The Book I Hate Most in the World Right Now
And what that says about me
Last fall I started to see chatter everywhere about this new book. When I looked it up, I realized it wasn’t a new book at all. It had been self-published by the author in 2023, and then traveled through word of mouth to Oprah’s ears, where she called it one of her favorite books of the year in 2025. It was then published by an imprint of Simon & Schuster (one of the Big Five) and has been on the New York Times Bestseller list for 15 weeks as of writing this piece, and is currently #1 on the list.
I have watched readers of Wendell Berry, Marilynne Robinson, and Leif Enger rave about this book. I’ve seen trusted voices interview the author on their podcasts and in their publications. I’ve seen fellow writers Threading and Facebooking their love of the book. I shelved multiple copies at Nooks a few weeks ago and it never sticks around for long.
People are saying the book made them cry, it made them laugh, it made them reconsider their lives and want to be like its protagonist. It made them want to change their lives, starting now.
Me? I could barely get through the first ten chapters, almost DNFed it multiple times, until getting to the last five chapters and skimming my way through to its predicable conclusion. At a writers retreat a few weeks ago, I caught myself almost yelling about how much I hated the book to my friends and had to apologize for my intensity later. I have not felt so strongly against a book in my recollection. I read another book almost immediately after I read the first one, a book that also had an elderly protagonist, one a bit less likable, but also one with some unfinished business to do, and it’s the only book I’ve talked about more than the first book since then.
What is it about the first book that has hit such a sore spot in me? Why can’t I shut up about it to everyone I know? And why—this is what I’m really asking myself—do people just really love this book?
