# The Worst Novelist Ever **URL:** \ **Category:** Cafe Society\ **Created:** [March 13, 2018, 3:59pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493 "2018-03-13T15:59:48Z")\ **Posts on this page:** 20\ **Page:** 3
**Author:** ![kaylasdad99](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/kaylasdad99/32/3398_2.png) [@kaylasdad99](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/kaylasdad99)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 10:06am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/41 "2018-03-14T10:06:23Z")
Reading the article about Mrs. Ros made me think of W. Somerset Maugham’s short story _The Creative Impulse_, and his character Mrs. Forester, a fictional contender for the title. ---
**Author:** ![kaylasdad99](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/kaylasdad99/32/3398_2.png) [@kaylasdad99](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/kaylasdad99)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 10:09am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/42 "2018-03-14T10:09:21Z")
> [@FoieGrasIsEvil](#): > > L Ron Hubbard’s\* Mission Earth\* dekalogy is pretty fucking terrible, unless you’re on meth. To be fair to Mr Hubbard though, in his mind this was a documentary, not fiction. I believe the word you’re looking for here is _Scripture_… ---
**Author:** ![FoieGrasIsEvil](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/foiegrasisevil/32/16638_2.png) [@FoieGrasIsEvil](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/FoieGrasIsEvil)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 10:42am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/43 "2018-03-14T10:42:44Z")
> [@kaylasdad99](#): > > I believe the word you’re looking for here is _Scripture_… You’re scaring me. I thought that was reserved for _Dianetics_… ---
**Author:** ![PatrickLondon](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/patricklondon/32/4422_2.png) [@PatrickLondon](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/PatrickLondon)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 11:21am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/44 "2018-03-14T11:21:36Z")
The Victorian novelist Ouida came in for some stick, so much do that she was credited with the line (in a tale about a dashing young hero who also rowed at Oxford): “All rowed fast, but none so fast as stroke”. Actually it seems this was a character in someone else’s novel, making a rude remark about her, but it tells you how she was seen. And then there’s Mrs Henry Wood, whose “East Lynne” climaxes on a deathbed scene and the line “Dead! Dead! And never called me ‘Mother’!” ---
**Author:** ![Didactylos](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/d/a183cd/32.png) [@Didactylos](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Didactylos)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 12:29pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/45 "2018-03-14T12:29:19Z")
> [@kaylasdad99](#): > > Reading the article about Mrs. Ros made me think of W. Somerset Maugham’s short story _The Creative Impulse_, and his character Mrs. Forester, a fictional contender for the title. But could Mrs. Ros ever use a semicolon with the wit and subtlety that Mrs. Forester did? I very much doubt it. ---
**Author:** ![GreenWyvern](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/greenwyvern/32/2834_2.png) [@GreenWyvern](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/GreenWyvern)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 12:31pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/46 "2018-03-14T12:31:29Z")
The **Eye of Argon** has been briefly mentioned, but I can’t resist quoting the opening paragraphs. 😃 > [@](#): > > The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome cargoes of their struggling overseers. > > “Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of hell, barbarian”, gasped the first soldier. > > “Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death, wretch!” returned Grignr. > > A sweeping blade of flashing steel riveted from the massive barbarians hide enameled shield as his rippling right arm thrust forth, sending a steel shod blade to the hilt into the soldiers vital organs. The disemboweled mercenary crumpled from his saddle and sank to the clouded sward, sprinkling the parched dust with crimson droplets of escaping life fluid. > > The enthused barbarian swilveled about, his shock of fiery red hair tossing robustly in the humid air currents as he faced the attack of the defeated soldier’s fellow in arms. > > “Damn you, barbarian” Shrieked the soldier as he observed his comrade in death. Full text [here](http://www-users.cs.york.ac.uk/~susan/sf/eyeargon/eyeargon.htm) ---
**Author:** ![GreenWyvern](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/greenwyvern/32/2834_2.png) [@GreenWyvern](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/GreenWyvern)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 12:53pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/47 "2018-03-14T12:53:40Z")
From **The Castle of Otranto** by Horace Walpole (1764) - young Conrad is crushed by a mysterious giant helmet on his wedding day: > [@](#): > > Young Conrad’s birthday was fixed for his espousals. The company was assembled in the chapel of the Castle, and everything ready for beginning the divine office, when Conrad himself was missing. Manfred, impatient of the least delay, and who had not observed his son retire, despatched one of his attendants to summon the young Prince. The servant, who had not stayed long enough to have crossed the court