Perhaps the worst thing that can happen to a book is to be nice. Nice is boring. Nice is forgettable. Nice is something you continue reading in hopes that it will get un-nice, it will either turn vile or ascend to greater heights.

Nice is a drag.

I can remember with exacting detail why I loathed American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis. The reasons for abhorring Downtown Owl or The Wedding fall easily from my lips. The same can be said for the books that I love. Do you really want to hear me go on again about my love for A Prayer for Owen Meany? Because I will.

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