Ever since the first in my comedy mystery series was published on Goodreads, it’s had an underwhelming rating. At one point, when I had fewer than twenty ratings, it was hovering around the 3.0-average mark. I’m quite pragmatic about it, and as long as I get my regular seven and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep, I don’t get worked up and pace around my apartment, chuntering to myself about what I’d like to do with a blowtorch and pair of pliers to the people who rated my book a one-star read. (Only joking, I’m more of a Bamboo torture kinda guy.)
Now that I’m getting close to eighty ratings, Hollywood Detective is on a relatively respectable 3.41 average. This may seem low—and it definitely is, at least according to your narcissistic writer—but books tend to have a lower rating on Goodreads than they do on Amazon, where my book has a 4.1 average. Not only that, the Goodreads community, in their widespread madness, have dropped the ball in rating a number of objectively brilliant books with a low average score—or objectively poor books with head-scratching high ratings. My book isn’t objectively brilliant—the prose is basic, the plot has an internal logic most readers would have a hard time swallowing, but the comedy is decent—but that doesn’t stop me from looking up books I love, cynically hoping that I discover they have a similarly low and perceived unjust average rating. Conversely, I also find happiness, paradoxically, in discovering that books I consider objectively bad and loathsome have high average ratings. I suppose the rationale is, if the Goodreads bookworms liked this piece of shit, then I totally get why they were indifferent about or hated my book. It’s a broken rationale, of course, as the same group of Goodreads bookworms that rated Book A highly is unlikely to be the exact same group of readers that rated my book unfavorably. There may be some overlap—pretty unlikely, given that I have a mere seventy-four ratings—but not enough to justify the feeling of wellbeing I get when I browse Book A to find it has a spit-out-your-beer-onto-your-iPad high score.
You can’t blog about ratings on Goodreads without mentioning Fifty Shades of Grey, as Goodreads, at least initially, was the reason behind that book’s popularity. And some of you may have thought Book A was indeed Fifty Shades. You were right. Before the fun begins, I’d like to say that I get subjectivity, and that different demographics of readers exist. And by writing that the high average rating Fifty (I can’t even be fucked writing shades anymore) has received is a head-scratching one, I wasn’t dicking on readers who like erotic romance fluff. If I had five cats at home and a hankering for rosé wine every Friday evening, hell, that’s probably the type of book I’d read. The head-scratching part comes from it being objectively badly written. I’ve only read the first three chapters, but if it carried on being so dully and repetitively written throughout its bloated length, there’s no way the good readers at Goodreads can justifiably have given it a 3.68-average rating. Surely more than half of those readers must have at some point stopped, mid page turn, and thought, Holy shit, I like the fucking and everything, but this author doesn’t have a fucking clue what she’s doing.
According to the Goodreads community, and while ignoring the aforementioned broken rationale and the fact that the following statistical analysis is flawed, my book is currently 0.27 stars shittier than Fifty. In my mind, and probably in my readers’ minds—or at least I hope—this is an unjust discrepancy. But I’m not ready to put the barrel of a loaded pistol into my mouth and blow my fucking brains out just yet, as I’m in good company.
I present to you, five objectively brilliant books that have a similar or lower score than Fifty:
- ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ by Ernest Hemmingway
Ever read the widely regarded masterpiece about the old fisherman who goes out to sea and very nearly catches the biggest fish he’s ever come across? Yep, believe it or not, but that book is only 0.01 star better than Fifty.
- Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Did you think this masterpiece is a vastly superior work to Fifty? You were wrong. It’s only 0.05 stars better.
- Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Surely the trustworthy avid readers online at Goodreads have got this one right? Nope. It’s 0.06 stars shittier than Fifty.
- The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer
You think I’m fucking with you, right? Nope. It’s 0.21 stars shittier than Fifty, and only 0.06 stars better than “the most disgusting, sexist, chewed up and regurgitated, completely predictable, boring, male fantasy crap of all time. Ugh.” – Amazon Reviewer
- Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
I saved the best until last, or should I say the shittiest. Yep, according to the Goodreads community, Herman Melville, in his futile efforts, lost by a score of 0.24 stars to E L James’s masterwork.
So there you have it. If I made you laugh or made you feel better about your book’s so-so score on Goodreads, please press one of the share buttons below to help me widen this blog’s readership.
In next week’s blog post I’ll discuss five things you can do with the pages of your Fifty copy instead of reading them. Spoiler alert: one of them involves your ass and the digested remains of yesterday’s breakfast.
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