to Conrad’s apartment, came running back breathless, in a frantic manner, his eyes staring, and foaming at the mouth. He said nothing, but pointed to the court. > > The company were struck with terror and amazement. The Princess Hippolita, without knowing what was the matter, but anxious for her son, swooned away. Manfred, less apprehensive than enraged at the procrastination of the nuptials, and at the folly of his domestic, asked imperiously what was the matter? The fellow made no answer, but continued pointing towards the courtyard; and at last, after repeated questions put to him, cried out, “Oh! the helmet! the helmet!” > > In the meantime, some of the company had run into the court, from whence was heard a confused noise of shrieks, horror, and surprise. Manfred, who began to be alarmed at not seeing his son, went himself to get information of what occasioned this strange confusion. Matilda remained endeavouring to assist her mother, and Isabella stayed for the same purpose, and to avoid showing any impatience for the bridegroom, for whom, in truth, she had conceived little affection. > > The first thing that struck Manfred’s eyes was a group of his servants endeavouring to raise something that appeared to him a mountain of sable plumes. He gazed without believing his sight. > > “What are ye doing?” cried Manfred, wrathfully; “where is my son?” > > A volley of voices replied, “Oh! my Lord! the Prince! the Prince! the helmet! the helmet!” > > Shocked with these lamentable sounds, and dreading he knew not what, he advanced hastily,—but what a sight for a father’s eyes!—he beheld his child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, an hundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, and shaded with a proportionable quantity of black feathers. > > The horror of the spectacle, the ignorance of all around how this misfortune had happened, and above all, the tremendous phenomenon before him, took away the Prince’s speech. Yet his silence lasted longer than even grief could occasion. He fixed his eyes on what he wished in vain to believe a vision; and seemed less attentive to his loss, than buried in meditation on the stupendous object that had occasioned it. He touched, he examined the fatal casque; nor could even the bleeding mangled remains of the young Prince divert the eyes of Manfred from the portent before him. ---
**Author:** ![CalMeacham](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/calmeacham/32/35_2.png) [@CalMeacham](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/CalMeacham)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 1:03pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/48 "2018-03-14T13:03:23Z")
> [@GreenWyvern](#): > > From **The Castle of Otranto** by Horace Walpole (1764) - young Conrad is crushed by a mysterious giant helmet on his wedding day: And yet this is the novel that established the Gothic tradition. It’s still in print. I have a copy, but I’ve never been able to finish it. Heck, it was even adapted as a comic book, back in the 1940s. ---
**Author:** ![ivylass](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/i/9de053/32.png) [@ivylass](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/ivylass)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 1:47pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/49 "2018-03-14T13:47:43Z")
> [@](#): > > Her superbly-formed eyes of grey-blue, with lightly-arched eyebrows and long lashes of that brownish tint, which only the lightly-tinted skin of an Arctic seal exhibits, looked divine. She laughed merrily at his wit, her soft brown lashes sweeping demurely over her startling gray blue eyes. She wiped away a tear of mirth, and he was encouraged as her left eyebrow arced delicately, as if she knew enough not to take him seriously…yet. ---
**Author:** ![Jackmannii](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/jackmannii/32/311_2.png) [@Jackmannii](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Jackmannii)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 2:09pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/50 "2018-03-14T14:09:44Z")
> [@Jasmine](#): > > An “arctic seal”?! Oh, yeah, we can all relate to that description. :rolleyes: _“Monsieur Cousteau promised me that seal!”_ - anguished _Calypso_ crewman in a Robert Klein routine ---
**Author:** ![Sangahyando](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/f14d63/32.png) [@Sangahyando](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Sangahyando)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 4:11pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/51 "2018-03-14T16:11:46Z")
> [@Mk\_VII](#): > > I’d be tempted to say Denis Wheatley. His stuff was very popular in its day, but it’s hard to read now (especially the jaw-dropping racism) As another Brit, I’m inclined to come in with a word or two in defence of our compatriot, old Dennis. He wasn’t a giant of serious prose literature, and I’m sure never claimed to be; but he was IMO re the “form” of his writings, definitely a competent literary craftsman, who produced some for-sure readable stuff. As for his illiberal side – well, as you allude to, he was a man of his time; again IMO, with more tolerance and compassion than a good many of his writing contemporaries. My chief turn-off with Wheatley, is that in his works with a “historical” (recent, or not-so-recent) setting: his self-imposed secondary purpose with these, to teach “history without tears”; can fail of that purpose, and occasion a certain number of tears. Shows up particularly in his Roger Brook (Napoleonic Wars era), and his 1930s-and-World War II, books. His “history-lessons” device here, often involves breaking off from the action, for characters in the novels to discuss at length, the political and social background to what’s going on at that time and place – and sometimes, even more blatant “instructive insertions” in the narrative, than that. His intentions may have been excellent; but it’s an awkward and clunky procedure, and has at times had me wanting to yell, “All right, Dennis, enough with the sodding history lesson ! If I’m curious enough about the whys-and-wherefores, I’ll read an actual history book: please, get on with the exciting stuff.” ---
