Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things

Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things

4.5 67
by Jenny Lawson

See All Formats & Editions

"Jenny made me laugh so hard I feared for my safety! I think that's how she was able to get past my defenses and make me feel more okay about myself." -Allie Brosh, author of Hyperbole and a Half

"You'll laugh, wince, writhe in discomfort, cry, then laugh again. You might even feel the need to buy a raccoon. But the two


"Jenny made me laugh so hard I feared for my safety! I think that's how she was able to get past my defenses and make me feel more okay about myself." -Allie Brosh, author of Hyperbole and a Half

"You'll laugh, wince, writhe in discomfort, cry, then laugh again. You might even feel the need to buy a raccoon. But the two things you'll never do is doubt Jenny's brilliance or her fearlessness when it comes to having honest discussions about mental illness, shame, and the power of human resilience. She's changing the conversation one rented sloth at a time." -Brené Brown, Ph.D., LMSW, author of the #1 New York Times Bestseller Daring Greatly

For fans of David Sedaris, Tina Fey, and Mindy Kaling-the new book from Jenny Lawson, author of the #1 New York Times bestseller LET'S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED...

In LET'S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED, Jenny Lawson baffled readers with stories about growing up the daughter of a taxidermist. In her new book, FURIOUSLY HAPPY, Jenny explores her lifelong battle with mental illness. A hysterical, ridiculous book about crippling depression and anxiety? That sounds like a terrible idea. And terrible ideas are what Jenny does best.

According to Jenny: "Some people might think that being 'furiously happy' is just an excuse to be stupid and irresponsible and invite a herd of kangaroos over to your house without telling your husband first because you suspect he would say no since he's never particularly liked kangaroos. And that would be ridiculous because no one would invite a herd of kangaroos into their house. Two is the limit. I speak from personal experience. My husband says that none is the new limit. I say he should have been clearer about that before I rented all those kangaroos."

"Most of my favorite people are dangerously fucked-up but you'd never guess because we've learned to bare it so honestly that it becomes the new normal. Like John Hughes wrote in The Breakfast Club, 'We're all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it.' Except go back and cross out the word 'hiding.'"

Jenny's first book, LET'S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED, was ostensibly about family, but deep down it was about celebrating your own weirdness. FURIOUSLY HAPPY is a book about mental illness, but under the surface it's about embracing joy in fantastic and outrageous ways-and who doesn't need a bit more of that?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Popular blogger/author Lawson (Let's Pretend This Didn't Happen) writes that this "funny book" about mental illness is not so much a sequel to her last book, but rather "a collection of bizarre essays and conversations and confused thoughts stuck together by spilled boxed wine and the frustrated tears of baffled editors." While followers of Lawson's blog will be familiar with her fascination with unusual topics (e.g., stuffed critters, the mysteries of Japanese toilets), newcomers may initially be jolted by the author's litany of diagnoses (depression, anxiety, autoimmune disorders, phobias, insomnia, etc.) as well as her unique ability to turn life's lemons into hilarious stories. Lawson decides that rather than wave a white flag, she will combat mental illness by being "furiously happy." Helping her stuffed raccoons ride on her cats, visiting Australia in a koala bear costume, and battling menacing swans are just a few of the ways she creates humor in a life that might defeat a less inventive individual. She also shares days of darkness, social anxiety, and a range of fears that sometimes keep her housebound. Though mostly comedic, the text also addresses such serious issues as self-injury and why mental illness is misunderstood. Lawson insightfully explores the ways in which dark moments serve to make the lighter times all the brighter. (Sept.)
Library Journal
★ 09/01/2015
Lawson (Let's Pretend This Never Happened) returns with another autobiographical work, this one focused on her experiences living with mental illness. The title comes from a hashtag Lawson started on Twitter after a friend's death to encourage people living with depression and anxiety to stockpile ridiculous, joyful memories "to take into battle with us when our brains declare war on our very existence." Her own furiously happy exploits lead to stories about her collection of odd taxidermy, the time she rented a sloth and a wallaby to surprise her husband and daughter, and a trip to Australia, where she donned a kangaroo costume in an effort to get closer to wild kangaroos. As delightful as much of the book is, Lawson is also candid about her struggles with depression, self-harm, and crippling anxiety, the difficulties of nailing down the right combination of medications to treat her conditions, and her fears about the effects of her illness on her family. VERDICT The stigma surrounding mental illness can only be lifted if people affected are willing to talk about their experiences and everyone else is willing to listen. This book is a profane, hilarious, touching, and essential part of that conversation. Recommended for all public libraries.—Stephanie Klose, Library Journal
Kirkus Reviews
Lawson (Let's Pretend This Never Happened, 2012), "The Bloggess," pokes fun at herself as she addresses the serious nature of her mental and physical illnesses. "I've struggled with many forms of mental illness since I was a kid," writes the author, "but clinical depression is a semi-regular visitor and anxiety disorder is my long-term abusive boyfriend." Rather than hiding the facts, she openly divulges, in a darkly humorous way, how she copes with rheumatoid arthritis, depression, panic attacks, anxiety, and the days when she is driven to pull her hair out or cut herself. Along with discussions about taxidermic giraffes and raccoons, whether cats yawn, and mobs of swans attacking her, readers learn the particular ways Lawson has learned to cope with those moments that threaten to overwhelm her—e.g., readings that send her cowering behind the podium or fleeing to the bathroom, passing out during a gynecological exam because she's afraid of medical coats, or trying to find a solution to her sleep problems by attending a sleep clinic. The details are sometimes graphic—"I always tell gynecologists that if I pass out when they're in my vagina they should just take that opportunity to get everything out of the way while I'm out"—but always honest and usually funny. Lawson's goal is not to offend, although that might happen to some readers, but to lay bare the truth about her struggles in life so that others can benefit. She does a solid job exposing the hidden nature of mental illness by putting a direct spotlight on her own issues, thereby illuminating an often taboo subject. Her amusing essays open up a not-so-funny topic: mental illness in its many guises. Kudos to Lawson for being a flagrant and witty spokesperson for this dark subject matter.
From the Publisher

