Today I actually wrote a warning in the front of a book. I didn’t want anyone I love to pick it up off the shelf, innocently believing it to be a decent crime-thriller, little knowing that it is actually the most amateur, irritating piece of writing I’ve had the misfortune to waste money and time on. I’m sure I lost brain cells reading it. I don’t want that to happen to my friends and family.
I’m a bit insulted at the idea that someone was paid money for editing it and actually allowing it through the publishing house, when there are young English students out here who would love to do their job, and be able to do it much better. Reading this book in bed last night, I was tempted to get out a red pen, start underlining the worst sentences and scribbling swear words in the margin.
The writing was so bad in places that certain sentences just made me cringe. Here’s a small selection:
‘I feel like an injured animal that’s gone to its cave to lick fatal wounds as I carry my box of belongings through the door.’
‘In terms of passion, the kiss doesn’t amount to much. But with regard to impact, I feel as if I’ve just been hit with a burst of machine-gun fire.’
‘My heart pounds like a metronome run amok.’
‘He’s a cop with a cop’s suspicions and the resolve to get to the bottom of those suspicions no matter what it takes.’
I’m fairly sure these weren’t the worst offences in the book, but I can’t face dragging myself through it again to find the truly abhorrent.
W H Smith, I feel very let down. ‘Recommended’ shelf? Recommended for what? Making papier mache?