**Author:** ![Soylent\_Juicy](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/82dd89/32.png) [@Soylent\_Juicy](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Soylent_Juicy)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 4:49pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/52 "2018-03-14T16:49:32Z")
> [@bibliophage](#): > > That sounds like [Homecoming](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homecoming_(novel)) by Cynthia Voigt. It sounds like _The Incredible Journey_ with kids instead of animals. I never read the novel but I have a vague memory of watching part of the made-for-TV movie adaptation. Yep, that’s it, thank you. ---
**Author:** ![sciurophobic](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/cab0a1/32.png) [@sciurophobic](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/sciurophobic)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 5:08pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/53 "2018-03-14T17:08:10Z")
> [@DrumBum](#): > > My vote would be Atlas Shrugged. I would hope that Middle school students in the USA are no longer compelled to this suffer through this book. I have never heard of any middle school assigning that book. Or any book that size. Or that badly written. ---
**Author:** ![ivylass](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/i/9de053/32.png) [@ivylass](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/ivylass)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 5:39pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/54 "2018-03-14T17:39:46Z")
> [@sciurophobic](#): > > I have never heard of any middle school assigning that book. Or any book that size. Or that badly written. I was assigned Faulkner’s **The Bear** as an example of “stream of consciousness.” Couldn’t make it past the first couple of pages. ---
**Author:** ![Ukulele\_Ike](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/u/df788c/32.png) [@Ukulele\_Ike](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Ukulele_Ike)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 6:03pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/55 "2018-03-14T18:03:44Z")
I have always heard it was **Harry Stephen Keeler** , but I’ve never read him. > **[Harry Stephen Keeler](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Stephen_Keeler)** > > Harry Stephen Keeler (November 3, 1890 – January 22, 1967) was a prolific but little-known American fiction writer, who developed a cult following for his eccentric mysteries. He also wrote science fiction. > Born in Chicago in 1890, Keeler spent his childhood exclusively in this city, which was so beloved by the author that a large number of his works took place in and around it. In many of his novels, Keeler refers to Chicago as "the London of the west". The expression is explained in the open... The worst I’ve read was definitely James Patterson. ---
**Author:** ![Ukulele\_Ike](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/u/df788c/32.png) [@Ukulele\_Ike](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Ukulele_Ike)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 6:08pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/56 "2018-03-14T18:08:06Z")
> [@ivylass](#): > > I was assigned Faulkner’s **The Bear** as an example of “stream of consciousness.” Couldn’t make it past the first couple of pages. Faulkner is never an easy read, but it’s not fair to call his work bad. I always blame myself. Also, he did **Intruder in the Dust** (1948), a brilliant mystery novel with an astonishing black man main character, which is not hard to read at all. And was made into an excellent movie. ---
**Author:** ![Springtime\_for\_Spacers](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/a3d4f5/32.png) [@Springtime\_for\_Spacers](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Springtime_for_Spacers)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 6:09pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/57 "2018-03-14T18:09:13Z")
> [@Soylent\_Juicy](#): > > I had to read a book for school once and it was painful. I forget the title or author but I bet someone here knows. It was about 3 kids who were abandoned in a mall parking lot by their mother so they head out in search of their grandmother. I remember something like 3 pages were devoted to how they licked their ice cream cones, I’m not joking. Homecoming: Cynthia Voight. I enjoyed it and the sequel Dicey’s Song won a Newberry medal. I think you might be in a minority here 🙂 ---
