Books People Love and the People Who Hate Them
I finally finished "The Dive from Claussen's Pier" last night. The book that so many people I know, love. It annoyed me. I didn't like any of the characters (except for sweet Lane). I thought they were all big wusses and obnoxious. I didn't like a few peccadilloes of the writer's style. At most, I felt it was a vaguely interesting character sketch.
I recently finished Douglas Copland's "Girlfriend in a Coma" (are you sensing a creepy coma theme here?) and was annoyed by it as well.
I keep trying to get into Augusten Burroughs' "Running With Scissors." Everyone has told me what a riotous book it is. I want to like it, but I'm having a tough time getting past the sadness I feel for the little guy growing up in such fecked up surroundings.
It takes a lot for me to admit that I don't like these books because people, whose opinions I trust, loved them. I wonder, "Is it me? Is it them?" Am I just an uncouth, dullard wildebeast with no taste whatsoever for literature?
I've come to the conclusion that it's all and none of the above. A lot goes into reading a book (or reading/watching anything, really) when you think about it.
- What's my mood?
- How well do I personally know the type of situation(s) the characters are facing?
- Do I like the writer's style?
- What's going on in my life?
- Do any of the characters resemble real people in my life? (and am I projecting my feelings for those real people onto the poor, innocent characters?)
- Etc.
So I guess I should take the pressure off myself to love what others have loved. The sum of reasons for why I don't like something is equal in importance to the sum of reasons for why someone else loves it. It doesn't necessarily mean I'm the uncouth wildebeast referenced above if I have no interest in reading "A Prayer for Owen Meany" because it sounds treacly and precious to me, even though a multitude of fair souls go insta-fahrklempt when the very title is mentioned. It's just a reflection of who I am and my experiences.
That said, if you don't find the movie "Xanadu" absolutely brilliant, you're dead to me. Ppuhhth.
4 Comments:
Okay, I was going along reading your entry and preparing to comment about how it's totally okay to hate books everyone else loves (for me it's anything written by Palahniuk or Joyce Carol Oates) and then I got to the Owen Meany part. LORI!!! Don't mess with Owen Meany. Owen will haunt you.
I think I might have to read the books you've mentioned now. You know, along the lines of "Wow! This tastes AWFUL!....here, try it!"
As for Owen Meany...I stumbled through it for 6 months because my brother's girlfriend loved it. It is an awfully long, dull, full-of-seemingly-useless-details book- but the last 10 pages are worth it. (Yes...10 pages out of what, 300?? Or more? It felt like more...)
Ok, ok, I'll try to give Owen Meany a chance. I consider you my book guru, Molly, so I'll succumb to peer pressure just this once (cough, cough).
PSUMommy, your comment gives me hope as well. I am actually ok with books that suck for pages and pages but end decently. Which is why "Girlfriend in a Coma" annoyed the crap out of me. I kept giving Coupland a chance, kept an open mind, and...nothing. Bah.
Oh, and PSUMommy, this milk kind of tastes weird- you try it. (Translation: if you try the books, let me know what you think!)
My mood, the writer's style and the characters (can I identify, do I know anyone like that, etc) all affect my experience with a book. Ususally. Sometimes I'm just taken by surprise. I enjoyed APFOM, but then again, I like John Irving.
I find a similar sitch occurs with movies. When someone says they hated a movie that I love, I always ask them what mood they were in or what was going on in their lives when they watched it. That's a huge influence on movie viewing, believe it or not.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home