Do We Have to Like a Book To Make It Worth Reading?

For the past few weeks, I’ve been posting challenges to a group that I have on GoodReads. Anyone who posts an answer to the challenge is entered into a giveaway for a signed copy of my novel.

It’s been fun and challenging for me. What do you ask potential readers to contribute besides their names? Something that engages and interests them, of course. And something that I’d like to talk about, too.

One thing that I’m thinking about asking my group is to describe a book that they’ve read and didn’t like but thought merited reading anyway. I try to read well-written books that challenge me in some way, whether in viewpoint or stylistically or in language or plot, so I use the rating system at GoodReads inconsistently—I rate books on liking as well as what I think their literary merits are (and I rate them either on whether I like them, whether I think they have literary merit, or both). I’d really prefer to have a few different rating categories for books, although maybe my skill at distinguishing literary merit should also be rated to be fair to anyone looking at my ratings. After all, I’m certainly not the best read or the most astute reader. And my reviewing vocabulary is rather limited since I didn’t major in literature.

Just today I read a review on GoodReads from a reader who gave The Kite Runner three stars (which means “I liked it”) when she really just found it “okay” by her own admission (two stars is “okay”). However, maybe she had trouble with the limitations of the rating system and that’s why she chose three stars. After all she thought

“[T]he author did a wonderful job writing the book -- but for me -- it was just too too depressing and I can't get into a book where I don't ever like the main character.”

Separating out “liking” from “compelling” in a story helps to make ratings and reviews more useful. If a sensitive reader can admit that a main character didn’t appeal to her but that other readers might connect with that character to the point of liking that would serve a better purpose than opaque star ratings. Then perhaps that same sensitive reader can begin to appreciate that not every great character can be made “likable.” Iago is a tremendously compelling villain (and I would argue that he’s the main character regardless of the play having Othello’s name), but he’s not at all likable.

Should we always read stories that we like or should we sometimes read stories that push our boundaries a bit? One of the best ways that advertising works is actually through negative association because we remember something that annoys or angers us rather than something that is mildly amusing or entertaining. Stories can work that way, too, if they have other necessary elements that are well executed. While I think that it is the author’s job to help readers identify with the main character as far as recognizing that character’s humanity, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to expect stories to just be fictional extensions of ourselves. Stories can act as personal adventures for us, and as such we tend to identify strongly with the main character. But they can also enlarge our understanding of the world and others, and that’s only possible if we’re willing to try to see through someone else’s eyes, even when we don’t like them.

Don’t get me wrong. When I’m tired or stressed, I tend to read stories that aren’t uncomfortable or challenging for me with characters I like and outcomes I want. My children do this, too. The 12-year-old just checked out a very short chapter book suitable for a first grader because she remembered the pleasure it gave her years ago. What would be a problem for me is if she never strained to read a book that a 15-year-old might read, even if she didn’t like it, or attempt to read more adult material that she couldn’t understand.