The worst book that I actually finished:
The Dreamthief's Daughter, by Michael Moorcock. It's okay for a while, and then it starts to go downhill, fast. It's, in fact, insipid towards the end. I used to like Moorcock, to the point I was going to try and bring back my Von Bek omnibus with me at Christmas. Now, no.
Craptastic books that I just couldn't finish:
Grunts! by Mary Gentle. There's apparently a dividing line between satire and stupidity, and this crossed it. I made it about 100 pages before returning it to the friend I borrowed it from, with invective about how could he possibly like that. I liked the Book of Ash, but sheesh!
Wizard's First Rule, by Terry Goodkind. Other people have described its horrors, so I won't go into detail.
Whatever the first book of David Eddings' Belgariad was. Some people on my floor freshman year thought that it was great, loads better than WoT, and was witty and whatnot. I think I quit about the time what's-his-face meets whoever killed his parents and the "wise chick" tells him to torture them to death or something. The "wit" was painfully bad.
Angels & Demons, by Dan Brown. I like the genre this book's in. However, let me describe what happened when I started reading it:
(open book) "(So-and-so) woke up. He'd just had the best sex of his life with a prostitute." (fling) How he can be a best-seller is completely beyond me. This is the only book I've ever wanted to turn in for a refund. I trashed it instead.
Freedom & Necessity, by Steven Brust & Emma Bull. I liked the Jhereg books, and I heard good things about Emma Bull, so a collaboration should be okay, right? Wrong. Writing a book as a series of letters, postbills, and other such stuff is a poor choice.
I never actually cracked any of the "Celts in Spaaaaace!" books (the Keltiad, I believe...), but the author put a short story in a Knights Templar short story collection that a friend gave me, and the description of the "warm, buttery air" in the first paragraph made me skip to the next story. (shudder)
Brad