With everyone going on these days about how terribly edited self-published books are, I thought I’d take a moment to share a few gems (i.e., examples of atrocities committed against the English language) I came across recently in a book that has been edited and published by two large publishing houses.

I won’t share the name of the writer or his novel. Suffice it to say, the book was written by a bestselling author with some eighteen titles under his belt.

Let’s start with the least egregious and work up to my favorite:

“You were, Jonas,” Lauren said to Jonas.

Apparently, it was not clear that Jonas was being addressed.

I recognized Mattin’s brooding sedan.

I once owned a depressed VW Beetle.

My voice, I thought, sounded like an old lawn mower with a misfiring spark plug.

The narrator, I think, should see a doctor about that.

Bright flames rose like Satan’s breath up the dumbwaiter shaft from the basement.

This is particularly unpleasant for the narrator, since Satan is known for having terrible halitosis. Oh, wait. That’s Dick Cheney.

…first light was bouncing off the gazillion crystalline edges that are locked in the flat faces of the Flatirons.

…he narrated flatly. (Remember, to be taken seriously by your reader, always use big words… like gazillion.)

The intermittent, solitary, holy-damn barks became a chorus of slamming Bibles. In rapid succession, the claps roared from her throat rat-a-tat-tat as though she had loaded a dozen of the fat holy books in a Gatling-gun-style slamming-Bibles-on-the-kitchen-counter machine.

Just in case it’s unclear from the context: the narrator is talking about his dog.

The latch was smooth and carved from hardwood to fit a hand like a glove fits a hand. Perfectly.

This last one is definitely my favorite. It’s not as explicitly god-awful as the purple monstrosity above. But in its charming simplicity, and utter inanity, it’s a shoo-in for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

Though it’s true you can’t throw a rock in the self-publishing market without hitting such flagrant abuses of our mother tongue, it’s worth noting that a great deal of commercially published books are every bit as bad. The latter have just gotten a bit of a spit shine and a lot more marketing to convince readers that they are worth buying.

There really isn’t any point to this post, other than to observe that bad writing is bad, whether it’s traditionally published or no. And there is plenty of it to go around. Also, this is all a setup for a post I’m planning write in the near future called “We Are What We Read.” Stay tuned!

Uncovered any “Crimes Against the Humanities” lately? Post them in a comment. Also, check out part two in this series: “Further Crimes Against the Humanities” (now with Auto-Tune).

Tags: bad writing

Posted in Reading
4 Comments Posted by B. E. Hopkins