Many writers experience a profound sense of catharsis upon seeing their book published. It’s a moment when their thoughts and ideas are immortalized in print, ready to be consumed by readers worldwide. Whether their book becomes a bestseller or only garners a handful of readers, the act of creation itself is deeply meaningful. It’s a vindication, proving those high school classmates wrong and affirming their belief in their own abilities.
However, this initial euphoria isn’t always lasting. For some writers, the joy of publication can sour into disdain, leading them to distance themselves from their own work. Here are 10 writers who either hated, hid, or simply pretended that books they once wrote didn’t exist.
1. Ian Fleming, The Spy Who Loved Me
In 1961-62, Ian Fleming was at the height of his career as the creator of James Bond. His spy novels were smashing bestsellers, and the first Bond film, Dr. No, was in production. Despite this success, Fleming was dismayed to discover that his adult thrillers were gaining popularity among schoolchildren who idolized the glamorous life of James Bond. In response, he set out to write a cautionary tale, showcasing Bond from “the other end of the gun barrel.”
The result was The Spy Who Loved Me, narrated from the perspective of Vivienne Michel, an ordinary woman caught up in Bond’s world. Her story includes encounters with espionage, losing her virginity in a movie theater, navigating through an unwanted pregnancy, and struggling to keep a failing motel afloat until mobsters threaten her life to claim insurance money. Bond himself makes a cameo appearance late in the book to eliminate the thugs, seduce Vivienne, and depart before the conclusion.
Despite Fleming’s intention, The Spy Who Loved Me faced harsh criticism upon release. Critics lambasted the novel, particularly its controversial passages such as “All women love semi-rape. They love to be taken.” Fleming, deeply stung by the reception, quickly disowned the book and forbade any paperback or hardcover reprints. Subsequent novels in the Bond series disregarded the events of TSWLM entirely, and Fleming insisted that the title could only be used for a film if it bore no resemblance to the book’s plot.
However, amidst the backlash, Fleming unwittingly contributed one enduring element to the Bond universe: the character Horror, a gangster with steel-capped teeth, who later inspired the iconic film henchman known as Jaws.
2. Stephen King (as Richard Bachman), Rage
Stephen King, often the subject of jest for the sheer volume and occasional whimsy of his literary works (killer trucks, anyone?), deserves recognition for the genuine terror many of his early novels evoked. One such novel, Rage, penned as King’s debut, unfolds the chilling narrative of a high school student who brings a gun to school, kills two teachers, and takes his classmates hostage. What ensues is a disturbing twist where empathy begins to align with the perpetrator in a manner reminiscent of Tyler Durden from Fight Club.
The novel’s fate was sealed by its own dark prophecy. In light of several tragic school shootings over the years, King opted to withdraw Rage from publication. It’s reported that at least one real-life shooter had a copy in their possession, raising concerns about its potential influence. This decision was a proactive measure to prevent the novel from being misconstrued as inspiration for violence. Remarkably, King penned this intense narrative while still a college student, dodging what could have been a controversial spotlight had school administrators viewed him as a potential risk case.
3. Martin Amis, Invasion of the Space Invaders
Martin Amis, ranked #19 on The Times’ list of The 50 Greatest British Authors Since 1945, follows in the literary footsteps of his father, Kingsley Amis, who claimed the #9 spot. Known for his serious literary works and outspoken views on topics like radical Islamism, Martin Amis might seem an unlikely author of a niche book titled Invasion of the Space Invaders: An Addict’s Guide to Battle Tactics, Big Scores and the Best Machines, published in 1982.
Despite its whimsical premise—a guide to early video games complete with tips and humorous insights—the book is something Amis prefers not to discuss or acknowledge. It features an introduction by none other than Steven Spielberg and includes memorable lines like, “Do I take risks in order to gobble up the fruit symbol in the middle of the screen? I do not, and neither should you.” Another gem advises PacMan players: “be not proud, nor too macho, and you will prosper on the dotted screen.”
When a reporter once suggested to Amis that the book might be one of his finest works, the author’s response was telling: “The expression on his face, with perhaps more pity in it than contempt, remains with me uncomfortably.” Despite its evident popularity among gaming enthusiasts and collectors, Invasion of the Space Invaders remains a quirky footnote in Amis’s literary career, contrasting sharply with his more celebrated and intellectually rigorous novels.
4. Don DeLillo, Amazons
Don DeLillo, a prominent figure in the American Postmodern literature movement, has garnered praise from noted critic Harold Bloom, who positioned him among just four living American novelists deserving of acclaim. Despite this recognition, there’s a lesser-known facet to DeLillo’s literary journey that intrigues many: a book titled Amazons, conspicuously absent from his official bibliography.
