Worst Writing Ever (fiction category)

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There was a thread about some dreadful critical writing, and it prompted me to dig out my favourite unspeakably bad writing. The book is some sort of fantasy/SF thing by Janet Morris, called The Golden Sword. I have so far managed to read about two pages, and don't expect to get much farther. Here is chapter one (called 'Ors Yris-tera', which is a bad start), paragraph one:

In the bloody sun's rising, the desert was a sea of gore, the crack-riddled, barren earth between it and the ravening crags east and west a vitrified corpse. The fuming sun straddled the mountains, triumphant. Vanquished was the beneficent night.

Actually, the quote inside the front cover will tell you more than you need to know:

"What shall I call you, little crell? Hael says you will live. Do you want to live?"

"I am Estri of Astria, Hadrath diet Estrazi," I said. I thought the second question rhetorical.

Am I alone in thinking ohferfucksake and shutting books when I come across something like "Estri of Astria, Hadrath diet Estrazi" early doors? This is what they have picked to entice you to buy it. Except that the tits on the cover are what is supposed to entice you, I expect.

Has anyone ever come across worse writing than this that was actually published in a proper book? Barbara Cartland may be even more inept and tin-eared, but at least you didn't feel as if she thought she was declaiming deathless prose at you. Her stuff was quiety, modestly fucking terrible.

― Martin Skidmore, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I thought The Poisonwoood Bible was pretty awful. Granted, not as bad as what you've just quoted, but for something hailed as a Meaningful Work of Literature, there are an alarming amount of cliches and simply flabby writing. And Kingsolver's attempts at "wordplay" are no treat, either.

― Prude, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

"Fafhrd stopped, again wiped right hand on robe, and held it out. 'Name's Fafhrd. Ef ay ef aitch ar dee.'

Again the Mouser shook it. 'Gray Mouser,' he said defiantly, as if challenging anyone to laugh at the sobriquet. 'Excuse me, but how exactly do you pronounce that? Faf-hrud?'

'Just Faf-erd.'

'Thank you.'"

It amuses me when recent fantasy type people are dead serious about the names, really, when Leiber and Howard never were, were they? it's all that bloody Tolkien's fault.

To answer the question, no, I have never read a book with worse prose than "the fuming sun straddled the mountains." I think one would be hard to find. The two books I've given up on due to prose are The Handmaid's Tale and American Psycho, neither of which approach that level of badness, although I think I'd rather punch Atwood or Ellis than any fantasy hack.

― thom, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses, too. Pompous, masturbatory macho posturing. A friend of mine suggested "All the Pretty Words" as an alternate title.

― Prude, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I know that as targets go there is none softer, but Jeffrey Archer sustains his limp prose, ludicrous plot-driving coincidences and completely wooden characterisation through 700 buttock-clenchingly awful pages of 'As The Crow Flies'.

His book about Robert Muckswill and Rupert the Merde (under asumed names to protect the guilty) was shorter, but even more excriciatingly tedious for its sycophancy. The fact that, by publishing the bloody thing at all, he was declaring a view that the life of a media mogul might be vaguely interesting to anybody but another media mogul, is the over-Arching (to briefly adopt his style of obvious puns and oxymoronic metaphors) brown-nose of all. The book was also a re-hash of his earlier and much less stale 'Kane and Abel'.

― BJ, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Thom, I've so far made three unsuccessful attempts to finish The Handmaid's Tale. I also have a 0-3 record in finishing books by Oz's own supposed literary legend Peter Carey.

― BJ, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I like Handmaid's Tale!

― Josh, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Secondary question: Which is worse, dreadful sci-fi garbage or not- quite-so-awful fiction that aspires to Literature?