Praise for Jenny Lawson:

"We’re living in an era of bestselling books by female comedians… But Lawson’s book needs no lovable, familiar face on the front cover…She’s unapologetic, candid, outrageous, and the book reaches new levels of hilarity because of it." —Entertainment Weekly (A)

“Jenny made me laugh so hard I feared for my safety! I think that's how she was able to get past my defenses and make me feel more okay about myself.” —Allie Brosh

“You'll laugh, wince, writhe in discomfort, cry, then laugh again…But the two things you'll never do is doubt Jenny's brilliance or her fearlessness…She's changing the conversation one rented sloth at a time.” —Brené Brown

“Lawson's self-deprecating humor is not only gaspingly funny and wonderfully inappropriate; it allows her to speak...in a real and raw way.” —O, The Oprah Magazine

“Take one part David Sedaris and two parts Chelsea Handler and you'll have some inkling of the cockeyed humor of Jenny Lawson...[She] flaunts the sort of fearless comedic chops that will make you spurt Diet Coke through your nose.” —Parade

Product Details

Flatiron Books
Publication date:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
6.40(w) x 9.40(h) x 1.30(d)

Read an Excerpt

Furiously Happy

A Funny Book About Horrible Things

By Jenny Lawson

Flatiron Books

Copyright © 2015 Jenny Lawson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-07701-1


Furiously Happy. Dangerously Sad.

"You're not crazy. STOP CALLING YOURSELF CRAZY," my mom says for the eleventy billionth time. "You're just sensitive. And ... a little ... odd."

"And fucked up enough to require an assload of meds," I add.

"That's not crazy," my mom says as she turns back to scrubbing the dishes. "You're not crazy and you need to stop saying you are. It makes you sound like a lunatic."

I laugh because this is a familiar argument. This is the same one we've had a million times before, and the same one we'll have a million times again, so I let it lie. Besides, she's technically right. I'm not technically crazy, but "crazy" is a much simpler way of labeling what I really am.

