The actor and comedian Jenny Slate works hard at being weird in her debut essay collection. Must we really think of her as a homemade croissant, oozing “antique decadence” and made up of “layers and layers of fragility and richness”? Peel away the artifice, and she turns out to be rather like the rest of us, albeit with the volume turned way up. She’s a gardener, a dog-lover, and “very divorced”. She gets stage fright still. And, when she stops trying quite so strenuously, she becomes a writer of tender, zestful prose.