The first night this winter that it was cold enough for a fire in my fireplace, for the first time in my life, I actually burned a book for no other reason than to protest its very existence. I don’t feel the least bit like Hitler for doing it. FTR, I don’t believe that the state should ever mandate the burning of any particular book, but the fact that I write something on a piece of paper doesn’t necessarily mean that it deserves to be read, and if you disagree strongly with what I write, you should feel free to commit your copy of it to the flame with no remorse whatsoever.
The Coming Race War In America, by Carl T. Rowan, was so narrow-minded and inflammatory that I only got through about a third of it before I gave up on any hope that the author might exhibit a shred of objectivity, much less offer any realistic solutions as to how our different races might peacefully coexist in this nation. I threw it straight into the fireplace, and there it sat through the summer, awaiting its execution. It isn’t part of the solution, it’s part of the problem.
I got it for a quarter at a library sale. That’s about twenty-six cents more than it was worth. If one of you wants to keep a copy for posterity (or in case you ever take a Shit-Stirring 101 course), be my guest.
And lest anyone accuse me of being a racist for slamming Mr. Rowan, know that you’re welcome to bring any similarly ignorant white-biased literature that you find to my house (and yes, I realize that there are truckloads of it out there). After we sit down and break bread together, we’ll have a bonfire in the back yard to celebrate Fighting Ignorance and racial harmony. I have absolutely no compunction about setting fire to such divisive trash, no matter who produces it. If I had had a copy of The Turner Diaries, I’d have burned them together.
I didn’t burn my copy of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova, but I did send it to Texas. It’s one of those books where if you say you think it’s good, I have to rethink our relationship.
I can’t sing it, but if you can, I’ll roll out the drum kit and back you up.
(In the interest of full disclosure, I confess that I had to go and find ‘Open Up’ on YouTube. The older I get, the harder it is for me to keep up with what you kids listen to. :sigh:)
85 posts and NO ONE has sent a Mary Higgens Clark book to the flames?
I can be in a bookstore, grocery, wherever and be all “oooooh boooks!” and be all blissful at the thought of thousands of pages of yummy goodness and then, my eye catches it, the drivel, the offensiveness of Mary Higgens Clark.
It’s like entering a bakery with wonderful cakes and cookies and there, in the middle of a display is a huge pile of stinkin’ poo.
I’d also like to toss my copy (which was left by the previous owner in her box of MHC books, Harlequin Romance Novels and various “how to marry a nice jewish boy” books) a copy of “The Rules” which I keep just to make sure it doesn’t enter into the hands of some poor confused girl. My own little bit of censorship.
The first thing to go must be Ethan Frome. Oh, that Godawful miserable book. That book is a cold and
savage landscape of doom.
Beowolf.
Any of the “Gossip Girls” books. I had the misfortune to stumble upon one, and showed it to my husband, letting him know that I would have to shoot him in the face with a sawed-off shotgun if he ever purchased anything like it for our future children. He read the blurb on the back cover and calmly replied, “That sounds like an appropriate punishment.”
In a related vein, 90% of the books about single, professional, fabulous chicks that have smarmy titles about margaritas, stilettos and hot guys. Barf.
V.C. Andrews’ “Dawn” series and its blatant sensationalization of rape and incest.
R.L Stine’s complete “Fear Street” library.
Anything Doctor Phil ever wrote. Not only that, but we raid his house and burn all of his notes, too…
Pretty much all supermarket romance, which provides about a 50k-word wrapping for one overly-romanticised sex scene in which nothing is mentioned by name if it can be referred to by overblown metaphor, and in the interests of public safety attention always has to be drawn to the use of a condom.
Clan of the Cave Bear and all its tribe. Do I really have to explain?
A People’s History of the United States by Zinn
Great Expectations by Dickens
Every single book in the Shannara series by Brooks
Anything written by Al Franken
You know, this thread got me thinking. Maybe I will burn my copy of Eragon. I don’t want to admit to owning it, and I don’t want to take the chance that someone else might be exposed to it. And I don’t want to throw it in the trash for the same reason.
Now if I only had a fireplace, or maybe I can go deep in the woods to a campsite…
Private Eye’s publishing-related cartoon Snipcock and Tweed had one of the characters picking up Joanna Trollope’s latest and wondering why the genre was nicknamed “Aga Sagas”. The next frame showed the door of the (Aga) kitchen range wide open and the book being thrown on the fire in disgust.
Ayn Rand needed a good editor. She was adamant about not cutting out any of her esceedinly long ramblings. In her day she had some interesting ideas but by the time she got them onto paper the workd had moved on.
I used to feel disdain for some books with which I disagreed even hated. I guess these things serve a purpose.Maybe only to serve as a foil for the rare remarkable work. I think someone else on this forum said something along this line.
I personally think ALL mysteries are a huge waste of time but my very intelligent sister loves them. They are an escape for her.
I would dump every Harlequin Romance ever printed. Oh wait, there WAS only one they just keep changing the cover.