― Prude, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Little did the humans know of a prehistoric octopus with a brain larger than even theirs, who became extinct from their secret oceanic trenches during the great boiling of the oceans after the asteroid hit. Of course their mushy bodies had left no fossil records, and their beaks were buried beneath the deep sea. These creatures communicated by flashing luminescent patterns on their skin, and had developed a visual language as such. This was like having tatoos on one’s skin that one could make say anything one wanted. They also could generate an electric field, like Eels, which they used for both self defense and affection. Oh, to feel the love of an electric hug! Their arts were limited to a type of arranging of ocean treasures, shells and urchins and the like. Once this was their nesting and mating ritual, but it had evolved into a form of spiritual expression. Many of these artisans wore the crown of pearls the Greeks would later emulate with the laurel. Some of these delicate arrangements even hinted at the Octopuses’ deep yearning to one day travel above the surface of the water, to that great unknown land. Plans to travel up there were widely scorned by most wiseocto’s, but one day a plan was developed. Luckily they didn’t live far enough beneath the ocean that they needed pressurized cabins, they could simply float to the top with their bodies unexploded. But they decided rather than tire themselves with the swim to the top, phase A would involve harnessing a giant squid as a sort of rocket. Once at the surface, the small bubble of water they had put in an egg sack of a shark would they float to the top with the aid of some rare wood found on a sunken tree. The mission was a success despite the slight awkwardness of the squid trip; the squid had to be persuaded with succulent food extended beyond it’s nose. once on the surface the octopuses looked with great awe and wonder at the sky, unclouded by the ocean atmosphere they had always known. Their tiny vessel floated about for a while before they abandoned it and sunk back down to safety in their escape shell.

― mike hanle y, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

While I actually like/enjoy/tolerate Jeanette Winterson; parts of Written On The Body made me want to hold her face under thick, syrupy chocolate (ie MUCH LIKE HER PROSE) until she drowned . . .

― Ess Kay, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Admittedly, the awfulness is intentional here, but it's time to talk about the Bulwer-Lytton Contest.

― Ned Raggett, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I like Barbara Kingsolver! The worst writer is hands down Anne Rice. When I was fifteen I would have said she was a great writer but now I see the light.

― micheline, Friday, 7 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Micheline, I think the trick with Anne Rice is to see whether you can swallow the overblown prose with a spoonful of sugar. I admit "Merrick" or the "Interview With A Vampire" chronicles still make me laugh.

For truly bad, I vote Jackie Collins or damn Danielle Steel. Tried to read some of those bodice-rippers in high-school under my desk, and there were a few times the teacher nearly caught me cause I was laughing!

Second runner-up? The new JFK Jr. book "American Son" by Richard Blow. Bought a copy for my mum, started reading it, but couldn't get through the first chapter. Since it's on the New York Times Bestseller list, I cringe at Americans' taste.

― Nichole Graham, Saturday, 8 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

"Crack-riddled" - you said it luv.

― Tom, Saturday, 8 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Bulwer-Lytton has been unjustly pilloried and maligned. I would like to defend his dandy, Germanic soul by means of illustration, a fine passage from his novel 'The Last Days of Pompeii':

'Nearly Seventeen Centuries had rolled away when the City of Pompeii was disinterred from its silent tomb, all vivid with undimmed hues; its walls fresh as if painted yesterday--not a hue faded on the rich mosaic of its floors--in its forum the half-finished columns as left by the workman's hand--in its gardens the sacrificial tripod--in its halls the chest of treasure--in its baths the strigil--in its theatres the counter of admission--in its saloons the furniture and the lamp--in its triclinia the fragments of the last feast--in its cubicula the perfumes and the rouge of faded beauty--and everywhere the bones and skeletons of those who once moved the springs of that minute yet gorgeous machine of luxury and of life!'

― Momus, Saturday, 8 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

"I thought the second question rhetorical"

heh. i quite liked that actuallly.

― bob zemko, Saturday, 8 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

The two books I've given up on due to prose are The Handmaid's Tale and American Psycho

Ellis' 'Less Than Zero' and 'Rules Of Attraction' were klassic. well-written, concise, v readable volumes. 'Psycho' and 'Glamorama' are great chunky doorstops of waffly crap. Why did Ellis go so crap? Discuss.

― petra jane, Saturday, 8 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Glam-o-Rama seems to be the edge of a new era, a rollicking and absurd catalog of sins and vices-Its Pyschopayhia Sexualis with more drugs and more beauty.

