So the other day, I picked up a book beloved and lauded by many on the interwebs as being the next best thing since egg salad on whole wheat (Yum!). After five pages in I set the book aside and went to get a snack. After twenty pages I opted to watch the People’s Court I’d DVR’d instead. By page fifty I decided to move on to something else, since it was either that or rip the book apart because the characters were so frustrating and unlikeable.
And then the guilt set in.
There is something very difficult about hating a book that everyone else loves. It’s a little like telling a room full of vegetarians that you really love bacon. You find your self hemming and hawing, and when friends press you about whether you liked a book or not you shrug, give a half smile, and murmur “It was okay.”
WHY?!? Why are we so afraid to say “I hated that book with the burning fury of a thousand suns going supernova?” Instead, we demure and make excuses, and pretend to be glad when a friend gives us the next book in the series for our birthday. Yay.
Look, it’s okay to not like books. Just like egg salad on whole wheat, not everyone is going to like every book. It’s not your fault or the book’s fault (okay, sometimes it’s the book’s fault, but that’s a subject for a different post). If you didn’t like egg salad you would say, “Ah, no thanks, I don’t really care for it.” We should be able to express our dislike of books the same way, without being afraid to express our opinion but also not becoming that loud mouth jerk that slams the book, either. Surely there has to be some happy medium.
So feel free to tell me you don’t like egg salad on wheat, just do it with some tact. It’s cool. More for me.