Category Archives: Worst Books

Jonathan Livingston Seagull: A Parable (and not about seagulls)

     So all the book lists and reviewers I read suggesting I read “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” because it featured a seagull protagonist and was so “about seagulls,” clearly missed that this is a book about Buddhism. Jonathan, the “seagull” learns the truth about flying (it’s love), reaches a higher plane of understanding, returns to the earthly realm to teach other seagulls the truth about flying, faces resistance, but teaches one or two seagulls and so feels satisfied.

Here’s a telling excerpt:

“Your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip…is nothing more than your thought itself, in a form you can see. Break the chains of your thought, and you break the chains of your body, to…” (76-77).

While a parable of Buddhist enlightenment is entertaining, it is nevertheless disappointing when you are expecting a book about seagulls, or a book narrated from the perspective of a seagull. Jonathan never eats a fish.

The illustrations/photos in the book are less of a disappointment. They get far closer to the supposed “majesty” of Jonathan-the-buddah-seagull by representing seagulls (writ large) as majestic creatures.

Now that I’ve finished this last book on the non-human protagonists list I’m prepared to declare this category a wash. I’ll have to review my notes in detail, but I’m confident that I didn’t read a book with a non-human protagonist that wasn’t, in fact, a human protagonist. Cursed be the limitations of the (my) human imagination.

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The Loving Dead: Really bad.

    Maybe I just don’t get the whole “zombie” thing. Don’t get me wrong, like the next 20s something I have a zombie-pocalpyse escape plan, have watched enough zombie films to know zombies are “cool,” and am forwarded by I. relevant zombie-in-the-news stories. But I don’t get the appeal enough to enjoy (or even want to read) Amelia Beamer’s The Loving Dead. No wait, I think it’s Beamer’s fault for writing a boring, predictable, boring, and boring book, because I liked Wide Sargasso Sea (zombies) and The Forest of Hands Teeth (more zombies). So I take it back. I don’t blame zombies for the terrible book I just suffered through: I blame the lack of plot, character, setting, theme and ability to narrate without the use of clumsy descriptions.

I guess the thing that’s supposed to make the book appealing is that zombification takes place by way of sex, and that zombies can be controlled through sadistic whip lashings. As if somehow by describing lesbian sex and sadism I’m going to forget the narrative is TERRIBLE.

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The Lovely Bones: So. bad.

      I feel like this one might an “emperor’s new clothes” kind of case. I mean, it can’t be that so many reviewers out there got it so. wrong. It must be instead that someone wrote a glowing review (maybe as a joke? maybe for cash money?) and then rather than admit that they couldn’t see that there was nothing but a terrible, awful, no good, very bad book, everyone sort of shrugged and said, yeah, well, okay, it’s worth a read. No, no it’s not.

I’m feeling so scathing I think it might be time for another itemized list of the bad (I know, you’ve been waiting and hoping):

1. Little white girls: The book opens with an preface/acknowledgement (sort of) that girls of all colours get kidnapped and killed. And then begins a (very) uncomfortable foray into the fetishization of little white girls. Cue the “daughter-daddy” creepiness of Purity Balls.

2. Characterization: I do not care for characters because I know what kind of shampoo they use, or what drink they like after dinner. The novel reads like an endless exercise in character sketches with characters routinely brushing hair from their eyes and holding ceramic mugs of tea. I care for characters when I’m privy – through thought or action – to their motivations, not simply their thoughts or actions. “I felt sad,” is not character development.

3. Similes. With the (only) exception of Tom Robbins, authors who write purposefully vague or unusual similes (like the chestnut sun, like the tired watermelon) should have a firm and persuasive editor remind them that no reader wants to read those similes, and especially not for pages and pages on end.

4. A cliche conclusion to a trite and cliche novel is alas, cliche. I just have to say it: an icicle?! Are you kidding?! An icicle?!

5. “Buckley” is not an endearing name for a little boy. I kept confusing him with the dog. Maybe because he and the dog had the same level of character development?

6. I’ve had a glass of wine and feel like I may be being unfair. And then I think again about the icicle, and realize I’m not.

But I do think I’ll stop there. I’m not out of reasons I don’t like the book, but I am out of patience for thinking about it. For once I’m pleased I have a terrible memory, here’s hoping this one disappears quickly.

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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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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Fiction, Worst Books