_Lord of the Flies_, _A Separate Peace_. My boyfriend sent me one that he loved called _The Roaches Have no King_. Now, I'm from Houston where we have a superabundance of roaches, so I couldn't sympathize anyway, but it was one of the most pretentious, shallow, pedantic books I've ever read.

I hated _Wuthering Heights_. All that needless misery because a lot of people were self-centered, pigheaded, and spoiled. I know that degrees of this kind of thing are common in Victorian literature, but it's not absolutely necessary and it certainly didn't need that kind of overkill.

I also hated _The Fountainhead_ (Ayn Rand_. A friend was going to write a parody of it and call it _the Showerhead_. All the people I know who truly follow the ideals of Objectivism are virtually impossible to engage in any kind of stable friendship. I don't mean just admirers of Ayn Rand, I mean people who could BE Howard Roark.