"You don't have to burn books, do you, if the world starts to fill up with non-readers, non-learners, non-knowers?" Perhaps that is why we are slowly losing our ability to question ourselves—our likes, our preferences, our judgements on literature... and from there, we're one step away from no longer questioning why we hate something. After all, "What do you despise? By this are you truly known".
Let's get this idea undone.
Hello everyone, and welcome to Books Undone. I'm your host, Livia J. Elliot, and today we have a somewhat controversial meta-topic to discuss: the importance of being able to reason and explain why we don't like something—especially regarding books.
This episode is actually a response to fellow BookTuber Britton from SomeOkieDude. Back in April (2025) he spoke about political commentary in fiction and made quite a compelling call of action:
"[...] if there is a book or comic or movie or game show that set you the wrong way, I want you to sit back and think about why it did that. What was it about this piece of media that offended me so much?"
I'll leave a link to Britton's video on the episode's description.
Now, let me be upfront: I wholeheartedly agree with this statement.
Our preferences (and that means what we like, what we dislike, what we favour, and what offends you) is a crucial part of ourselves—it defines us, it shapes our identity. Therefore, relentlessly questioning ourselves is a stepping stone towards self-awareness and, thanks to it, to growing as a person. This is not about being able to justify what we think or feel to others, although that's an added perk—but a constant assessment to determine whether we like who we are and who we are becoming.
After all, it would be quite ugly to one day have an epiphany and realise that we hate who we've been for the last twenty years. And truth be told, our preferences are mirrors towards ourselves.
Yet this constant evaluation—of our preferences, of ourselves—is not easy, for we may encounter three key challenges:
Learning not to be satisfied with shallow answers.
Being comfortable with scrutinising what offends us, not what we agree with.
Discovering that reading is a mirror to our selves.
But don't take my word for it. Allow me to elaborate, and then join the discussion in the comments.
The first challenge...
—is to not be satisfied with shallow answers.
Suppose you find a character that aggravates you deeply, and you begin pondering why. You may answer, “well, the dialogue is off!" but... why is the dialogue off? What part of it felt off? What if the dialogue was correct, but spelled in a slang that you're unfamiliar with? What if the dialogue felt off, but the author had an intention for it? You may argue, "the tone didn't match the scene." Why did the tone not match the scene? What if the tone was correct, but you failed to perceive something about the character?
See where I'm going? This is a strenuous process in which we keep daring ourselves with why-why-why while not accepting to be brushed off. The problem is that while we may find some answers straight away, others may require us to think—for hours, for days, for weeks, even.
It is a commitment to find the answers, a so-called “muscle” we have to exercise. It is a skill we have to learn, an uncomfortableness we have to get comfortable with.
Therefore, you may sensibly ask: why should we go through all this trouble? Hold onto this question, because we'll answer it once we reach the third challenge.
The second challenge...
—comes from scrutinising what we hate and what offends us, but _not_ what we like.
Think of any topic that offends you—it can be politics, sports, beliefs, anything. Sit with it for ten seconds, and notice how angry you get; there is probably frustration, a thousand boiling arguments, and the more you think perhaps you find yourself clenching your fists and jaw, raising the tone of your voice, getting worked up.
That's why it is challenging—because to ask ourselves why and not accept a shallow answer, we must pause all those feelings to allow our curiosity to flourish. About ourself, about the source of that anger, about the reasons behind that hatred. Why? Why? Why? Keep asking, keep pressing, keep rejecting shallow answers or angry statements.
Like before, you may again sensible ask: why should we go through all this trouble?
To find the answer, I will quote what Frank Herbert wrote in Dune:
"What do you despise? By this are you truly known."
That quote suggests that our true character is revealed by the things we abhor, the things that offend us. It implies that what a person actively dislikes and perhaps loudly complains about—rather than their stated virtues—can offer a more accurate glimpse into their values and moral compass.
There are many reasons as to why we may hate a book, a character, or even a trope... but I want to bring your attention to the more uncomfortable 'whys'. Those reasons that may not speak as highly about ourselves as we may want to.
One: what we hate in fiction may reflect something unresolved in ourselves.
This is a psychological concept called projection, defined as "the process of displacing one’s feelings onto a different person, animal, or object. The term is most commonly used to describe defensive projection: attributing one's own unacceptable urges to someone else"1. This is not a new concept, since it was first reported in 1895.
However, it does bring up a question: why would someone project their failures into others? Or, in this case, into books? The answer is not entirely flattering: because projection is a self-defense mechanism that "allows [a] difficult trait to be addressed without the individual fully recognising it in themselves."
So... what if a book offends us because we are projecting a personal flaw into it? What would that say of ourselves?
I am not saying this is what happens all the time, or to anyone in particular. It may be the case, it may be not. I'm just highlighting one uncomfortable possibility to further understand why questioning our taste in literature is crucial to understand ourselves. Food for thought, basically.
Two: in public life, despising is performative as often as it is sincere.
What we choose to loudly condemn says as much about our social group as our inner values. Do we _really_ hate something, or are we trying to convince ourselves that we dislike it, simply because that's the widely accepted position about this specific topic? As Severian pondered in Shadow of the Torturer:
"Weak people believe what is forced on them. Strong people what they wish to believe, forcing that to be real."
So... do we actually hate a book, or are we reacting out of tribal alignment, because that's the popular stance? And if you claim this to be your uninfluenced opinion: can you truly defend it? Can you objectively point to the reasons on why it rubbed you off the wrong way?
Now, let me ask you something else: did you get upset by my line of questioning simply because it brought to your awareness that there is a possibility—as tiny as it may be—that your hate for a book is not entirely yours, but a consequence of your social groups?
