WHAT'S THE WORST FUCKING BOOK I'VE READ?

And why?
   I've read all kinds of books and excuses for books. So what is the worst book I've read? We're talking about fiction. Specifically, we're talking about novels.
   You have to be really bad at short stories to fuck up a collection, so they get a free ride here.
   Novels. The rule is simple: I must read the whole book for the book to qualify as a candidate in this awful category.
   That's important.
   I try to read all the way through. When a book is so bad you should bomb the countryside surrounding the book, out to a range of five miles, you force yourself to the end. As often as you can.
   Some books you must give up on. Those deserve a category all to themselves. That category has no place here.
   So what's the worst fucking book I've read...so far? There's room yet to read books that are far worse. True, this is down to opinion. I am not here to name a book that's replete with poor research, shoddy typography, and so on.
   This is about reading a book and thinking...fuck no.
   I've read books that fell dead at my feet. Gone. They were unmemorable, and I'd be hard-pressed to name names. Even at the distance of a mere year.
   That happens. But...those books are excluded from this category. I'm talking about a novel that I remember for its awfulness. A book I forced myself to read from shaky start to fucking finish.
   You may like it. Take what you can from liking it and understand that others will hate the story.
   I read Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley. That was quite some time ago. I've read a lot of stuff since then. Nothing comes close. It's still the worst fucking book I've read.
   You will have to go a long way to surpass that one. Boring, patchy, far from engaging, with a rubbish finish. There. I ruined it for you. Or maybe Aldous Huxley did that.
   The story felt lumpy. I saw no characters there. True, this world is supposed to be filled with purpose-built clone types and you would expect a lack of character to be a theme. But that's rough-going.
   That book didn't just bore me, or annoy me. It screamed, and whimpered, about how crap it was.
   Sitting down to write this blog post, I wondered how long the book was. I remember reading it quickly, and thinking it wasn't really that long.
   Checking the stats now, I see the book is 64,531 words long. Wow. Why so specific? It turns out that the average length of a novel is 64,000 words, and Huxley's boring book lands right there.
   It isn't sustainable to the level of 75,000 words, where you'll find meat on a novel.
   I will curtail this rant. Brave New World was in a class of its own. Plenty of people rave about it. I am not one of those people. So the class I drop it into is well below the salt.