According to the many shrinks I've seen in the last two decades I am a high-functioning depressive with severe anxiety disorder, moderate clinical depression, and mild self-harm issues that stem from an impulse- control disorder. I have avoidant personality disorder (which is like social anxiety disorder on speed) and occasional depersonalization disorder (which makes me feel utterly detached from reality, but in less of a "this LSD is awesome" kind of a way and more of a "I wonder what my face is doing right now" and "It sure would be nice to feel emotions again" sort of thing). I have rheumatoid arthritis and autoimmune issues. And, sprinkled in like paprika over a mentally unbalanced deviled egg, are things like mild OCD and trichotillomania — the urge to pull one's hair out — which is always nice to end on, because whenever people hear the word "mania" they automatically back off and give you more room on crowded airplanes. Probably because you're not supposed to talk about having manias when you're on a crowded airplane. This is one of the reasons why my husband, Victor, hates to fly with me. The other reason is I often fly with taxidermied creatures as anxiety service animals. Basically we don't travel a lot together because he doesn't understand awesomeness.

"You're not a maniac," my mom says in an aggravated voice. "You just like to pull your hair. You even did it when you were little. It's just soothing to you. Like ... like petting a kitten."

"I like to pull my hair out," I clarify. "It's sort of different. That's why they call it a 'mania' and not 'kitten-petting disorder.' Which would honestly suck to have because then you'd end up with a bunch of semi-bald kittens who would hate you. My God, I hope I never get overly enthusiastic kitten-fur-pulling disorder."

My mother sighs deeply, but this is exactly why I love having these conversations with her. Because she gives me perspective. It's also why she hates having these conversations with me. Because I give her details.

"You are perfectly normal," my mom says, shaking her head as if even her body won't let her get away with this sort of lie.

I laugh as I tug involuntarily at my hair. "I have never been normal and I think we both know that."

My mom pauses for a moment, trying to think up another line of defense, but it's pretty hopeless.

* * *

I've always been naturally anxious, to ridiculous degrees. My earliest school memory is of a field trip to a hospital, when a doctor pulled out some blood samples and I immediately passed out right into a wall of (thankfully empty) bedpans. According to other kids present, a teacher said, "Ignore her. She just wants attention." Then my head started bleeding and the doctor cracked open an ammonia capsule under my nose, which is a lot like being punched in the face by an invisible fist of stink.

Honestly I didn't know why I'd passed out. My baseline of anxiety remained the same but my subconscious was apparently so terrified that it had decided that the safest place for me to be was fast asleep on a floor, surrounded by bedpans. Which sort of shows why my body is an idiot, because forced narcolepsy is pretty much the worst defense ever. It's like a human version of playing possum, which is only helpful if bears are trying to eat you, because apparently if you lie down in front of bears they're all, "What a badass. I attack her and she takes a catnap? I probably shouldn't fuck with her."

This would be the start of a long and ridiculous period of my life, which shrinks label "white coat syndrome." My family referred to it as "What-the-hell-is-wrong-with-Jenny syndrome." I think my family was more accurate in their assessment because passing out when you see doctors' coats is just damn ridiculous and more than slightly embarrassing, especially later when you have to say, "Sorry that I passed out on you. Apparently I'm afraid of coats." To make things even worse, when I pass out I tend to flail about on the floor and apparently I moan gutturally. "Like a Frankenstein," according to my mom, who has witnessed this on several occasions.

Other people might battle a subconscious fear of adversity, failure, or being stoned to death, but my hidden phobia makes me faint at the sight of outerwear. I've passed out once at the optometrist's, twice at the dentist's office, and two horrifying times at the gynecologist's. The nice thing about passing out at the gynecologist's, though, is that if you're already in the stirrups you don't have far to fall — unless of course you're like me, and you flail about wildly while you're moaning and unconscious. It's pretty much the worst way to pass out with someone in your vagina. It's like having a really unattractive orgasm that you're not even awake for. I always remind my gynecologist that I might rather loudly pass out during a Pap smear and then she usually grimly informs me that she didn't need me to remind her at all. "Probably," my sister says, "because most people don't make as much of a theatrical show about fainting."

The really bad part about passing out at the gynecologist's is that you occasionally regain consciousness with an unexpected speculum inside your vagina, which is essentially the third-worst way to wake up. (The second-worst way to wake up is at the gynecologist's without a speculum inside of you because the gynecologist took it out when you passed out and now you have to start all over again, which is why I always tell gynecologists that if I pass out when they're in my vagina they should just take that opportunity to get everything out of the way while I'm out.

