Lord Foul's Bane Book

I've often lamented that five-star rating systems, such as the one used by GoodReads, don't allow for ratings lower than one star. Were it possible, I'd give this book negative stars; I think it actually sucks the quality away from books shelved near it, and generally makes the world a less joyful, less intelligent place to be.

You might assume from the previous statements that I dislike this book. Given that "dislike" is a pretty mild, milquetoast term on the sliding scale of affection, you would be wrong. I loathe this book. This is one of the very few novels I've ever literally thrown across a room once I'd finished it, and if I had the chance, I'd cheerfully do so again... preferably at Donaldson himself, were he within range.

Why? Let's start with the protagonist -- and please, don't even try to sell me on the notion that he's an anti-hero. Thomas Covenant is one of the most loathsome, self-involved creations ever to emerge from a writer's psyche, and the fact that he himself would agree with that assessment alleviates his repulsiveness not one bit. Covenant is whiny to the point of self-parody, self-pitying to the point of ego collapse, and constantly uses his (admittedly real) hardships as justification for not accepting responsibility for anything... including a heinous act of sexual violence which Donaldson thoughtfully sketches out for us just enough to make sure we don't miss the point: yes, Covenant really does rape a character after she's just healed him of his leprosy.

Ladies and gentlemen, Our Hero.

Of course, that's merely the most glaring flaw in a book chock full of awful. Donaldson's writing style gives new depth and nuance to the concept of "purple prose," and his "epic" story reads like an overcooked pastiche of Tolkien with some cheery "realism" (for which read "late 20th-century self-involvement") stirred in for flavor. I'd go on further, but honestly, there's only so long I can stomach kicking this dog of a novel before I feel the need to wash the taste of Donaldson's florid writing and his "hero" out of my brain.

I regret ever reading this book, and I am absolutely flabbergasted that it has enough readers and fans to have led to seven-count-'em-seven sequels as of this writing. I mean, sure, I know there's no accounting for taste, but damn.