Some books deserve 1000 words written about them. Others barely merit 100 characters. There are a lot of books I read that wind up in the latter category. They’re not necessarily bad. Some are even good. But they aren’t really worth mentioning all that much.
Then there are the books that inspire you to use words you shouldn’t because you have nothing good to say about them. And more often than not, they’re incredibly popular books. Or at least, written by incredibly popular authors.
Today, I’m breaking a rule and writing about a couple of those books. One of these is a book that I read a number of years ago, that’s stuck in my head because it is completely and utterly redonkulous. (Yeah, it warranted using a fake word.) Another, I started just a few days ago, and makes me lose all hope in humanity’s judgment.
You think I’m exaggerating, don’t you? Well… I’m not.
What are these books? Keep reading friends, because you’re about to find out:
A Confederacy of Dunces by Jonathan Kennedy Toole. IknowIknowIknow: you’re not supposed to talk smack about books that win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. I know that there are a ton of people who dig this book, including some authors I greatly respect. I know Ignatius Reilly is this supposed to be this breathtakingly iconic figure of a misunderstood genius. But you know what? He’s not. I went to high school with that guy, and I can confirm he was not a misunderstood genius. He’s a giant weiner. Honestly, I think this book is just the worst. Seriously. The worst.
Killing Lions by John and Sam Eldredge. I wish the audiobook were narrated by Michael Dorn in his “Worf” voice. It would add the appropriate manly gravitas the authors were going for, especially as they discuss the beauty of make-up sex together. Side note, who on earth ever wants to have a conversation with their dad about that? I’ll tell you, though, this book is all class. There’s discussion about the elder Eldredge’s wife “PMSing about something” (his words), dudes being prone to wander if things aren’t sufficiently spicy in the bedroom, and a hearty helping of paganism, too. So, yeah, no.
Maybe I’m out to lunch. Maybe I’m reading these books wrong. Maybe I don’t get what it means to be a mystically moustached man, and am unsophisticated in my humor. While I don’t doubt both of these things are true, I’m also sure your life would be better for having never read these books, in the same way no good comes from watching a Rob Schneider movie.
So take my advice, and skip these books and read something good instead.