The first-worst way to wake up is to find bears eating you because your body thought its safest defense was to sleep in front of bears. That "playing possum" bullshit almost never works. Not that I know, because I'd never pass out in front of bears, because that would be ridiculous. In fact I've actually been known to run at bears to get a good picture of them. Instead, I pass out in front of coats, which — according to my brain — are the things that you really need to be concerned around.)

One time I loudly lost consciousness at my veterinarian's office when he called my name. Apparently my subconscious freaked out when I saw blood on the vet's coat and then I abruptly passed out right on my cat. (That's not a euphemism.) I woke up shirtless in the lobby with a bunch of strangers and dogs looking down at me. Evidently when I started moaning the vet called an ambulance and when the EMTs arrived they claimed they couldn't find my heartbeat so they ripped open my shirt. Personally I think they just wanted a cheap thrill. I think the dogs looking down on me agreed, as they seemed slightly embarrassed for me after watching the whole spectacle unfold. But you really can't blame the dogs because, first of all, who can look away from a train wreck like that, and secondly, dogs have no concept of modesty.

"Waking up shirtless with a bunch of concerned dogs staring at your bra because you're afraid of coats is about the seventh-worst way to wake up," I mutter aloud to my mother.

"Hmm," my mom replies noncommittally, raising a single eyebrow. "Well, okay, maybe you're not normal normal," she says grudgingly, "but who wants to be normal? You're fine. You are perfectly fine. Better than normal even, because you're so aware of what's wrong with you that you can recognize it and ... sort of ... fix it."

I nod. She has a point, although the rest of the world might disagree with our definition of "fixing it."

When I was little I "fixed it" by hiding from the world in my empty toy box whenever my undiagnosed anxiety got too unbearable. In high school I fixed it by isolating myself from other people. In college I fixed it with eating disorders, controlling what I ate to compensate for the lack of control I felt with my emotions. Now, as an adult, I control it with medication and with shrink visits and with behavioral therapy. I control it by being painfully honest about just how crazy I am. I control it by allowing myself to hide in bathrooms and under tables during important events. And sometimes I control it by letting it control me, because I have no other choice.

Sometimes I'm unable to get out of bed for a week at a time. Anxiety attacks are still an uncomfortable and terrifying part of my life. But after my furiously happy epiphany, I've learned the importance of pushing through, knowing that one day soon I'll be happy again. (If this sentence seems confusing it's probably because you skipped over the author's note at the beginning like everyone else in the world does. Go back and read it because it's important and also because you might find money in there.)

This is why I sneak into other people's bathrooms in haunted hotels and once accepted a job as a political czar who reports directly to the stray cat that sleeps at city hall. I have staged live zombie apocalypse drills in crowded ballrooms and I've landed on aircraft carriers at sea. I once crowdfunded enough money to buy a taxidermied Pegasus. I am furiously happy. It's not a cure for mental illness ... it's a weapon, designed to counter it. It's a way to take back some of the joy that's robbed from you when you're crazy.

"Aaaaah! You're not crazy," my mom says again, waving a wet plate at me. "Stop saying you're crazy. People will think you're a lunatic."

And it's true. They will. I Google the word "lunatic" on my phone and read her one of the definitions.

Lunatic: (noun) Wildly or giddily foolish.

My mom pauses, stares at me, and finally sighs in resignation, recognizing way too much of me in that definition. "Huh," she says, shrugging thoughtfully as she turns back to the sink. "So maybe 'crazy' isn't so bad after all."

I agree.

Sometimes crazy is just right.


I've Found a Kindred Soul and He Has a Very Healthy Coat

A few weeks ago I was at the pharmacy picking up my meds and I was staring into the drive-through window and thinking about how awesome it is that we live in a world where you can pick up drugs in a drive-through, and that's when I noticed something strange next to the pharmacist's register:

And I thought, "Well, that's ... odd. But maybe someone returned them because they were stale or something?" And then I thought it was even odder that someone could realize that dog biscuits had gone stale because dogs aren't usually very good at not eating cookies even if they're fairly shitty. I mean, dogs eat used diapers if you let them, so I'm pretty sure none of them are saying no to cookies. But then the pharmacist came back and while he was ringing me up he reached over and picked up a handful of broken dog biscuits ...




