I absolutely despise The Hunger Games, I saw the movie to see what the hype was and see if it wasn't quite as gruesome as I was picturing, and I refuse to read the book after that, and lectured my brother-in-law for 30 minutes on why he shouldn't let his children (ages 5, 8, and 11) read it.
I can read/watch part much anything without being offended or bothered, from non-con, to books from a serial killers pov, to erotica. The Hunger Games is the most disturbing thing I've ever seen, and its being marketed to pre-teens! I don't believe in banning books (except maybe 50 Shades, but its just too poorly written to count as a book), but how can parents let their kid read a books about kids enjoying torturing and murdering other children? Maybe its hypocritical of me, since "The Most Dangerous Game" is one of my all-time favorite stories, but I didn't read that until I was 16, and it wasn't marketed as the next great thing in pre-teen/teen literature.
I'm loving all the people hating in Twilight. I keep telling myself that one day I'll video my Cliff's Notes version of the Twilight series. It involves voices, hand gestures, interpretive dance, and a lecture on why Bella Swan is the antithesis of a good young female role model and how the books are not-so-secretly a giant advertisement for mormonism.
LOL I picked a book up at the library and started to look at it as it had a horse on the cover......the first few pages covered, in detail, a hanging in the 1700sss...!!!! NO WAY was I going to read that book!!! Can't remember the title though!!!
If I wanted a dated, coming-of-age book (known as a bildungsroman) about a utterly average but navel-gazing white guy who mistook his trials and tribulations for those of all people in all times and places, I would have asked for it.
I hated it too. I just can't find one single redeeming thing about it.
"We were the Mulvaney's" I did finish the book but just wanted to smack the stupid out of all the characters.
Daughter gets raped, dad can no longer stand to look at her and sends her away. Simpering mom goes along with the plan. Family tragedy ensues.
Boring and weak.
So Joyce Carol Oates got some appointment at Princeton out of her corpus of work (of course she did). And folks who have met her on tours of universities where she grants an audience of fawning academics have report that she is a fussy, self-inflated bizatch who, among other things, is disparaging to grad students. There is no excuse for that, given the power differential. So Oates can bite me for that, and for We Were the Mulveneys.