Some of you have expressed annoyance that I have not named the hated book in previous post. To which I can only say: tough.
My blog, my rules.
Is long-standing policy of this blog never to name the author or title of books I don’t like. This will never change.
I don’t name them because authors are the most sensitive creatures alive. Layers of their skin disappear every time one of their
babies books is dissed. This is why agents and editors never pass along any but the good reviews. They do not want their authors to wind up skinless because then they’ll be in intensive care unable to write more books.
Then there’s the other kind of author who seek out and destroy those who speak less than praise-ingly of their books. And—even worse—the fans who do likewise. Fans can be VICIOUS. What can I say? I am a coward.
The only time I will name a craptastic book or author is if they’re dead AND they don’t have a rabid fan following. Mentioning my dislike of a certain detective by a long-dead author led to my receiving hate mail. I have learned my lesson: Passionate readers are to be FEARED.
So far that means I can only tell you how much I hate hate hate hate Moby Dick. That’s because American Lit scholars aren’t very scary. I can so take them.