FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction

BOOKS WE HATE
A dozen of the worst novels ever to masquerade as literature

James JoyceUlysses
Flatulent, narcissistic, infantile, nasty, and virtually unreadable, Joyce spends 800 or so pages floundering to nowhere. That it’s become an academic industry says more about academia than about the book. Can be hollowed out to create unmatched, discreet storage for a small handgun – no burglar would dream of stealing this ghastly tome from your shelves.

Virginia WoolfThe Waves
Pretentious, fake-poetic, precious, obscurantist, and banal all at once. But mercifully quite short – possibly because its galloping vacuity could not long be sustained. An expensive way to line your birdcage.

Samuel BeckettMalone Dies
Turgid, depressing, utterly boring, repetitive, and even more anti-life than the impotent ramblings of the ghastly Proust or guilt-ridden Graham Greene. Beckett should have worked harder to publish more one-word novels.

John GalsworthyForsyte Saga
Perfectly diced, lightly grilled soap-opera served up in an insipid gray sauce of flavourless writing thick with platitude, cliché, petit-bourgeois morality, drizzled with factitious ‘daring’ and saccharine conclusions. Best seen on TV if you have to; for once, these versions improve on the original.

John FowlesThe Magus
Having produced this, the most meretricious and orotund novel of the 1960s (which took some doing), Fowles had the nerve to produce a revised – dirtier, and dafter – version in the early ’80s. Deliberately and arrogantly baffling, it does at least have a single ending, unlike Fowles’s ill-written moral cop-out, The French Lieutanant’s Woman.

Salman RushdieMidnight’s Children
Unreadable. The pages of tortured (but prize-winning) prose resemble nothing so much as stewed knitting. After about 10 of them, we left them to their own conclusion.

D.M. ThomasThe White Hotel
It is difficult to trust an author who inserts gratuitous fictional hideousness into one of the most sickening of Nazi atrocities. Nihilistic intellectuals like Thomas might benefit from spending their winters picking turnips – or winkles – not insulting the dead.

Ian McEwanFirst Love, Last Rites
Nasty, brutish, and brief, McEwan’s first book of short, sordid stories showed us an author starting as he meant to go on. Now an acclaimed adornment of our literary era, McEwan demonstrates the incoherence and moral squalor of the current cultural ethos.

Martin AmisMoney
Mannered, laborious, boring and eminently lampoonable, Amis’s prose takes itself far too seriously for the corny profundities he toils so hard to unearth. A cultured American acquaintance was so incensed by this soi-disant novel’s insult to his intelligence he took it into his garden and emptied the contents of his Colt .45 into it. But Amis was always a lucky punk.

John Cowper PowysA Glastonbury Romance
Famously, and accurately, described by one underwhelmed reader as “a third-rate windbag”, Powys launched at least a thousand words to say less than his brother, the true genius T.F. Powys, could get across in a dozen. A dire read even on a beach, but a good doorstop or flower-presser at home.

Thomas HardyJude the Obscure
Hardy must be the most over-rated of early 20th-century English novelists. Usually characterized as “tragic”, his mean-minded and gloomy vision is really, merely, a low form of jejune pessimism. In Jude it all goes hilariously over the top, featuring the funniest suicide note in all literature. Only The Waltons did maudlin slush better.

D.H. LawrenceLady Chatterley’s Lover
The book everyone knows Lawrence wrote, while his huge achievements and true wisdom in The Rainbow, Women In Love, and such tales as The Captain’s Doll slip by unnoticed and unmentioned by the chic panjandra of the metropolitan literary élite. Mainly bad enough only to be embarrassing, Lady C. occasionally rises to such heights of dreadfulness as to make one hoot out loud. And the rude words were a mistake, as well.

FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
FireCrest International, publishers and republishers of remarkable original fiction
© 2007 FireCrest International Ltd.