Co-authored in 1980 during a period marked by DeLillo’s string of well-received yet financially underwhelming novels, Amazons stands out as a departure from his usual thematic terrain. It humorously portrays Cleo Birdwell, purportedly the first woman to break into NHL hockey, navigating a world rife with antics involving coaches and teammates alike. Despite its comedic appeal, DeLillo has chosen to distance himself from the work, opting not to acknowledge it publicly and requesting its omission from his official list of publications.
The irony lies in the book’s potential to reveal another facet of DeLillo’s creative range—one that balances his acclaimed serious works with a lighthearted, irreverent narrative. Perhaps if more celebrated literary figures occasionally ventured into such humorous and unorthodox territories, their broader oeuvres might capture wider attention and appreciation from audiences beyond traditional literary circles.
5. Dante Gabriel Rossetti, most of his poetry
Born into an artistic dynasty, Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s life was steeped in creativity and drama. Surrounded by literary luminaries like his uncle, the creator of the modern vampire story, and siblings who pursued writing careers, Rossetti himself became a founding figure of a prominent artistic movement. His wife, Elizabeth Siddal, added to the artistic aura as a renowned model, immortalized in paintings such as Ophelia.
Despite his artistic pursuits, Rossetti’s personal life was tumultuous. His infidelities strained his marriage to Elizabeth, contributing to her depression and, tragically, her possible intentional overdose of laudanum. Devastated by her death, Rossetti responded in a manner that blended eerie sentimentality: he placed a notebook filled with poems, intended for publication, into Elizabeth’s hair before her burial.
Initially a macabre gesture of love, Rossetti’s act took an even more unsettling turn years later. Overcome with regret and perhaps seeking closure, he had Elizabeth’s coffin exhumed to retrieve the notebook. However, the passage of time had not been kind—the pages were marred by wormholes, a grim reminder of mortality’s relentless advance. Despite their condition, the poems were eventually published, though they did not receive significant critical acclaim.
Rossetti’s decision to disturb his wife’s resting place haunted him for the remainder of his life, a poignant testament to the extremes of grief and remorse. His complex emotions and the haunting legacy of his actions continue to fascinate those who delve into the turbulent lives of artistic luminaries.
6. Herge, Tintin in the Land of the Soviets
When it comes to controversial Tintin books, most people immediately think of “Tintin in the Congo,” where the beloved Belgian reporter’s adventures are marred by casual racism and wanton animal slaughter across Africa. Yet, despite its discomforting content by today’s standards, writer and artist Herge had no qualms about revising and reissuing it alongside his later Tintin works. Surprisingly, there’s only one early Tintin tale that Herge adamantly refused to update to match his evolved style: the inaugural story of all, “Tintin in the Land of the Soviets.”
But why this reluctance? Primarily because the first few Tintin stories were thrust upon Herge by his editor, a staunchly conservative priest intent on imparting moral lessons, including the dangers of communism. However, Herge’s approach to “educating” children about Russia involved more fabrication than fact. Drawing from sensationalistic sources critical of the communist regime, Herge painted a vivid but exaggerated picture of Soviet society. His portrayal included egregious examples such as fake factories meant to deceive observers into believing in robust industrial growth and elections conducted under duress.
Reflecting on his youthful missteps, Herge later referred to “Tintin in the Land of the Soviets” as “a transgression of my youth.” Ironically, despite Herge’s intentions, historians noted that his depictions weren’t entirely inaccurate in portraying the harsh realities of life in Russia during that period. Despite his misgivings, Herge kept the book off shelves for many years, only consenting to its reissue when unauthorized copies began flooding the market—after all, a creator deserves to be compensated for their work. Even then, Herge insisted that only the original crude black-and-white strips be reproduced, refusing any attempts at colorization or modernization. Nonetheless, it’s probably only a matter of time before some dedicated fan endeavors to update the classic, albeit against Herge’s wishes.
7. Nikolai Gogol, Dead Souls II and III
These days, the name Nikolai Gogol might evoke images of a Russian mobster or a formidable video game villain (and indeed, “Dead Souls” could easily pass for a title in a first-person shooter). However, 150 years ago, Gogol was a revered figure in Russian literature, influencing giants like Nabokov and Dostoyevsky. He achieved fame prior to his masterpiece “Dead Souls,” a modern retelling of Dante’s Divine Comedy.
Despite the acclaim “Dead Souls” received as his magnum opus, Gogol viewed it modestly, seeing it merely as an introduction to a grand epic poem he envisioned would unravel the mysteries of his existence and catalyze social reform in Russia. Yet, fate had other plans. While engrossed in writing the sequel, Gogol fell under the sway of Matvey Konstantinovsky, a fervent priest who convinced him that his literary pursuits were sacrilegious.
