When A Book Makes You Really, REALLY MAD
Let me start by saying I did like Love Story. So you really can’t hold this against me.
I hated this book. HATED it. And I very rarely hate a book. Sure, some books fail to live up to my expectations, some are just disappointing after being hyped up and receiving rave reviews, and some just aren’t my kind of books. With Oliver’s Story, the problem was this : it was plain terrible.
I’m reviewing this book a week after reading it in the hope that some of the anger would have subsided. I can’t say that it’s worked, but at least I’m not employing every swear word I know.
- Oh, where to start? If there was a list of things so cheesy you could make ten cheese burgers with it, this book would make it on that list. At the very top. Actually, make that thirty burgers.
- Take Oliver himself. He’s whiny, annoying, and he stalks the first female he decides to let in after Jenny died. Because he thinks she’s keeping secrets from him. The hell? They’ve gone out ONCE. And he thinks he’s entitled to know everything about her? Please.
- Listen to this:
“For some unfathomable reason, Oliver, I like you. But you are impossibly impulsive“
“You’re not too possible yourself,” I answered.
I’m sorry, what? What does that even mean?! “You’re not too possible yourself”?! Erich Segal, have you completely lost it?!
- I can’t handle so many stuck-up snobs. I just can’t. I don’t care if that’s how all corporate heiresses and people born into truckloads of money act (and somehow I doubt they’re thaaaat pretentious), but all the conversations about money in this book made me nauseous.
- There’s this bit towards the end of the book where they visit Tokyo. And I swear, it feels like he’s looked up the place and Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V-ed everything he could find. Or he actually visited Tokyo and somebody gave him a dreadful brochure. Which he copied out of. Either way, there was copying. Violation of the first rule of calling yourself a writer, I think?
- I liked Jenny. I did. If this was actually a book about him coping with Jenny’s death, it might have been better. I’ve never cared about Oliver much, and I doubt I’d ever be able to read Love Story again because of this.
- None. Oh, wait. At least I’m one book closer to my year’s goal. I suppose that counts.
Final verdict: I can’t stress how bad this book is. Do yourself a favour and stay away.