More food for thought. Because I'm not going to give you the answers about yourself, I don't have them. I'm just relentlessly asking questions. The ones we should ask ourselves whenever we realise something offended us.
Now let's flip the table and consider the opposite situation, where we are the only ones quote-on-quote "offended" or "hating" a book everybody else loves.
If we share our opinion online, we're going to attract a barrage of hateful comments that will likely be insulting. But are we prepared to stand up against those comments? It's not a matter of being resilient, but of letting go. It's about knowing that those comments say more about the other person than yourself. It's about being able to deal with being different to others, with all the social implications that brings. All of that is easier said than done.
Thus, we may resort to only share our so-called "unpopular opinions" in private, with friends or family. But... they may still laugh at us. They may even get angry and not forgive us disliking that book, or it may become a quote-on-quote "friendly joke" they'll continue to resort to. Worse off, if we explain why a book honestly offended us, they may attack our character.
Do we really want that? Or is it more comfortable to just "go with the flow"? Do that enough times, and that constant, unconsciously enforced alignment to the public opinion may—at some point—bias us enough so that:
(a) we think we "love" or "hate" something simply because everyone else does so, or
(b) learn to be quiet about it simply to avoid those tribal reactions mentioned before.
After all, if we disagree enough times, we will soon realise that, perhaps, disagreeing is not worth all the hurt it brings.
Thus, whether we want it or not, whether we're fuelled by our values or by our necessity to belong, we may reach a dreaded moment. When we start believing that we hate something instead of knowing that we do so. There is a nuance there, since believing and knowing imply wildly different things.
To put it mildly, I will quote from Dune again:
"Belief can be manipulated. Only knowledge is dangerous."
Why? Well, that's...
The third challenge
—books are mirrors, and we may not like what we see reflected.
I'm not talking only about projection, but about what we believe we are based on what we love or hate.
Beliefs give us an identity to define ourselves with, a label to easily summarise who we are, a pathway to belong to a community, certainty that we'll have a group with shared beliefs—and that they will accept us, that the vocal majority will agree with us, that we won't displease them and thus be criticised. Beliefs are comfortable because they make us feel safely aligned with the majority.
Knowledge—about ourselves, about our preferences, reactions, attitudes, ideologies, and everything we are—has the power to reveal not only answers we may not like, but also more questions. Questions that can lead us to doubt the beliefs we may have upheld all our lives. Knowledge can, therefore, threaten the stories we tell about who we are.
The conundrum we are beginning to unfold was pondered in many works of fiction, so I want to bring two more quotes to your attention:
In Shadow of the Torturer, Severian thought that "Knowledge is a thing that one cannot have enough of. It crumbles and breaks and is gone before you know it."
The same concept was presented in Dune: "The beginning of knowledge is the discovery of something we do not understand."
And what if what crumbled away is what we thought of ourselves? What if the beginning of self-knowledge is the discovery that we were someone we don't really like that much?
This is not new. Humanity has questioned that "rabbit-hole" effect of knowledge (topical or introspective) since ancient times. You may have even heard the following quote from Aristotle:
"The more you know, the more you realize you don't know."
Knowledge begins not with answers, but with noticing what isn't explained and interrogating it. Therefore, while learning expands our understanding, it simultaneously reveals the vastness of what remains unknown, leading us to a greater awareness of our own ignorance.
When we are talking about knowing ourselves and self-reflecting (in this case, about why a book offended us), when we don't get satisfied with shallow answers and instead keep digging, when we challenge ourselves in topics that anger us... well, in those cases, that ignorance becomes deeply uncomfortable.
We thought we knew ourselves, right? But what we found... was not what we expected. It could be that we found out we were wrong, or that what we found disgusted us. It could be that after days and weeks of questioning ourselves we cannot find a decent answer as to why that book offended us—and what does that say of us?
Like Beatty famously said in Fahrenheit 451 (by Ray Bradbury):
"Don't give [people] any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy."
I told you it was challenging, so allow me to ask one more uncomfortable question.
What would you do, if, by inspecting why you hate a book, you ended up unearthing an unflattering truth about yourself? For example:
If you hated a genre (and its readers) because you thought that hating it made you seem more intellectual?
Or if you hated thoughtful books because you couldn't explain them to others and feared looking like a fool?
Or if a book offended you because it made you think about the real world and, perhaps, blaming the book was easier than considering that your beliefs and actions could've been detrimental to others?
What if a book offended you because it clashed with beliefs you upheld for no real reason except tradition?
What would you do in any of those cases?
What would you do if, the opposite happened? If after inspecting a book that offended you can now argue coolly about it, having learnt something about yourself? Something that now pleases you deeply? What if after doing so you discover values that are so important that you wouldn't trade them for anything? Would you fill up with pride? Would you preach to others? Or would you keep digging into yourself?
That's the third challenge. That is why scrutinising a book that offended us can be so challenging and uncomfortable. Because books are mirrors, and reading is more than a search for pleasure, entertainment, or escapism. Reading is an act of self-discovery, whether we like it or not.
To close off
If you like to be challenged with more questions like this, please check my Substack at [liviajelliot.substack.com](https://liviajelliot.substack.com). I post weekly, and you will find: thematic analyses of speculative fiction, detailed literary assessments (like an excerpt with sentence-by-sentence discussion), reading guides, and practical writing advice for speculative fiction writers.
As a bonus for subscribing, you'll get the free ebook of my novella titled The Genesis of Change. It is a blend of eldritch dark fantasy and philosophy... and it asks pretty uncomfortable questions about identity, bias, and struggle. You may enjoy it, or you may hate it. Either way, ask yourself why. See what the answer tells you.
Thanks for listening, and happy reading~
Projection is a very interesting theme. This article in Psychology Today actually presents it in a very digestible manner: https://www.psychologytoday.com/au/basics/projection
