Almost finished reading Veronica Roth’s Divergent. Huge best-seller. Amazingly successful. In development for film. Widely praised. One of the worst books I’ve ever read in my life. Normally, I don’t write negative reviews. If I don’t like a book, I don’t review it. This is doubly so for indie books. If I read a bad indie book, I just walk silently away (at least, so far). Being an indie writer myself, I’m painfully aware of how a negative review can slump sales. I review books I really like. However, Roth’s book is traditionally published and will not be affected in the slightest by my squeaky mouse opinion. So, I’m going to review it. In bloody, blazing battle glory. Keep your eyes peeled. I’m almost done.
I hate this book. I despise it. I loathe it. I’m off to Costco.
If you hate it so much, why are you reading to the end?
I promised myself I would finish it. Dunno why. Some kind of masochist impulse.