Library | Biography | Slate, J. S631 | Available | 33111009400561 | ||||
Adult Book | Main Library | Biography | Slate, J. S631 | Available | 33111009542420 |
Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:
One of Vanity Fair' s Great Quarantine Reads: Step into Jenny Slate's wild imagination in this "magical" (Mindy Kaling), "delicious" (Amy Sedaris), and "poignant" (John Mulaney) New York Times bestseller about love, heartbreak, and being alive -- "this book is something new and wonderful" (George Saunders).
You may "know" Jenny Slate from her Netflix special, Stage Fright , as the creator of Marcel the Shell, or as the star of "Obvious Child." But you don't really know Jenny Slate until you get bonked on the head by her absolutely singular writing style. To see the world through Jenny's eyes is to see it as though for the first time, shimmering with strangeness and possibility.
As she will remind you, we live on an ancient ball that rotates around a bigger ball made up of lights and gasses that are science gasses, not farts (don't be immature). Heartbreak, confusion, and misogyny stalk this blue-green sphere, yes, but it is also a place of wild delight and unconstrained vitality, a place where we can start living as soon as we are born, and we can be born at any time. In her dazzling, impossible-to-categorize debut, Jenny channels the pain and beauty of life in writing so fresh, so new, and so burstingly alive, we catch her vision like a fever and bring it back out into the bright day with us, where everything has changed.
Short autobiographical essays.
"To see the world through Jenny Slate's eyes is to see it as though for the first time, shimmering with strangeness and possibility. As she will remind you, we live on an ancient ball that rotates around a bigger ball made up of lights and gasses that are science gasses, not farts (don't be immature). Heartbreak, confusion, and misogyny stalk this blue-green sphere, yes, but it is also a place of wild delight and unconstrained vitality, a place where we can start living as soon as we are born, and we can be born at any time. In her dazzling, impossible-to-categorize debut, Slate channels the pain and beauty of life in writing so fresh, so new, and so burstingly alive that we catch her vision like a fever and bring it back out into the bright day with us, and everything has changed"--Dust jacket.
Treat -- Introduction/explanation/guidelines for consumption -- I was born : the list -- Fast bad baby -- My mother -- Deerhoof/dream deer -- Restaurant -- Daydreams/tides -- I want to look out a window -- I died : Valentine's Day -- Ghosts -- Color-spirit -- Letter : dreams -- Trench-times/dream dog -- Eclipse -- Touch vs. smack -- I died : listening -- Beach animals -- A prayer -- I was born : about to bust -- Nice things to do for tipping yourself toward gentleness and simple joy -- I died : the sad songs of my vagina -- Mouse house -- Holding the dog -- I died : bonked -- The pits -- To Norway -- Hillside -- Important questions -- I died : sardines -- Sit? -- Kathleen/Dog-Flower-Face -- Letter : super-ego -- Creed -- The Code of Hammurabi -- Kinship -- A fact -- Geranium -- A tender thief -- Night treats for her -- The root : a made-up myth -- Fur -- Tart -- Clothes flying on/day flying open -- I died : bronze tree -- Dog paw -- Blue hour -- From me to you, from me to everybody.