Inspired by watching Heaven’s Prisoners last week, a list of (other) books I stopped reading because they were getting too depressing, with the reasons:
The Repairman Jack series (F. Paul Wilson) <—- Apocalypse seemed nigh (may have occurred in later books I haven’t read).
Hellboy (Mignola et al) <—- Apocalypse definitely occurred.*
The Kay Scarpetta books (Patricia Cornwell) <—- Unrelenting human malice, from the killers and from not a few of the recurring characters.
Charles de Lint’s novels <—- Unrelenting human and supernatural malice; it’s a bad old world out there, and the presence of magic just means more of it can literally steal your soul before it harms or kills you.
The Amelia Peabody Mysteries (Elizabeth Peters) <—- WWI. ‘Nuff said.
The V.I. Warshawski books (Sara Paretsky) <—- Unrelenting human malice again, with a soupçon of hideous sexism on top.
The novels of Thomas Hardy <—-To be fair, I barely started these, because depressing is what Hardy is known for. Hardy’s books are all beautifully written—but my god, at least none of the V.I. Warshawsky novels has anybody being sold at the farmers’ market.
King Lear <—- I used to think Hamlet was a little depressing, and then this. I’m not even going to give it the same semi-endorsement as Hardy, because even the power of Shakespeare’s writing can’t mitigate how much I hated King Lear. I’ve read less nihilism in actual nihilist philosophy.
*I’ve noted before that I find it really hard to stay away from Hellboy, but at the moment I’m holding strong.
Next time: On Friday, I continue this mournful theme with another Musical Interlude.