And then I thought, "Wait. Am I high right now? Is he high? Am I being tested? Should I say something?" But I didn't, because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to accuse the man giving you drugs of eating dog food. And then I signed for the drugs and drove away and I thought to myself, "Is it possible that he accidentally ate the dog biscuits? Or maybe someone is always stealing his food at work so he decided to put his tasty human cookies (made for humans, not from humans) in a Milk-Bone box to keep them safe? Or maybe he just likes to entertain himself by seeing if people will tell him that he's eating dog food. Those would be good people, probably."

I'm not one of those people.

But then I spent all day thinking, "WHY THE DOG BISCUITS?" and so I went back today to ask, but the dog biscuits were gone and the dog-biscuit-eating guy was also gone and I thought, "Can I ask this pharmacist if the other pharmacist who eats dog food is around, because I need to know the story?" And the answer is "No. No, I can't." But I really want to know because I suspect that I would be great friends with this guy because anyone who would hide crackers in a dog-food box seems like someone I'd like to hang out with. Although, someone who just eats dog food for fun seems slightly more questionable. Except now I'm wondering if maybe Milk-Bones are really delicious and he's just a genius who's discovered really cheap cookies. Cookies that you don't have to call your judgmental vet about when your dog gets in the pantry and eats all of them. You still have to call the vet though when your cat has eaten a toy consisting of a tinkle bell and a feather and a poof ball all tied together with twine. That actually happened once and it was really the worst because the vet told me that I'd have to ply the cat with laxatives to make the toy pass easily through and that I'd need to inspect the poop to make sure the toy passed because otherwise they'd have to do open-cat surgery. And then it finally did start to pass, but just the first part with the tinkle bell, and the cat was freaked out because he was running away from the tinkle bell hanging out of his butthole and when I called the vet he said to definitely NOT pull on the twine because it could pull out his intestines, which would be the grossest piñata ever, and so I just ran after the cat with some scissors to cut off the tinkle bell (which, impressively, was still tinkling after seeing things no tinkle bell should ever see). Probably the cat was running away because of the tinkle bell and because I was chasing it with scissors screaming, "LET ME HELP YOU."

If I was good friends with that dog-food-eating pharmacist I would've called him to tell him all about the tinkle bell issue because he'd probably appreciate it, but I never found him again because I was worried that if I ever asked to see the dog-food-eating pharmacist the other pharmacists would stop giving me drugs.

This feels a bit discriminatory, but I can't explain exactly why.


My Phone Is More Fun to Hang Out with Than Me

When I wake up in the morning I often find messages left to me on my phone. Then I read the messages and I suspect that I'm being stalked by a madwoman. And I am. That madwoman is me. The calls are coming from inside the house.

Some of these notes are written while I'm waiting for my sleeping pills to kick in, but most are written at two a.m., when I'm convinced that I've come up with something brilliant that I'll forget if I don't jot it down immediately. Then in the morning I congratulate myself because I have forgotten what it was and am a little disappointed that the messages are less world-shattering and more just plain confusing. These missives from my brain are baffling, but I never delete them because it's nice to have a pen pal I don't have to write back to, and also because I can look at the strange notes and think, "Finally someone gets me."

These are a few of those notes:

"I'm not going to say I told you so" is pretty much the same thing as saying "I told you so." Except worse because you're saying "I told you so" and congratulating yourself for your restraint in not saying what you totally just said.

* * *

Are asparaguses just artichokes that haven't grown properly? Like they started smoking and got really skinny, like supermodels?

* * *

I bet marmalade was invented by the laziest person in the world.

* * *

Eating a peach is like eating a newborn baby's head. In that it's all soft and fuzzy. Not that peaches taste like babies. I don't eat babies. Or peaches, actually. Because they remind me of eating babies. Vicious circle, really.


