I've spent the last few years trying to let go of author snobbery. There are many authors who I considered too popular to read. I've spent the last several years getting over it.
With this in mind at the library a few weeks ago, I picked up this book by Danielle Steel. I've never read anything by her since I also have a thing about authors whose names are bigger than the title. (I'm against it, in case you're wondering.) But this story was about San Francisco and the restoration of a turn of the century home. I am fans of both of those things, so I figured 'What the heck?'.
I think I may stick to my guns on my author snobbery from now on. This book was awful. A friend asked me if it was a trashy bodice ripper. The answer is no. There's nothing trashy in the story. It's just poorly written. Everything was said and said and said again. She could have shaved off 75 pages by not repeating herself every other page.
Maybe she has better books, but I'm not sure I'm willing to try any more to find out.
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