Where V.L. Dreyer's crappy book has a 3.74 average rating, and it is barely literate, and Jenny Hubbard's book has a 3.4 average rating, and it is, while not necessarily brilliant, beautifully written.
Where Katy Evan's trite, boring, and misogynistic Real has a 4.31 average rating, and the delightful, well-researched, wonderfully-written and rollicking Stockholm Octavo by Karen Engelmann has a 3.43 average rating.
Seriously, people. What the fuck has happened? It's like the world I thought I knew has ceased to exist, and the more terrible the book, the better it is rated.
It is a parallel universe, where everything is an ass-backwards nightmare.