On this humble blog, I’ve even reviewed some dreadful books, including two by an infamous romance-writing plagiarist. The links to those posts are here and here. On one of those posts, I wrote this: “If you are the sort of reader who enjoys stereotypical characters, contrived and unbelievable plots, improbable coincidences, stilted dialogue, a plethora of adjectives and adverbs, an inconsistent voice . . . you’ll probably love this book.”
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| Tanner: "Why did someone give me this lousy book?" |
Who would have thought that my above words would also apply to a recently published book, Nekkid Came the Swimmer. Never have I encountered a book so truly deliberately horribly bad as this feeble attempt at a novel by Lorelei Leigh Lakewurst.
Here’s the book’s description:
Recently widowed Lorelei Leigh Lakewurst recounts a year spent at her aunt's home on a nondescript cove at Smith Mountain Lake where she encounters various lake characters (an evil homeowners' association president, a rogue wildlife protector, a strange handyman, an unusual book club, etc.) and swims naked everyday. Alas, Lorelei Leigh Lakewurst isn't real and her adventures and encounters bear no resemblance to anything that's ever happened on Smith Mountain Lake.
So how could a book this bad ever be published—especially since its author isn’t even a real person? Maybe because it’s published through CreateSpace, a free self-publishing service that allows ANYONE to publish a book, no matter how bad it might be. (Disclaimer: However, there are good books published through CreateSpace, too, such as this one, which I highly recommend.) But wait—there’s more in the book’s description:
She [Lorelei Leigh Lakewurst] is but a figment of the combined imaginations of eleven Lake Writers who set out to write the worst (and most improbable) book about Smith Mountain Lake ever. The book has no redeeming literary qualities whatsoever, except as an example of how NOT to write a novel. Consider yourself warned: DON'T BUY THIS BOOK!
(Disclaimer needed here: I have been a member of Lake Writers since its beginning in 2000. I won't say whether I may or may not have been involved with the creation of Nekkid Came The Swimmer.)
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| Tanner: "Maybe if I ignore this book, it'll go away." |
How bad is this book? Here are some passages.
(p. 12) But here I am at Smith Mountain Lake, where my Aunt Agatha Usher and her significant other Christie, who were currently on a year-long tour of Europe thanks to Aunt Agatha’s acumen at insider trading and her successful Etsy business and her lack of spending money to maintain her rather run-down southern colonial Craftsman cottage on a cozy secluded cove.
I’d arrived only the day before, during the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day on the last day of July, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens or at least over a singularly dreary and neglected tract of real estate at the end of a nondescript but cozy and secluded nameless cove. I had been driving alone, in a late model Prius without a GPS, and at last found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy house of Usher.
Notice a literary allusion in that passage? Well, there are a lot more—equally bad or perhaps worse:
(p. 22) As I was saying, love is fraught. I allude once more to the literary allusion (sometimes mistakenly thought by the less literate to be illusion, but it’s not) above. Try telling that Blanche person that love is not fraught. Here she is, just trying to do the delicate little flower bit to get some affection, when suddenly there is not God so quickly but Stanley with more affection than she was really looking for, and that not entirely consensual to boot. She got those bright lights flashing, all right, but they were the ones on top of the little white wagon that took her right to the loony bin. So I know love is fraught. And you do too if you’ve read hardly anything at all.
Nekkid Came the Swimmer is also fraught with horrid descriptive passages:
(p. 28) Her heart palpitated, fluttered rapidly, then clenched again. Hurrying as fast as her long, shapely legs and her non-bunioned nor hammer-toed feet could carry her, she rushed to the front door, unlocked the lock, turned the knob, and, with great expectations, threw open the door. Her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped when she saw. . .
(p. 32) It was a dark and stormy morning, as a bolt of crashing lightning, accompanied by a roll of thunderous thunder, woke Lorelei with a jolt as she laid, er, lay—oh, whatever—in her bed. She rolled over on her side and looked out her bedroom window through eyes that were no longer emerald but were now bloodshot—the color of raw, red beef—and blurred from a very trying month of October and too much tequila chased by cheap India pale ale (not Sunken City’s Red Clay IPA) during the dark and stormy night before.
