Things I have reached my limit on:
1. Scars. I think the high–or low–point was when I was reading three separate books where the main character has a scar as an Important Image. They were all girls too. Look, I get it. It’s an easy device and it has an added air of being, I don’t know, inclusive or something. But please, can we do something else now?
2. Dystopias. Okay, I haven’t read many, but I’m done now. For one thing, this genre seems to lend itself to protagonists who are almost unbearably silly. Of course your government is an oppressive evil dictatorship! I figured it out on page five. This is part of why I liked Candor by Pam Bachorz–Oscar is more aware of the awfulness that lurks in his town than most people. His reasons for not rebelling are good ones, and in general I felt like he was actually aware of his surroundings.
3. Photographic covers. I know all the arguments about teens thinking paintings are for little kids, and I get that covers need to be marketable. But I have a very visual imagination, and it drives me crazy when the model on the front cover has no resemblance to the character I see when I read the story. This whole trend is especially awful when it comes to historical fiction, with the wonderful exception of the Agency books, which are lovely. The rest of you–there are times when photographic covers are fine and times when they are NOT. (I do know that most authors have little to no control over their covers–this comment is addressed to the publishers.)
4. Stories where the main characters see each other and fall in lurrve instantly. Major exception: Saundra Mitchell’s The Vespertine, which managed to completely convince me that the main characters were right for each other in a weird and possibly extremely unhealthy way.
Agree? Disagree? Tell me your thoughts.