Reading in Public No. 45: What do you do when you don't like something in a book?
How I move from negative reaction to critical analysis
Recently I’ve read some books that have left me with complicated feelings. These are books that I’ve generally liked—in some cases loved—but that also include a single element that I did not like at all. These types of reading experiences are so interesting to me. It’s not as if the tone, story, themes, structure, style, or plot didn’t work holistically—it’s just one small thing, and I don’t like dismissing an entire book for one thing I dislike. But what should readers do in these cases?
For some readers, there are plot points or stylistic things that completely ruin a book. I’ve heard anecdotes of readers who will completely dismiss a book with an affair plot point, anything supernatural, or a lack of quotation marks. This isn’t how I like to read, but it’s okay if that’s you! Our reading lives are our own and it’s good to know what you do and don’t like in your books.
But as someone who reads publicly, I feel a sense of responsibility to attempt, as best as possible, to untangle the merits of a book and the idiosyncrasies of my taste. All the caveats apply here. Yes, all opinions about art are subject. Also, yes, it’s important and interesting to share the more personal and idiosyncratic aspects of my taste as well.
Nevertheless, I find it helpful to have a strategy to use when approaching elements of books I don’t like. This strategy is not at all revolutionary (you probably do something similar!) but it helps me move past my initial reactions to offer more rounded reviews and to appreciate more books—you know I’m always in favor of reading strategies that help me enjoy and appreciate more of the books I read!
So here is the super simple thing I do when I encounter something I don’t like in a book. I ask myself: what purpose is this serving within the novel?
The purpose an artistic choice serves may be something like driving plot, creating tone or mood, establishing character, furthering theme, enhancing emotion, on and on. This can be a bit tricky because it can mean differentiating from the effect it actually had on me and the one I think the author intended. But even when the answer is unclear, just asking the question—what purpose is this serving?—can help me reframe a negative reaction into a moment of critical analysis.
Here are some examples from my recent reading:
In Miranda July’s All Fours there were some plot points and scenes I really didn’t enjoy reading. Without getting into spoilers, I found myself really coming around on these scenes because they worked so well to emphasize themes around intimacy, hormones, and sexuality.
In Sally Rooney’s Intermezzo, one of the POVs is told largely in subjectless sentence fragments. To me, the purpose of this is to show how unmoored, anxious, and lacking in self-concept this character is, and to force readers to feel that same unsettling feeling. Ultimately, in this case, I think I understand the purpose fairly well, but, for me, this choice didn’t add enough value to warrant the frustrating reading experience it caused.
In Practice by Rosalind Brown, I really disliked the fact that the plot included the main character—a college student named Annabel—having an affair with a much older man. I don’t have a completely satisfactory answer to this one. I think this relationship raised the stakes of the novel beyond just will she or will she not finish the paper she’s writing—but to me that was unnecessary. It also forced Annabel to confront the possibilities for her life after school. Both of these purposes have more to do with plot and tension rather than what I considered to be the important themes of the novel, so it continues to rankle me even though I loved the book overall.
In Bear by Julia Phillips, I didn’t love that the entire book was narrated solely from the perspective of Sam, one of the two sisters who serve as the novel’s protagonists. As the book came to a close, I realized that Phillips needed to make this POV choice in order to reveal some of Sam’s misunderstandings and confusion about the world around her. This is a case where I kind of wanted a different book than the one I got, but I also think the novel was effective in achieving its own aims.
The point with asking this question is not to find the “right” answer or to talk myself out of not liking something. Rather it allows me to press pause and consider the artistic purpose of a choice before I dismiss the choice itself or the book as a whole. I’ve found over and over again that this practice sharpens my critical reading and review skills and helps me to appreciate a broader range of books.
Tell me your thoughts! What do you do when you don’t like something about a book? Are there books you love in spite of containing something you despise? How do you think about and reflect on the elements of a book you dislike?
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Happy reading!
Sara
I love this. It's such a thoughtful way to read, and it's also respectful to the authors, trusting them to make the artistic choices that make sense to them even if they don't work for us. A classic one for me is that sometimes (though definitely not always!), when I'm finding myself bored, I realise that the author is trying to get me into the character's head and show me how monotonous their life is. (Madame Bovary is, from what I remember, a great example of this!)
What about when you encounter grammatical errors, plot inconsistencies, factual mistakes, or sloppy writing? I’ve found these things even in highly regarded, prizewinning books and even though I’ve still enjoyed the books, I’ve been disappointed.