This was assigned reading when I was in grade 9. .. I hated this book so much and I almost got suspended for professing my distaste for it. (My parents are Eastern European so by the time I was in grade 9 I had read a ton of their Herman Hesse, Dostoyevsky, jD Salinger, ts Eliot.. to say I was precocious was an understatement).. we were assigned the first chapter and I came back the next day having finished the book. "Why do you think this is one of the greatest pieces of literature of all time?" My teachers question itself was clearly problematic . I responded by saying ", clearly the people judging books have a clouded view of what constitutes excellence. This book is morbid, fatalistic and completely lacking charisma: I ask why he even bothered calling it the red pony when the unfortunate animal was dispensed with within the first couple of chapters. The gruesome details of the decay are uninspired and boring. The writing is labored and tiresome and I despise this book: having read the whole thing I found nothing redeeming." *and dull and even now in hindsight I wonder why anyone thought this was illustrious reading for a curious young mind of 14. If anything it made me understand why people would avoid classic literature... I don't understand and never will why this won a prize for anything other than successfully making me never pick up another piece of writing by this man. I felt in class that i expressed a thoughtful and detailed rational for my hatred and said even I could write something that would speak more to the idealistic and wondrous nature of my own age... Instead my parents got called to the school because apparently I was "disruptive" because I read ahead and ruined it for everybody. (Thankfully mom & dad had always said critical thinking was important and always valid so long as, before critiquing something I had to study it in its entirety and present relevant thoughtful and compelling evidence for my distaste.. all of which I did drawing on the other literature I was reading at the time of which my teacher had not yet heard of). Even now I get into disagreements with people about this book. It stands out as a bumbling piece of verbose drivel and depressing fascination, mundane obsession w fatalism. Could be replaced by any number of the other books that I read at the time which really spoke to me and the inherent rebelliousness and wonderment of being 14. The chrisalids by John Wyndham is an infinitely superior read that holds up even now