Y’all. Y’all. Maybe I wasn’t the target audience for this book but it was so bad.
Shed your tears, for there is no succor here.
Spoilers abound. I’ve never before hated such a good book. There was nothing enjoyable in here. It was gross, and full of despair, and unsettling. Reading this was like bathing in a fetid pool of sewage left out in an Arizona summer. I’d rather eat rancid fish than live in this world any longer. I’d sooner spend the rest of my life watching Michael Bay movies than read this book again. Which isn’t to say it’s a bad book. It’s not. It was well written, […]
My vitriol was a guiding light through this teenage romance.
I’ve got three books I need to review before this one, but none of the others had the impact on me that this book did (even though they were all objectively better, I think). First: three-fourths of this book is terrible. I don’t mean bad, I mean it was a grapefruit-sized pustula seeping boric acid. I hate-read this book. I wanted misery to befall the characters so that I could feel something other than hate. This book was so bad, I contemplated not even writing […]
Play in Traffic, Run with Scissors, Set Yourself on Fire…
There are many, many, many other things you can do other than read this book. I suggest all of them. Yes, even the ones that may end in death and dismemberment. I feel bad for shitting on this book, just after reviewing Station Eleven and all its “ars gratia artis” and to art is to human feel good messages. But… This book is not good. I mean, I’m not the sole decider of what is and is not art. I went to MoMA last year […]