Booktok Ruining Literature Novels & Stories

Only a withered body, without the strength to fight. That was what the story said, that was what she read that one night she found the book. Lara couldn’t help but want to throw it to the fire and burn those words. But she stopped, then read it again and again. Memorizing the words… The book was wrong in many things… so many details were omitted. She knew it was on purpose, or maybe not? Why? Why did the author do that? Who was the one who wrote that lie? Which what purpose?

I'd crumpled it, but the words burned in my mind. Richard interjected, still oblivious, his voice a mundane anchor in the storm. “Literature, huh? That's my boy. Reminds me of that book I read last week—had to play the long game with the plot twists. Clara, you should tell us about it. Might help with your studies. It was all about reading the opponent, finding their vulnerabilities, and striking when they least expect it. You two could team up for that project—family helping family, right?”

I said wondering when daddy became this boring or Annie might have rubbed off on him. Annie hardly read these kinds of books. “Oh, darling, I've been too focused on human psychology these days and guess what I figured?” He asked genuinely excited, but kept his eyes glued to the words written on the pages of the book. “What?” “I figured books are the only things that have true meaning and hold both truth and lies, life and death… happiness and misery -” he glanced up from his book and at me, before turning back to them. “- A man who reads can rule by learning the art of manipulation,” he said, his smile wicked and wanton.

I could spend the rest of my life in this library, reading everything here. I could afford these books, buy them and keep them forever. But something about buying them outright made it feel too…real. My father was the kind of man who thought reading literature was pointless and soft. If he ever found out how much I actually loved it, it’d open a can of worms I wasn’t ready for. It was bad enough that I didn’t enjoy hockey as passionately as he wanted me to. I didn’t need another lecture about “wasting my time” on “books that don’t mean anything.” There would be a lot of arguments where he’d grill me as to why I spent my free time reading instead of practicing. It was just a lot of questions

I shouted again, louder this time, stepping fully into the wrecked library. He barely even glanced at me. His eyes were dark…not angry, not sad…just… empty. Cold. It sent a chill straight down my back. “These books are useless,” he said again, his voice disturbingly calm. “All full of lies. Fairytales. Nonsense meant to keep us soft.” I looked around the room, my chest tightening. Books littered the floor like fallen leaves. Some had been torn right down the middle. Others had been stomped on, crushed under his boots.