**Author:** ![Mk\_VII](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/5f9b8f/32.png) [@Mk\_VII](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Mk_VII)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 7:02pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/58 "2018-03-14T19:02:23Z")
> [@PatrickLondon](#): > > The Victorian novelist Ouida came in for some stick Her novels are noted for [1] purple passages of description, of places that are occasionally well-known enough to make you think ‘hold on, that can’t be right’ and [2] sketchy grasp of technical detail. This parody by Erskine Childers, written to while away a troopship voyage to Capetown, gives a fair flavour of her style: \*OUR ARRIVAL IN CAPETOWN. (With Apologies to “Ouida.”) "It was sunset in Table Bay—Phœbus’ last lingering rays were empurpling the beetling crags of Table Mountain’s snowy peak—the great ship Montfort, big with the hopes of an Empire (on which the sun never sets), was gliding majestically to her moorings. Countless craft, manned by lissome blacks or tawny Hottentots, instantly shot forth from the crowded quays, and surged in picturesque disorder round the great hull, scarred by the ordure of ten-score pure Arab chargers. ‘Who goes there?’ cried the ever-watchful sentry on the ship, as he ran out the ready-primed Vickers-Maxim from the port-hole. ‘Speak, or I fire ten shots a minute.’ ‘God save the Queen,’ was the ready response sent up from a thousand throats. ‘Pass, friends,’ said the sentry, as he unhitched the port companion-ladder. In a twinkling the snowy deck of the great transport was swarming with the dusky figures of the native bearers, who swiftly transferred the cargo from the groaning hold into the nimble bum-boats, and carried the large-limbed Anglo-Saxon heroes into luxurious barges, stuffed with cushions soft enough to satisfy the most jaded voluptuary. At shore, a sight awaited them calculated to stir every instinct of patriotism in their noble bosoms. On a richly chased ebon throne sat the viceroy in person, clad in all the panoply of power. A delicate edge of starched white linen, a sight which had not met their eyes for many a weary week, peeped from beneath his gaudier accoutrements; the vice-regal diadem, blazing with the recovered Kimberley diamond, encircled his brow, while his finely chiselled hand grasped the great sword of state. Around him were gathered a dazzling bevy of all the wit and beauty of South Africa; great chieftains from the fabled East, Zulus, Matabeles, Limpopos and Umslopogaas, clad in gorgeous scarlet feathers gave piquancy to the proud throng. Most of England’s wit and manhood scintillated in the sunlight, while British matrons and England’s fairest maids lit up with looks of proud affection; bosoms heaved in sympathetic unison with the measured tramp of the ammunition boots; bright eyes caught a sympathetic fire from the clanking spurs of the corporal rough-rider, while the bombardier in command of the composite squadron of artillery, horse-marines, and ambulance, could hardly pick his way through the heaps of rose leaves scattered before him by lily-white hands. But the scene was quickly changed, as if by enchantment. At a touch of the button by the viceroy’s youngest child, an urchin of three, thousands of Boer prisoners, heavily laden with chains, brought forward tables groaning with every conceivable dainty. The heroes set to with famished jaws, and after the coffee, each negligently lit up his priceless cigar with a bank-note, with the careless and open-handed improvidence so charming and so characteristic of their profession. But suddenly their ease was rudely broken. A single drum-tap made known to all that the enemy was at the gates. In a moment the commander had thrown away three parts of his costly cigar, had sprung to his feet, and with the heart of a lion and the voice of a dove, had shouted the magical battle-cry, ‘Attention!’ Then with a yell of stern resolve, and the answering cry of ‘Stand easy, boys,’ the whole squadron, gunners and adjutants, ambulance and bombardiers, yeomen and gentlemen farmers, marched forth into the night. “That very night the bloody battle was fought which sealed the fate of the Transvaal—and the dashing colour-sergeant nailed England’s proud banner on the citadel of Pretoria.” \* > [@PatrickLondon](#): > > And then there’s Mrs Henry Wood, whose “East Lynne” climaxes on a deathbed scene and the line “Dead! Dead! And never called me ‘Mother’!” These words actually come from one of the many stage adaptations by other people. They do not occur in the novel ---
**Author:** ![ivylass](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/i/9de053/32.png) [@ivylass](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/ivylass)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 7:56pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/59 "2018-03-14T19:56:27Z")
> [@Ukulele\_Ike](#): > > Faulkner is never an easy read, but it’s not fair to call his work bad. I always blame myself. > > Also, he did **Intruder in the Dust** (1948), a brilliant mystery novel with an astonishing black man main character, which is not hard to read at all. And was made into an excellent movie. I did enjoy **A Rose for Emily**. I’ll have to check out Intruder in the Dust. ---
**Author:** ![jaycat](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/jaycat/32/3015_2.png) [@jaycat](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/jaycat)\ **Post date:** [March 14, 2018, 10:21pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493/60 "2018-03-14T22:21:58Z")
> [@ivylass](#): > > I was assigned Faulkner’s **The Bear** as an example of “stream of consciousness.” Couldn’t make it past the first couple of pages. Just because you have to put a little effort into something doesn’t mean it’s poorly written. [Previous page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493.md?page=2) [Next page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-worst-novelist-ever/810493.md?page=4)