Excerpted from Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson. Copyright © 2015 Jenny Lawson. Excerpted by permission of Flatiron Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

JENNY LAWSON, The Bloggess, is an award-winning humor writer known for her great candor in sharing her struggle with depression and mental illness. Her two memoirs, Let's Pretend This Never Happened and Furiously Happy, were #1 New York Times bestsellers.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things 4.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 67 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I laughed through this whole book and nearly hurt myself doing so. As someone who also has panic attacks and anxiety disorders, it is great to see the dark humor and to know that I am not alone. Thank you to Jenny Lawson for her insights.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I listened to the audio and enjoyed it immensely! You come to appreciate the quirks of the individual and can't believe some of the antics she gets into. She does touch on the dark side of mental illness, but blends it in well and writes with understanding.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I looked forward to this book for months prior to its release, I had high hopes for it. Her previous novel was probably the funniest I have ever read and I became an avid reader of her blog as well. This book just didn't feel as genuine as the previous one did, I skimmed through several chapters because they felt forced. Jenny Lawson is amazingly talented, I will continue to read her blog and will read her next effot if she releases another but this one was a let down.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Laughter through tears throughout the book. I highlighted and bookmarked more pages than any other book I have on my Nook. Take your time in reading it. Share it with someone who needs to know they are not alone.
Servo2 More than 1 year ago
@Anonymous, I'm a little biased since I've been following her blog for years, but yes, it's good. Like the description says, it's a little odd to write a book about depression and anxiety, but the book is about overcoming through humor--and maybe doing some nutty things once in awhile. I love her writing style, and her sense of humor is wonderfully deadpan. I dare you to get through the first ten pages without laughing. If you're looking for a clinical description of how to manage mental illness, this isn't it. A funny, down-to-earth book about having illness and living well anyway? Go for it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Jenny is hilarious. She makes me feel like im normal.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great book just older for olde eyes. There is a lot of cursing. You must also keep in mind that this is about a husband and a wife. I would say 13+. This was a funny book, and it taugh me to enjoy th little things.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Jenny takes the LOLs to a whole new level of absurdity.
Anonymous 12 days ago
Anonymous 16 days ago
Anonymous 17 days ago
The only book to ever make me laugh out loud.
BookWorm221 8 months ago
It’s hard for me to write a review of this book because I feel like I’m writing a review on Jenny’s life and day to day struggles so I’m just going to say that this book helped me a lot, it helped me view mental illness in a completely different way maybe even a little funnier and I thank her for that.
Anonymous 10 months ago
Everyone should read this book because either you have some physical or mental problem or you know someone who does. This book will help you get through your struggles with a little less alone feeling or help you understand the many people who struggle with what we call silent diseases. I highly recommend this book to all. Its weird, funny, sad and inspiring all at once.
JMTJTC 11 months ago
“Don’t sabotage yourself. There are plenty of other people willing to do that for free." Genre: Memoir/Humor. Number of Pages: 329. Perspective: First. This book is a collection of stories by Jenny Lawson as she tries to combat anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses by being “Furiously Happy” instead. I normally HATE memoirs. I don’t know why I keep reading them. But THIS is why. This is the memoir that I have been wishing for! This book is the first memoir that I truly loved. I ate this book up. But, I really think this will be a polarizing book. Some people won’t get her humor and will not enjoy this book at all, other people will relate or at least empathize, and will absolutely love this book. Personally, I gave this my Best Book Award. Jenny is vulgar, an exaggerator, and self-admittedly crazy. But, boy, is she hilarious. I found myself laughing out loud, and not many books can do that to me. I more likely to cry from a book than laugh. Warning: Do not read this book in public if you get embarrassed by laughing to yourself. Sandwiched in between crazy hijinks, Jenny shares a few serious stories about her struggles with her mental illnesses. Even though she tries her hardest to combat them, there are still tough days, weeks, and months. I think this book is eye -opening to people who brush off anxiety and depression. It can also be a beacon for people who do struggle with similar issues. To read the rest of my review, go here: http://judgingmorethanjustthecover.bl... http://judgingmorethanjustthecover.blogspot.com/2016/09/furiously-happy-jenny-lawson.html
Anonymous 12 months ago
