Books I Hate
Well, actually, I got the idea for this list from Salon.com TableTalk/Books.
(Feel free to leave a comment re: the book(s) you truly hate. )
1. Bridges of Madison County. Waller, Robert James.
Is an explanation really needed?
2. A Moveable Feast. Hemingway, Ernest.
Hemingway, otherwise one of the finest writers in American Literary history, pretends to feel compassion for his fellow expatriates in 1920's Paris. Instead, he unwittingly reveals himself to be a huge misogynist ass preoccupied with his own self-importance. The anecdote about Fitzgerald's body parts is so obviously hateful, it's unbelievable. He is obviously jealous of everyone he writes of, including both Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein. This is some of the most vitriolic stuff ever written about real people.
3. What to Expect When You're Expecting. Murkoff, Heidi.
Of the three or four self-help pregnancy books given to me as gifts, this one was the worst. The author should be ashamed of herself. What pregnant woman on earth can follow the so-called "Best-Odds Diet" of plain whole-grain bagels smothered in plain yogurt? Christ. Morning sickness, anyone? Worse yet, she actually admonishes those who would dare cheat and sneak a potato chip or two.
The rules and regulations here are too numerous and overwhelming. If you are pregnant, do yourself a favor and get "The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy" instead, written by a former Playboy playmate, chock full of advice like remembering to paint your toenails before your due date. I am completely serious here - this is the stuff pregnant women really need to hear, not a bunch of preachy, self-righteous dogma sure to make one a nervous, paranoid, guilt-ridden wreck way before you've even made it to post-partum blues-land.
4. On The Road. Kerouac, Jack
First of the confessional drug-laced wanderlust stories, obviously meant to shock and very boring. Read THE ODYSSEY instead. Read THE GRAPES OF WRATH instead. Hell, read GO ASK ALICE instead. Not a sympathetic character in sight, mainly because Kerouac writes of himself and fellow "beat" Neal Cassidy.
5. Naked Lunch. Burroughs, William S.
OK, I just don't care for the Beats. For one thing, I'm not blessed with an addictive personality. If you are, and you enjoy incoherent rambling with no theme or reason, you'll get this. I didn't. Please read Faulkner's LIGHT IN AUGUST instead. Hell, read Anne Rice's INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE instead.
6. BREAKING DAWN. Meyers, Stephanie.
Yeah, pale whiny pink is an appropriate font for this post.
The fourth in the Twilight series of books. The first three are not bad. They're not very good, but they're not really bad, either. (Meyers does have an incredible talent for character development, I will credit her for that.) She also weaves a lot of (sometimes ridiculous) details together, and manages to keep track of all of them and fit them nicely into the plot. And the latter is why BREAKING DAWN is so very, very bad. It is beyond bad, it is a travesty, and a betrayal of the author's readers and fans. It is a betrayal to the characters themselves, and to the genre of tragedy, in general -which Meyers obviously does not understand in the slightest.
In BREAKING DAWN, Meyers takes all of her little details and rules given in the first three books and throws them out the window. Then, she throws in details and plot twists more ridiculous than ever. But the biggest flaw in this book is Meyers' complete failure to understand why happy endings are often not the stuff of great literature - because it would be BORING.
