Do you ever read a book so bad that it makes you feel queasy? And I am NOT talking about any shades of grey here. I have not so much as taken an E L James from the shelf of a second-hand bookshop - yes, they are already making their appearance in charity shops, if anyone wants a cheap copy! No, I do know my own limits, and am not going there.
The book I have just finished (I'm a great "I've started so I'll finish" person), is a memoir by a lady who was a Jewish refugee from Hitler in 1933. My interest was caught because she happens to be the same age, gender and nationality as both Lotte Kramer (on whom I have posted below) and Judith Kerr, the author of the inimitable "When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit". Both of those authors write movingly and with delicacy about their childhood experiences and the way these impacted on their development as young adults and beyond.
Anyway, back to the bad book. I won't reveal the author's name, as it might be considered offensive. The story was about her search for a long-lost ancestor, and could probably have been condensed into about three chapters. It was of minor interest, and there was nothing tearful in it, unlike the two authors referred to above. I am struggling to identify why it left such a bad impression, other than the fact that it was extremely repetitive. It left me craving a really classic work to put me back on my normal level of love-affair with books.
Has anyone had a similar experience?