― anthony, Saturday, 8 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I've been trying to re-read American Psycho for about 3 years now. I've successfully read it once, hated it, saw the movie and forgot why I hated the book, and tried to reread it. THREE FUCKING YEARS NOW. I get disgusted and immediately move to something else. I don't know why he went so terrible, other than he just got very freaking impressed with himself and his editors stopped telling him to just get over it (proof: the increasing length of his books).

That all being said, Glamorama is still better than V.C. Andrews. Now that's great stuff.

― Ally, Saturday, 8 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

"Less Than Zero" is GRATE => the most depressing part of turning 20 was not having written something equiv.
Ellis going crap => his skill is punctuated minimalism (perhaps, er, "blankimilism" would be more to the point); but his excess was more interesting to the press/readers.

― Ess Kay, Sunday, 9 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Ursula le Guin is worse than Anne Rice... quite embarassing.

― Wyndham Earl, Sunday, 9 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I downloaded a song called 'Ursula Le Guin' by some death metal group. The outro went OOH! UH! UR-SU-LAH! it was grate.

Anyway.

Ursula Le Guin: writes concisely in variety of idioms, from children's books to nonfiction to sf to fantasy to lit-fic to experimental.

Anne Rice: writes big interchangeable tomes of vampire wank.

― thom, Sunday, 9 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

vampire wank in a good or a bad sense?

― mark s, Sunday, 9 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Ursula le Guin is worse than Anne Rice... quite embarassing

Errr, what? Have you gone mad?

― RickyT, Sunday, 9 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Ellis' excess = overblown wank for wank's sake.

― petra jane, Sunday, 9 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I think American Psycho is a great novel (Glamorama is a bit of a mess, but I like it too). I think it's one of the most daring satires of the 20th century! I certainly don't see anything seriously bad about his prose - although it's hardly likeable.

And Ursula LeGuin has written some pretty good books (the early Earthseas, The Word For World Is Forest, Left Hand Of Darkness). Her prose really is far, far more elegant than Anne Rice's - Rice is almost unreadable.

― Martin Skidmore, Monday, 10 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

People seem to leave out Easton Ellis's The Informers - this was my second favourite (first being Less Than Zero), though I definately think it had weak parts/ weaknesses. I guess it also was the most similar to Less Than Zero, which might be a weakness for some but I considered it a strength (I'm using past tenses because I suspect my opinions of his writing would have altered by now...but I did really like American Psycho and hate the film of it, and find Glamorama to be pretty badly written and failed. I think part of what I found attractive about his writing was the sense of, or theme of, synchronicity/'fate', (whilst being simultaneously...um... don't know the right thing I'm trying to express: like nihilistic or messy or 'meaningless' yet maybe none of those things) ah fuck it ANYWAY I have recently come to disregard Bret E E because he lavishly praised a book which I got out because of his big gushy blurb on it and I read about twenty pages to find it was a terrible piece of easy-buttons-pushing flashy hackwork (it was called House of Leaves.

― haloist, Wednesday, 12 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I think part of what I found attractive about his writing was the sense of, or theme of, synchronicity/'fate'
- & this would probably be offputting to me nowdays.

― haloist, Wednesday, 12 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

defend yr hatred of house of leaves before I weild my mighty anal mucous and let forth haloist

― Queen G of the lamenting anal labias, Wednesday, 12 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I need to reread American Psycho. Maybe I'm just perverse, but what intrigued me about it is that it's a book that appears to be TERRIBLY written, but there's obviously something serious going on under the surface. Much more interesting than most modern-day 'literary' novels which are all slightly over 100 pages and written in this very flat stylish Modern Library type prose. Then again I read AP right after LTZ, and so found Bateman's ranting very funny after the surfer zombie mode of the latter.

― Justyn Dillingham, Sunday, 23 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

any sex scenes in any book ever, not just the ones w/ gold leaf &or embossing on the cover. c'mon show me one that doesnt make yr dick curl.

― unknown or illegal user, Monday, 24 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Jack Kerouac. That's not writing, that's typing...

― dave q, Monday, 24 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-three years ago)

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