books I hate. + my barbaric acts of book-abuse

I hate Hemingway. I was reading The Old Man and the Sea yesterday, and I hurled the book against the wall with a vehement cry of "I hate this book!" My book was a yellowing, malodorous library copy (I don't suppose that's Hemingway's fault, though), making the temptation all the more irresistable. Hemingway is a chauvinist, I announced to myself decidedly. Possibly a misogynist as well, but I haven't read enough of his literary works as of late to be authorized to formulate any legitimate conclusion on that...

I hate Miss Lonelyhearts (Nathaniel West) more. Yes, yes, I'm sure there is a message to be communicated, and yes, I'm sure there's profound symbolic significance in everything, but I just cannot look past the vulgarities through which this supposed deep philosophical message I'm supposed to grasp is being presented to me. This writer gives us this unsympathetic, sadistic, disagreeable character with a penchant for violence and expects us to accept him as a Christ figure? I mean, I understand the anti-hero concept, but isn't this a (long) stretch? I hated it so much, I avoided it for about a day or two before resuming reading, because I found it hard to stomache in one sitting. It deals too much with religion and depravity and sexuality. I did assume the responsibility of finishing it, though, if only for myself, for the sake of leaving nothing unfinished. It was effective in moving me only to hurl the book at the wall and groan in disgust.
I am constantly at odds with myself, bitter, and helpless to modify my current situation and so I compensate by throwing literature against the wall.