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reddragdiva:
What's the worst novel you've ever actually managed to finish ?
For years I had a policy of never (deliberately) failing to finish reading something. I have not-finished very few books because some bizarre completist part of me thinks I ought to finish them because I started. However of late I have come to realise that, at the point at which you're only reading for Magnus Magnusson-like reasons and not enjoying it, you really ought to give in.
Up until a few years ago, I could confidently claim that the only two books I'd ever deliberately given up on where Dickens' Nicholas Nickelby and Wideacre by Philippa Gregory. The former induced a vow, aged 14, that I would never read another Dickens novel - a vow I have since broken, and I quite enjoyed Tale of Two Cities in the end. The latter was just mediocre bodice-ripper fiction with added miserablism and didn't teach me anything much at all (beyond, potentially, that shagging your brother is a bad idea and no good will come of it).
Since then, I may have abandoned other books, but am not terribly sure. You see, it's easy to conclude rationally that a book should not be finished. But...
I haven't quite got over the idea that it should be. At present, I am failing to finish Peter Carey's True History of the Kelly Gang. By failing to finish, I mean "haven't picked up in some time, have been reading other books, have largely forgotten about". I have not, however, officially Given Up. Mr Carey has writen other good books, the True History... is an interesting concept and well carried out. It won a Booker Prize[*]. I just wasn't enjoying it and had discovered I didn't give a flying toss about any of the characters beyond wanting to bang their heads together to stop them making the same mistakes for the 3rd, 4th, or 5th time. However, at some point I feel the book should be given further chances. I certainly wouldn't call it a bad book.
However, to get back to the plot. The worst book I think I've ever finished (and thus, by analogy, ever read) is House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski.
OK, so it's not the worst-written book I've ever encountered - there are plenty of cheap romance or fantasy titles on the market written by people who can't string sentences together. But for sheer belief-in-own-worth to actual-worth ratio it takes the biscuit. The main spur to keep reading it came from desperately hoping that something in the narrative would pull it all together and justify the time (and, the label tells me, the £9.99) I'd spent on it.
In the end, after I'd waded through the tedious prose passages, the pages where the text was printed sideways and upside down, the pages of scribble and diagram, and deciphered the sections of flashback and flashforward I came to one inexorable conclusion: the book was just not as clever as it thought it was.
Looking at a review on Amazon, a reader said:
"This genre-busting post-modernist book is like taking a rollercoasterthrough a Dali-designed funhouse. Alone in its genre, it's a work of art. It will scare you, twist you, and linger in your mind without cheap tricks or flashy devices. Astounding."
I'd agree it was certainly genre-busting, and so post-modernist that it almost hurt to look at it. And reading it was a bit like a rollercoaster through something designed by Dali (with a hangover), but I didn't find it in the least fun. To me, it was all tricks and gimmicks with practically no substance or purpose.
If anyone wants to defend it, I'd be interested to listen :)
[*] Always a dead giveaway that a book will be near-unreadable, according to the mother.
In other news, a few months ago I read Rebecca's Tale, by Sally Beauman, which is a sequel to du Maurier's Rebecca. Despite being a modern sequel to a classic, it... didn't suck. Which surprised me. In fact, I rather enjoyed it.
It's years since I read Rebecca, so couldn't comment on style, but plot-wise it seemed to my dulled perceptions an admirable sequel. It developed the original story rather than ignoring it, was well-written and intriguing in its own right and didn't commit the cardinal sin of trying to tie up all loose ends.
With the obvious proviso that die-hard du Maurier fans will probably dislike it on principle, I'd quite recommend it.
reddragdiva:What's the worst novel you've ever actually managed to finish ?
For years I had a policy of never (deliberately) failing to finish reading something. I have not-finished very few books because some bizarre completist part of me thinks I ought to finish them because I started. However of late I have come to realise that, at the point at which you're only reading for Magnus Magnusson-like reasons and not enjoying it, you really ought to give in.
Up until a few years ago, I could confidently claim that the only two books I'd ever deliberately given up on where Dickens' Nicholas Nickelby and Wideacre by Philippa Gregory. The former induced a vow, aged 14, that I would never read another Dickens novel - a vow I have since broken, and I quite enjoyed Tale of Two Cities in the end. The latter was just mediocre bodice-ripper fiction with added miserablism and didn't teach me anything much at all (beyond, potentially, that shagging your brother is a bad idea and no good will come of it).
Since then, I may have abandoned other books, but am not terribly sure. You see, it's easy to conclude rationally that a book should not be finished. But...
I haven't quite got over the idea that it should be. At present, I am failing to finish Peter Carey's True History of the Kelly Gang. By failing to finish, I mean "haven't picked up in some time, have been reading other books, have largely forgotten about". I have not, however, officially Given Up. Mr Carey has writen other good books, the True History... is an interesting concept and well carried out. It won a Booker Prize[*]. I just wasn't enjoying it and had discovered I didn't give a flying toss about any of the characters beyond wanting to bang their heads together to stop them making the same mistakes for the 3rd, 4th, or 5th time. However, at some point I feel the book should be given further chances. I certainly wouldn't call it a bad book.
However, to get back to the plot. The worst book I think I've ever finished (and thus, by analogy, ever read) is House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski.
OK, so it's not the worst-written book I've ever encountered - there are plenty of cheap romance or fantasy titles on the market written by people who can't string sentences together. But for sheer belief-in-own-worth to actual-worth ratio it takes the biscuit. The main spur to keep reading it came from desperately hoping that something in the narrative would pull it all together and justify the time (and, the label tells me, the £9.99) I'd spent on it.
In the end, after I'd waded through the tedious prose passages, the pages where the text was printed sideways and upside down, the pages of scribble and diagram, and deciphered the sections of flashback and flashforward I came to one inexorable conclusion: the book was just not as clever as it thought it was.
Looking at a review on Amazon, a reader said:
"This genre-busting post-modernist book is like taking a rollercoasterthrough a Dali-designed funhouse. Alone in its genre, it's a work of art. It will scare you, twist you, and linger in your mind without cheap tricks or flashy devices. Astounding."
I'd agree it was certainly genre-busting, and so post-modernist that it almost hurt to look at it. And reading it was a bit like a rollercoaster through something designed by Dali (with a hangover), but I didn't find it in the least fun. To me, it was all tricks and gimmicks with practically no substance or purpose.
If anyone wants to defend it, I'd be interested to listen :)
[*] Always a dead giveaway that a book will be near-unreadable, according to the mother.
In other news, a few months ago I read Rebecca's Tale, by Sally Beauman, which is a sequel to du Maurier's Rebecca. Despite being a modern sequel to a classic, it... didn't suck. Which surprised me. In fact, I rather enjoyed it.
It's years since I read Rebecca, so couldn't comment on style, but plot-wise it seemed to my dulled perceptions an admirable sequel. It developed the original story rather than ignoring it, was well-written and intriguing in its own right and didn't commit the cardinal sin of trying to tie up all loose ends.
With the obvious proviso that die-hard du Maurier fans will probably dislike it on principle, I'd quite recommend it.