. . . and, of course, there’s more. An insufferable lot more. In the dozen chapters plus epilogue, the eleven writers who stooped to write this dreck manage to commit all major writing errors and a number of minor ones as well—there’s blatant plagiarism (albeit from works that are mostly now out of copyright), malapropisms, various other –isms, purple prose, way too many clichès, excesses of adjectives and adverbs, dangling modifiers and goodness knows what else, misspellings and typos, etc. Even the formatting is bad. Dialogue is even worse. The point of view shifts from first to third and back again, and the prose sometimes shift to poetry or drama. Or a combination. The plot is twisted, uneven, full of holes, and—well, words fail me. Possibly it has no plot. It’s hard to tell. One chapter is impossible to make sense of (as opposed to some others that are only next to impossible.)
There is one thoughtful touch. The back of the book tips you off that you shouldn’t read it:
However, if you do—despite these warnings—buy the book, at least your $10 will be going to a good cause—a Smith Mountain Arts Council scholarship for students in the counties of Franklin, Bedford, and Pittsylvania.
Now, I just happen to have come across the official FAQ (frequently asked questions) for Nekkid Came theSwimmer (because I might or might not be involved with the dreadful book’s creation). In order to enlighten you about the creation of this wretched book, I present it here:
Nekkid Came The Swimmer FAQ
Q. What is Nekkid Came The Swimmer?
A. It’s the culmination of a 2014 writing project undertaken by certain members of Lake Writers. These members wanted to see if they could come up with the worst novel ever written that's set at Smith Mountain Lake. Consensus is that they succeeded.
Q. What kind of book is Nekkid Came The Swimmer?
A. It’s the worst book ever written that’s set at Smith Mountain Lake.
Q. So it’s fiction?
A. Absolutely. Really, really bad fiction.
Q. Is it based on real happenings and real people?
A. Some real places and events are mentioned, but they’re used in a purely fictional way. None of the characters is in any way based on a real person. None of the things that happen in this book are remotely believable.
Q. How did the idea for this dreadful book originate?
A. One member of Lake Writers—who wishes to remain anonymous—suggested it as kind of a writing exercise. Oddly, several other members were amenable to the idea. The thing just grew. Contributing writers found it fun to break as many rules of good writing as they could. Plus there was a 1960s dreadful book, Naked Came the Stranger, written by a group of journalists using the name Penelope Ashe. . . .
Q. If this book is so bad, how did it ever get written?
A. A list of recurring characters and a few guidelines provided a basis. Chapters were assigned based on months in the year, so each author wrote his or her chapter without knowing exactly what the others were writing. However, since some chapters were read to the group, those authors who procrastinated were able to incorporate a few of the ideas from other chapters into their own. Eventually, there was a book. One chapter had more than one author, though.
Q. What is the premise of Nekkid Came The Swimmer?
A. Recent widow Lorelei Lee Lakewurst comes to live in her aunt’s lake cottage for a year while the aunt is away. She swims naked because of her allergy to spandex. Complications—some of which are far-fetched—ensue.
Q. What makes this book so bad?
A. You name it—it’s bad. Plot, style, characterization, formatting, plagiarism of long-dead authors, point-of-view switches, numerous clichés, etc. Actually, the book is kind of funny if you like to butcher literary sacred cows. Otherwise, it’s not funny—just bad. And tedious. And maybe stupid.
Q. Does Nekkid Came The Swimmer have any redeeming qualities?
A. Very few. But it can serve as a warning about how not to write. In fact, included is a study guide at the back. A few contributors discovered that deliberately writing badly actually helped them to write better. And any proceeds from the book will be donated to the Smith Mountain Arts Council’s scholarship fund.
And that’s all I’m going to say about that (or whether I was or was not involved in its creation).
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Tanner: "This book might
be useful for bathroom reading." |
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