Category Archives: Worst Books

September 27, 2011 · 12:05 pm

The Night Circus: Magic(al setting)

                    I read The Night Circus on the recommendation of a glowing review in The Globe and Mail and because Erin Morgenstern is coming to read from it tomorrow night (!). The Globe review suggested the book reminded her of reading the best novels of her life – the experience to be savoured and indulged like so much rich food. And while I enjoyed The Night Circus I’m not yet prepared to say it’s in the same room with the best books of my life (what are these books?).

So what are my problems? The story relies too heavily on the magic of the setting. An odd complaint perhaps from a book about magicians, a magical duel, a magical midnight circus, but the setting is just so. well. done. that when the characters remain somewhat flat and unpredictable (when do the two protagonists fall in love? you don’t know either? neither does the novel…), the plot holds inexplicable (and not ‘magic realism’ inexplicable, but just perplexing) elements and the writing is unremarkable. In a a tone that recalls Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, or the tv show Carnivale the story feels like it’s missing a certain authenticity that I’m having trouble explaining or justifying, but is there nonetheless.

That said, I lack the range of synonyms for “incredible” and “awesome” with which to praise the setting. The circus is so enjoyable to wander, so full of surprises, creativity and, well, magic that I loved the book despite my other concerns. It’s well worth the read if you care at all about magicians or, if you’re like E. the circus.

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August 28, 2011 · 10:09 pm

The Art of Racing in the Rain: Not good.

                               A weekend spent in E. with my parents meant I read a lot. Too bad I finished the weekend with such a terrible book. Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain has been widely celebrated, but for reasons I’m struggling to understand.

I suppose it’s a feel-good book. The reincarnated dog returns to his master, the widowed husband gets judicial vindication and his choicest job, the mother who died of cancer died because she didn’t ‘fight’ hard enough. The overarching message is one of terrible cliche and terrible responsibility: if you want it hard enough you can have it.

I say terrible responsibility because how cruel to suggest, (nay, to preach as this novel does) that cancer, or unemployment, or lawsuits are somehow the manifestation – or lack of manifestation – of individual wishes/desires. Karma! The book actually suggests karma to be the source or cause of misfortune and reward. *Note: I am not, at all, taking issue with karma as a philosophical idea; rather, I’m very uncomfortable with the quasi-mystical, entirely uncomplicated use of “karma” and “spirit” used throughout this book.

Combine the uncomfortable (or disturbing) morality of the novel with a dog narrator and excessive use of life is like a racetrack metaphor and you have yourself a terrible novel. 

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May 23, 2011 · 12:13 am

Not Without My Daughter: So much worse than bad

                                           Not Without My Daughter is bad for so many reasons: excruciating plotting (what should take a paragraph takes pages to develop), poorly developed characters, and an utterly and totally unsympathetic protagonist.

The whole point of the novel is to gain the reader’s sympathy for Betty, held hostage with her daughter in Iran by her husband, and through our hoped-for-sympathy to drum up anti-Iranian sentiments. Except Betty is the least sympathetic character I’ve encountered. Which is saying something because she is, according to the account here, held hostage, beaten, denied communication with others, and forced to have sex with her husband. And yet still I couldn’t care about Betty. In fact, if I’m being wholly honest I’d say I sometimes wanted Betty to stay trapped in Iran because I thought she sort of deserved to be miserable by virtue of her absolute self-absorption. And that was the really surprising part. For a book purportedly about a mother’s devotion to her child such that when given escape options she doesn’t take them for fear of losing her child, Betty embodies the sort of selfishness usually associated with sociopaths. She’s just. so. terrible.

I felt embarrassed reading the book on the bus for fear those around me might think I in any way endorsed or connected the anti-Muslim sentiments of the book, the racism against Persians, the pro-American propaganda. But more than embarrassed I felt sad that such a book so filled with hate, prejudice and racism had been published to such wide popularity (now a feature film starring Sally Field).

Disgusted by the content, troubled by the popularity, dismayed by the total lack of literary merit, I can only say that Not Without My Daughter is so much worse than bad.

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February 19, 2010 · 11:20 pm

Gorgeous Lies: Neither gorgeous, nor mysterious

Martha McPhee’s Gorgeous Lies served as my “bus book” for the last month. It is terrible. Really, really, bad awful. I would have stopped reading it, but it fit so well in my backpack and I only had to stomach a few pages at a time.

The novel follow the “wacky” Fury family – a new age blended family – as the patriarch Anton dies of pancreatic cancer. There’s the suggestion that there is some big secret lingering at the heart of his life that will either be revealed on his death-bed or in the book he’d been working on before his death. Turns out it’s no secret at all, the narrator lets us know early on that he’s been having sex with his stepdaughter(s).

The plot is terrible, but more frustrating and impossibly distracting is the writing. Awkward transitions, incredibly banal metaphors, clumsy dialogue, weak attempts at poetic description.

Turns out the book is a sequel – something the back cover does a good job of avoiding – which might explain some of the plot failings, but certainly does not account for the formulaic writing. Future bus books will be chosen based on more than size.

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