This week’s theme is Books From My Past Seasonal TBR Posts I STILL Haven’t Read (Submitted by Dedra @ A Book Wanderer). Being as how I haven’t done any seasonal TBR posts (yet), I’m taking liberties and drawing yet another topic from the TTT archive.
My choice: Books I’d Gladly Throw into the Ocean. I’ll count ’em down from 10 to 1, 1 being the book I’d like to yeet into the abyss and never see again. Some may have commentary, some may not. Only the worst of the worst will have a picture, so you can be sure to steer clear if you see it in the wild.
10. Beowulf. I don’t even remember why, precisely, I didn’t like it. I just didn’t.
9. Fugue. Not a bad premise, but the book had these very disconcerting shifts from present tense to past tense and back again. And I don’t mean flashbacks.
8. Secrets of the Starcrossed (The Once and Future Queen #1). The ending alone would have had me tossing a hard copy version across the room.
7. Breaking Time. I usually love a good time travel novel. This one just didn’t strike me as very good.
6. The Unfinished Land. Greg Bear is a master of science fiction. This, his first foray into fantasy, wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. It was nearly The Unfinished Book for me.
5. This Might Hurt. I really wanted to like this one. It went a little too dark for my taste, and when the big reveal of the earth-shattering secret came, it wasn’t that big.
4. Life of Pi. I know this was a wildly popular book at one point. It just didn’t click with me. Meh. Bye, Pi.
3. Tristram Shandy. I tried to read it to meet the category of “a classic” on a reading challenge. It was unqualifiedly horrid. I gave up about three pages in.
2. Raspberry Truffle Murder. I love a good cozy. I love a mediocre cozy. I am a fan of the cozy mystery genre. I couldn’t finish this one. Maybe it’s because I tried to listen to it on audiobook. Perhaps I should give it another try. Mmm, no.
1. And the book I’d most like to throw…Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake. More specifically, the first volume of the trilogy, Titus Groan. I couldn’t get past the first chapter, much less finish it. Mervyn Peake was a painter, and he writes like he’s painting – layer upon layer upon layer of excruciating detail. When it takes seventeen lines on a page to talk about a castle wall, that’s too much. (That may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much.) And since I couldn’t finish the first, I can’t comment on the throwability of the second. It’s almost universally agreed that the third in the trilogy is awful and should be avoided, even if you like the first two. My husband swears it is a masterwork and absolutely fabulous. It made me want to poke a stick in my eye. Read at your own peril.