A lot of people will say that Amy Schumer's new book is a "baring her soul" book, but it pales in comparison to Jenny's work. This book, which both my girlfriend and I read together, is an absolutely honest, candid, non-attention seeking collection of tales and thoughts that find themselves being genuinely hilarious in the process. Jenny brings the struggles of mental illness to the forefront, bringing her entire self to the audience, and left myself and my significant other feeling the least alone we've ever felt in our lives with our own struggles. I can not recommend this book enough to anyone seeking a funny, quick-witted, honest, and emotional read about one person's struggles, and how deeply they remind you of your own. Jenny is an unsung heroine of the literary and comedy world, and honestly, that works best for her. We, as her fans, will take care of her publicity for her, and I hope you will understand why after you read this. And be sure to read her previous book, "Let's Pretend This Never Happened."
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I absolutely love this book. I have recommended it to every person I know. Hilarious and insightful.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Thank you for a wonderful ride. I love this book!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I just purchased and I'm half way. This is a remakable life.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Jenny, you are the best! When life beats me down I read "Let's Pretend" until I laugh so hard I can move from my couch, where I'm huddled, and try to join the human race. ?
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Live Jenny!
Sandy5 More than 1 year ago
I dreaded the day I had to take these CD’s back to the library. She had become one of my best friends for the past few weeks as I listened to her stories, sometimes up to three times before moving on to the next CD. Lawson had me in stitches: this girl was not shy about anything, if it happened to her: she would tell you about it. I can’t image what other people thought as they saw me driving around town laughing in my car. Lawson’s wasn’t always funny as she spoke openly about her life, there were times that she took on a serious tone and when she did, her message hit home many times. Lawson is fighting a battle, a battle that many other individuals are facing. She is brave enough to speak out loud so that others can see that it is okay to hurt and to let them know that they are not alone. When I first started listening to her CD’s, I had to stop and take a breather after the first few because she overwhelmed me. Her thoughts never ended and boy, could Lawson talk! She was a fast talker. People say I talk fast but I think she could beat me by a mile. Her thoughts flowed from one idea into another, into another until sometimes, I wondered where it all started. It was comical how she went off into these tangents and after awhile, I began to love it. It was Lawson and this is one of the reasons she is so special. Eric (one of my Goodreads friends) saved me, as he pointed me in the direction of Lawson’s blog. I am forever grateful to Eric as now, I can follow along with Lawson on her blog and continue to laugh my way through life. Lawson is very truthful with her mental illness and her struggles with life. I appreciated her openness and her ability to share her story with the public. Dealing with Daily Chronic Headaches myself, her comments and humor validated that I am not alone in my daily walk with pain and that it is okay to have days where I have run out of spoons before noon. I don’t think I have laughed this much with a novel in a long time and I appreciate that she can find humor in her illness and can share that with the world. I loved her obsession with cats, as a cat lover, I found this comical especially the section with the cat named President. Sometimes as I was listening to her, I thought to myself, “did she really just say that?” as it seemed so over the top or it was something I might have thought to myself but I would have never said it out loud. I just had to laugh for I loved her frankness and her ability to just say whatever she felt like saying. I really felt sorry for Victor at times. That man deserves a medal. The comments and conversations that she has with him and his comebacks to her seem justified but their stories do not end there. Their chats continue on until the story has become twisted and occasionally off topic leaving Victor bewildered. The extra chapter that is included on the CD version on the book has Lawson discussing her imaginary friend and that definitely was a hoot! That was one of my favorite parts of the book. If you want to read or listen to a wonderful, humorous novel, check this out. I loved listening to Lawson read her story to me, I feel that it added to the novel and gave it authenticity. I now must decide whether I want to purchase the CD version or the printed version of this novel. Which one? To purchase the CD version, I can listen to Lawson and hear her personally tell me her story or I can buy the printed copy and mark it with post-its
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I loved this book. It's about absolutely nothing but took me on a hilarious ride that I truly enjoyed.
ChattyPat More than 1 year ago
A difficult book to review without being brutally honest.The author has just about every mental issue you can name. She's about as nutty as a pecan farm with evidently no filter what-so-ever between her thoughts and her words. Hat's off to her husband because being married to her must be like living inside a 24/7 rollar coaster. In so saying, this book is hilarious, disturbing, disgusting, distressing - did I mention laugh out loud funny in places? She does seem overly preoccupied with death, stabbing, sex. I don't know, there were parts where I decided I just didn't want to read it any more, but kept reading anyway, and no way could I not finish it. All in all, I guess you have to say it's an interesting book, that's for sure.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Loved it