I finally read Fifty Shades of Grey. Not out of any driving need to read it, but because I’d grown tired of saying “No, I haven’t read it yet,” whenever anyone talked about it. And with the movie casting fiasco hitting the news, now was as good a time as any.
So, yeah. I read it. And let me tell you: my expectations were *really* low going into it. I mean, dig a foot under rock bottom and that’s where you’d find my expectations. But guess what? It wasn’t great, and I probably won’t read the rest in the series, but my inner goddess just sort of shrugged her shoulders and thought, “Well, hell, not as bad as I thought it would be.”
Flip the coin and let’s look at my experience reading Divergent when it first came out. Talk about sky high expectations. I mean, I’d been inundated with rave reviews and glowing accolades and this-is-the-greatest-thing-ever type discussions. You get the point. So I read it and thought, “Well, hell. Not as good as I thought it would be.”
Which is insane. Because I recently *reread* Divergent, wanting to give it another chance after all the hullabaloo surrounding the release of book three in the series – and the not so HEA ending – and guess what? I loved it. Loved it from start to finish and now can’t wait to read books two and three. So, what the hell, right?
It all comes down to expectations. Some books are hyped, and some are lambasted, and we can’t help but let those opinions color the way we feel about it before we even crack a page. Clearly for me, those highs and lows tend to pull me in the opposite direction of general consensus of suckiness vs. greatness.
Have you had an experience where you’ve read a book that everyone loved and found yourself wondering why? Or a book that became a target for everything wrong in publishing that you found yourself reluctantly enjoying?