Why don’t I bash, or even rate books?
There are so many arousing, beautiful, colorful, delicious, evocative, fanciful, gratifying, hot, inviting, jovial, kinky, lascivious, masterful, notional, outstanding, prurient, quenchless, racy, steamy, titillating, unreal, voracious, witty, X-rated, yearningly, and zero cool books (sorry, I got a little carried away) that I don’t feel the need to waste my time cutting down others. There are plenty of exceptional books to discuss. When I read a book that disappoints, I simply move on to the next book.
I prefer to celebrate the great stories. When I read something that makes me laugh or excites me, I desperately want to share my enthusiasm.
As the saying goes, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
I don’t rate books, because I don’t care to judge books like that. Also, sometimes certain books are best read when you are in a certain mood. If the book and my mood don’t align, then my rating could be affected.
And hey, it’s just my opinion anyway.