The idea is delightfully simple: for 30 days, you post once a day in response to a book-themed question. That’s it. No essays, no footnotes, no need to summon the ghost of Shakespeare, just honest answers, curious reflections, and maybe a few cheeky confessions about your reading habits. I have decided to take part this year, and since I picked a month with 31 days (I know it would have made more sense to use a 30 day one) I am using March 1st to explain what I am doing.

Each day brings a new prompt: favourite characters, memorable endings, guilty pleasures, and the books that made you weep, rage, or fall in love with the written word. It’s a gentle nudge to celebrate your literary life, one post at a time.

So why not give it a go? Dust off your bookshelf, sharpen your wit, and join the challenge. Thirty days. Thirty questions. One slightly eccentric bookworm’s journey through the pages.

DAY 9. – Most Overrated book.

I should probably begin with a confession, no, a declaration. I have never read these books. I need that on record before anyone starts sharpening pitchforks or waving dog‑eared paperbacks at me. I have not read them. And yet here I am, naming what I believe to be the most overrated book in the world.

For me, the crown has to go to Fifty Shades of Grey. For those fortunate enough to have dodged the cultural tidal wave, it began life as a piece of fanfiction inspired by the Twilight series. You can still find the early posts floating around online, long before E. L. James turned it into a novel, an unedited one, at that.

Then, for reasons that still baffle me, the book went viral. Women’s reading groups devoured it. People who hadn’t picked up a novel in years suddenly had opinions. It became a moment in time, a phenomenon you couldn’t escape. Every few days someone would reference it, quote it, or sigh wistfully about “Mr Grey,” as though he were the new standard of romantic aspiration.

And yet… why? According to several people I trust, people who actually read the thing, it was riddled with errors, clunky prose, and in dire need of a firm editorial hand. The meme of the era summed it up neatly: if Mr Grey didn’t have money, he wouldn’t be a mysterious romantic figure; he’d be reported to the authorities.

Even the BDSM community, who you’d think might have welcomed the sudden mainstream interest, were furious. They argued that the book misrepresented their practices, their ethics, and their culture. By their standards, the so‑called “hero” would have been shown the door for behaviour that crossed the line into unhealthy and unsafe territory.

By any sensible measure, the story should have remained what it began as: a piece of fanfiction enjoyed by a niche audience. Instead, it spread across the world as a “must‑read,” a cultural juggernaut that somehow escaped the gravitational pull of quality control.

So yes, despite never having read it, Fifty Shades of Grey remains my pick for the most overrated book of all time. And I stand by that, unread and unrepentant.