Wednesday, 14 July 2010

Worst book EVER

I guess I'm a reader.  I never used to be.  I barely even looked at the books we were supposed to read in high school.  Then in university I just read text books and articles, which isn't the same as literature.  (And the highlighter kinda took away from the sense of 'leisure'.)

Don't worry.  I hate readers.  Readers are pretentious and annoying.  But when I became a commuter, I became a reader too.  Which is weird, because I spent most of my life getting motion sick in any and all moving-without-looking-where-I'm-going situations.  But I worked up a tolerance, and slowly found a way to read on a bus for a solid 40 minutes twice each day. 

At first I read scary stuff.  His highness, King Stephen.  (No tv and no chocolate make Annadanna go crazy.)

Then I went on a classics kick.  I decided I would read all the books I was supposed to read in high school, but never really did.  (I think I was a Coles Notes preferred client.)

So I read Wuthering Heights, and some Jane Austen novels, and, my absolute fav, Jane Eyre.  (Best book ever, by the way.)

Then I read Twilight and True Blood and became totally consumed with all things vampire.  Sidetrack.

Then I joined a book club (which really pushed me over the 60-year-old-in-a-26-year-old's- body cliff) and read some critically acclaimed stuff.

And then I thought I'd get back to the classics.  So I picked up Madame Bovary.

And what did I think?

Worst. book. EVER.

Not even kidding.  Least read-worthy book of all time.  I don't even have to actually read all the books of all time to know that this one's the worst.

Basically, this old French asshole wrote this whole load of crap about a woman who reads romantic novels, which convinces her to cheat on her husband.  She's generally unsatisfied and is pretty much a wretched and bitter harpy who resents her loving husband and daughter.  Awesome.

Some people might say it was just honest.  No way.  Some stuffy old guy trying to write from a woman's perspective just doesn't work.  He basically oppressed his lead character to the point where she hated her life, which made me hate her as much as she hated herself.  Not one redeeming quality.

I hated this book.  I couldn't even finish it.  And I always finish books if I start them.  For me to quit a book is a big deal because I always have to know what happens.  


So I Googled it.

The crazy bitch just kills herself with arsenic.

What a cop-out.  What a friggin joke.

I'm telling you - worst. book. EVER. 

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