In a moment of zealous conviction on February 24, 1852, Gogol made a fateful decision. He gathered the nearly complete manuscript of “Dead Souls II” and all notes intended for the third volume, consigning them to flames. Only a few fragments escaped the inferno. Bereft and consumed by remorse, Gogol took a drastic turn. He immediately embarked on a fast, abstaining from food until his death nine days later.
Gogol’s tragic demise serves as a poignant reminder that even the most esteemed creators can succumb to inner turmoil and external pressures. His legacy endures not only through his surviving works but also through the enigmatic circumstances surrounding his final act of self-destruction, a testament to the complexities and vulnerabilities of artistic genius.
8. Mark Twain, 1601
Mark Twain, renowned for his irreverence towards convention, found himself grappling with an unexpected literary embarrassment: “1601: Conversation, as it was by the Social Fireside, in the Time of the Tudors.” This peculiar work, a satirical pastiche penned by Twain, delves into the ribald and bawdy conversations of Queen Elizabeth, Shakespeare, Sir Walter Raleigh, and other notable figures of the Tudor era. Filled with fart jokes and sexual innuendo, the manuscript reflects Twain’s attempt to lampoon the perceived propriety of Elizabethan times.
Surprisingly, despite Twain’s penchant for controversial topics, “1601” wasn’t released under his name. Instead, it circulated anonymously for 26 years before he acknowledged authorship. Initially proud of his creation, Twain once confided to a friend that he found the work “dreadfully funny,” a rare admission from the typically stoic writer. However, his attitude towards “1601” later soured, quipping that if there was any decency to be found in it, he had overlooked it entirely.
Written between his more celebrated works “Tom Sawyer” and “Huckleberry Finn,” Twain’s decision to keep “1601” in the shadows likely stemmed from a desire to shield his burgeoning literary reputation from the scandalous content of the piece. Indeed, mainstream publishers shunned the manuscript for decades, deeming it too risqué for public consumption until shifting social mores in the early 1960s finally allowed its publication.
For Twain, “1601” remains a curious footnote in his illustrious career, a testament to his penchant for provocation and satire even in the most unexpected forms.
9. William Powell, The Anarchist Cookbook
If you’ve ever straddled the line between “a bit rebellious in my younger days” to “currently preparing for the apocalypse in my private bunker,” chances are you’ve heard of the 1970 book “The Anarchist Cookbook.” This infamous manual serves as a comprehensive guide to everything from making explosives to hiding drugs. Despite later revelations that many of its explosive recipes were dangerously inaccurate, the book retains a cult following and continues to sell robustly, much to the dismay of its author, William Powell.
Powell penned the book at the tender age of 19, fueled by anger over the Vietnam War draft and a desire to rebel against authority. Yet, like anyone reflecting on their teenage self, Powell, now a father and teacher, deeply regrets his creation. In a poignant Amazon.com review pleading with readers not to purchase the book, Powell laments, “The central theme of the book was that violence is an acceptable means to achieve political change. I no longer agree with this.” However, Powell no longer holds the rights to the book, leaving him with limited recourse beyond giving interviews and raising awareness about a work he wishes could vanish into obscurity.
For Powell, grappling with the enduring legacy of “The Anarchist Cookbook” serves as a reminder of youthful indiscretions and the unintended consequences of youthful fervor. It’s a stark contrast to the regrets you might have about past minor transgressions, like those mailboxes you might have smashed in your younger, less wise days.
10. Franz Kafka, everything he ever wrote
If you’ve ever grumbled about reading “The Metamorphosis” in high school, think again—your plight could have been far worse. Franz Kafka, revered as one of the 20th century’s greatest writers, was notoriously harsh on himself, reportedly burning an astonishing ninety percent of his writings during his lifetime. Not satisfied with potentially devastating future scholars, Kafka, on his deathbed, implored his friend Max Brod to destroy all his remaining works. Fortunately, Brod chose to disregard this final wish and instead published several of Kafka’s books over the following decade. In a daring act, he even smuggled a briefcase filled with Kafka’s papers out of Prague on the last train before the Nazis sealed the borders.
But the Kafka saga doesn’t end there. The remaining manuscripts and sketches eventually passed to Brod’s secretary and later to her daughters, who are currently embroiled in a legal battle with the State of Israel over ownership of these century-old papers that Kafka himself intended to burn. Meanwhile, another cache of Kafka’s notebooks, safeguarded by his lover, was confiscated by the Gestapo in 1933. Today, volunteers tirelessly comb through World War II-era archives in a quest to locate these notebooks, if they still exist.
This convoluted tale underscores a singular truth: if you truly wish to see your work obliterated, perhaps it’s best to consign it to the flames yourself.
