"Verity" by Colleen Hoover

Verity started appearing on my radar late last year, when there was hubbub on the local mom's Facebook group about finding and borrowing the novel and Hoover's other titles. Out of nowhere (at least, in my mind), Hoover was suddenly the hottest thing in middle-aged women's literature. One of my friends had reluctantly read the book for a book club and suggested I read it too. 

Of course, I didn't like the book, for many valid and defensible reasons*, and honestly its appeal is far less clear to me than other books that blew up among my demographic (say, Gone Girl, which I did largely enjoy, or even the awful Fifty Shades of Grey, which at least was something new). Still, I've been parsing over my reaction to the book, given that I knew I'd dislike it before I even began.

If I'm being honest, despite my self-adopted label as feminist, I tend to reject out of hand anything your average, upper-middle class, white suburban woman likes. I see the group as tasteless, bland, and frivolous--even though I don't see myself or any of my friends in that light. In some ways, rejecting products popular with suburbanites feels justifiable (after all, every book and movie tells me this group is the scourge of society), but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that some of must be rooted in misogyny, a sense that I believe many (most?) women like me can't appreciate real literature. (Of course, I don't think most men in my demographic can appreciate real literature either. However, as a stereotype, suburban men only watch football and thus have never picked up a book in their life, so there are not even choices to criticize).

I know all of this is ultimately self-aggrandizement, a sense that I (alone?) with my English degree and refined tastes can rise above the masses and appreciate real art, a snootiness that extends beyond literature to the films and TV shows I watch as well. And, again, I know that none of this is true. My friend didn't like Verity any more than I did, and she has no English background. And I'm sure there are women I know who loved the book whom I think are smart, thoughtful, and cultured.

Still, I'm left uncertain of where to go. I haven't participated in a book club in several years, but back when book clubs were at their zenith and I bounced among a few, I found myself at odds with the other members. The clubs often chose popular books like Verity, which I panned, and I knew I came off as pretentious and condescending to the other members who found them fun. On the other hand, it feels disingenuous to try to "focus on positive"--the fact that it's popular doesn't mean there's anything redeeming about Verity.

I suppose the only real conclusion I can come to is that my choices in books are dictated by my tastes, preferences, and reading experiences. That doesn't mean "anything goes"--that all judgments of literature are inherently subjective (and thus meaningless)--but rather that my end goal may be different than others. That's okay too. 

*Just a few valid and defensible reasons why Verity is bad:

1. The prose lacks any grace or art.
2. The main character, Lowen, is given a generic backstory: she had scary sleepwalking as a child, which caused estrangement with her mom. Her mom recently died. She doesn't like being in public. None of this backstory is developed into any sort of meaning in the novel and appears to exist solely to give her grief to share with Jeremy.
3. Lowen's character is, instead, defined by how hot she thinks Jeremy is and by how creepy she thinks Jeremy's house/wife is. But mostly how hot Jeremy is.
4. We're told repeatedly in the novel that Jeremy's wife Verity, who's a famous novelist, is known for writing books from the villain's POV (which Verity presents as some awesome feat; Paradise Lost, anyone?). It's clear early on that the "twist" will be in that vein, but the actual twist (which I won't explain, it's stupid and convoluted) is boring and nonsensical. 
5. No parent would write that about their kids, even as a writing exercise.