In 2024, I read one hundred and fifteen books. My library card told me so.

I read to fall asleep. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I read to wake up. And then I listen to audiobooks in all of the day’s gaps in between. I call it professional development. After all, it’s research into the career I’ve been chasing since I realized there’s a slim chance I could join the books on the library shelves I love to look through.

But in one hundred and fifteen books, there have been some brutal reads. Reads I thought I was going to die before I finished. Reads I gave up on entirely. Reads I would never recommend even to my worst nemesis.

I haven’t made my Goodreads account yet. My library card keeps such good track for me that I’ve never felt I needed to. But if I ever do make one, here’s 2024’s worst reads:

How to Solve Your Own Murder — Kristen Perrin: Adult Nancy Drew—if Nancy found her great-aunt dead on her kitchen floor surrounded by unconvincing red herrings. Boring dramatic flashbacks and body found in a box included. I wanted to like the main character and instead found her the two-dimensional twenty-five-year old that adults make up to sound hip.

Killing Floor — Lee Child: Jack Reacher is the ex-military policeman that lives off the grid and still manages to have time to keep up just enough of his impeccable biceps and crime-fighting skills to make you roll your eyes. I usually find ex-military characters brutally sad, so I thought I could learn to empathize with him. I could with the Punisher. Between his fake guilt over his brother’s death and his flouncing with the classic token female policewoman, I found I couldn’t. Too much violence for not enough character development.

The Innocence of Father Brown — G.K. Chesterton: Watching the lovely British TV adaptation of this priest-detective did not prepare me for the book’s outrageous amount of racial profiling as major clues to the guilty party.

Thorn — Intisar Khanani: I read The Goose Girl in elementary school and thought the main character was boring. Princess Alyrra (a.k.a. Thorn)—based on the same story—somehow manages to be worse. From constant inner turmoil of not liking princess life to somehow catching the eye of the prince even in her switched-goose-girl-body, Thorn was a thorn in my side. I stopped reading when I met the talking horse.

The Gunslinger — Stephen King: I was promised The Mandalorian feels with mythic magnitude. What I found was shallow and forgettable characters—so forgettable that every time a character reappeared after a few chapters of being absent, I’d have to search back through the book to remember who they were.

Dead Man’s Hand — James J. Butcher: Reason enough to not trust what the Libby library app sorts as “most popular” audiobooks. Cue the equivalent of a magical Wendy’s cashier saving the “Ministry of Magic” rip-off world through his clumsy power to prove he’s innocent of murdering his former “Dumbledor” rip-off mentor. The narration grated on my nerves. I finished this book as a weary conqueror, not as a delighted reader.

Captivating — John and Staci Eldrege: Truths based more on movie references and personal experience, this book felt like I was watching the worst of women’s bible studies in slow motion. Scripture is taken out of context, history is rewritten to fit morals, and women across the globe are forced into their childhood Cinderella costume dress and told that’s who they are still at their core. Women, like Cinderella, are waiting for a man to rescue us from our lack of self-esteem and self-worth by telling us we are beautiful—captivating even. This quote drove me particularly insane: “nature is not primarily functional. Nature is primarily beautiful.”

Fourth Wing — Rebecca Yarros: I got to chapter eight and closed the book forever. To me, there’s a difference between a strong female protagonist and a female protagonist like Violet. The book never failed to mention that Violet is short and so slim—like incredibly skinny. So skinny and short. And her potential love match? Tall. Very tall. Scorching hot tall. For the amount of pages I read, there was scarily little character development. I actually might knock this out of the hands of my enemies to save them from reading it.

Bringing Nature Home — Douglas W. Tallamy: Don’t be misled by the book jacket, this book reads like a reference book for advanced gardeners, not like something that would “spark national conversation” about the links between healthy ecosystems and human well-being. Reading this book felt like…like suffering. It was not the link for my human well-being.

Gabrielle Eisma

Gabrielle Eisma graduated Calvin with a BFA in studio art and writing in 2022. She’s from Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she now works as a writer and illustrator for books for (mostly) children and middle grade readers.