Because we've all read that book...you know the one. The one that you hated so much that you just need to warn everybody else off it (and hopefully find a couple other haters in the process). Maybe it was something that one annoying chick in your book group picked out when it was her turn to choose. Maybe it was something you had to read for high school lit class. Maybe it was a best seller everybody else was raving about or maybe it was just something that looked good, dammit, and then it betrayed you! Dish it. Let it out. We're here for all that pent-up book rage.
I'll start...Behind Closed Doors, by B.A. Paris. It sounded like a good, suspenseful domestic thriller where there's a seemingly perfect couple, but something more sinister is going on underneath the facade. But holy bearded Odin on a pogo stick, it was bad. SO. BAD. It was terribly written and ridiculously unbelievable. The main character (I really can't call her a heroine) was infuriatingly stupid and the husband...oh my gosh, Snidely Whiplash would have been a less cartoonish villain. Seriously, this guy marries the main character and then turns to her almost immediately afterwards and basically flat-out says "By the way, I am an evil murderous psychopath and this is my evil plan. Watch me be evil." And that's really not that far off from a direct quote because the dialogue in that book was some of the worst I have ever had the misfortune of reading. The whole way through the book I was just sitting there slack-jawed going "Has this person ever actually had a real conversation? With an actual, real-life human? Nobody talks this way! Nobody in the entire history of the world has ever had a conversation that even remotely resembled this!"
Grrrrr, I still hate myself for finishing it...