This might surprise you, but.
I read a lot. Sometimes it’s fanfiction, other times it’s mainstream published books — nonfiction of any kind, trashy fiction of all kinds — and yesterday, I picked up a copy of Jemima J by Jane Green, which told me it was an international bestseller, and has appeared on many bookshelves owned by friends and acquaintances. To those who own this book, I implore: Sweet Jesus WHY?
I’m on page 264, which means I’ve already read 263 appallingly-poorly written pages, and it causes me physical pain to recount the tragic love scene that was in it — winning, despite the mountains of bad slash I’ve read — the worst smut scene in the world award. Thomas Wolf and Charlotte Simmons have nothing on this “mmmmmm goooooooood” bullshit. I mean, for real? Why the fuck did this book SELL? I’m not even going to get into the wretch-horrible plot, how losing 80 lbs doesn’t just make you beautiful, it makes you mistaken for a movie star everywhere you go, with producers introducing themselves to you randomly at airports.
Look, I love trashy look stories as much as anyone, and never let it be said that I’m not a romantic: I love happy endings, I love when people are beautiful and redeemed and get to slap their enemies in the face, but OH MY GOD. I LOVE IT EVEN MORE WHEN IT’S NOT SHITTILY WRITTEN.
You see, all you’ve done there is made me want to read the book for myself.
Clearly this is the secret to its success.
P.S. I doubt it could ever measure up to the awfulness of Jilly Cooper’s book “Riders”.
Word. I’m reading Tabitha King’s One on One right now and OMG IT BURNS. It’s the epitome of badfic and therefore fun, but man, the CHOICES she makes. Hee.
I know why this book sold, though. I’m pretty sure it’s all due to Tabitha being Stephen King’s wife. She’s not really fooling anyone, unlike your author, apparently.
(Also, amusingly, the two main characters in the book are Sam (boy) and Deanie (girl). There’s a lot of h/c. SPN fans are writhing in glee right now and they don’t even know why.)
Reading Jemima J was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life I think. I did finish the book, but it was probably the train wreck factor that got me through it.
I read it like 5 or 6 years ago. But the beauty of the written word - it’s gonna be around to terrify and disgust people long after we’re gone.
Thank you. THANK YOU.
Now, if you’re looking for the chick lit equivalent of crack fic that works? Try “Size 12 Is not Fat”. Worth the time. Worth it, I say. Will wash the taste of the other out of your mouth. Promise.