Are we too harsh on BookTok?
Don’t hate the reader; hate the system shoving the same stories down our throats
You scroll through TikTok—swiping past five-minute mug cake recipes, absurd Reddit stories tucked beside Subway Surfers gameplay, and that one meme that just never gets old—and there it is again: someone sobbing into their annotated copy of Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros. The captions always say something like, “this book broke me </3,” and the comments are flooded with people who haven’t read since their assigned high school reading of Romeo and Juliet.
You scroll past, a little amused, a little horrified, and then you realize this is BookTok, the corner of the internet that can turn any paperback into a bestseller overnight.
But for every viral book haul and mascara-streaked review, there’s a wave of backlash: critics, writers, and other readers tearing down the community for its shallow taste and questionable moral standards. The question is, are we hating on BookTok too much? Or are we not being honest enough about the stories we consume? Is this an issue of “bad writing,” or are we gratuitously shaming what’s largely become a space for many people—mainly women—to find comfort and escape?
BookTok deserves critique, but not contempt.
Sure, many of its bestsellers read like extended fanfiction with a marketing budget, and yes, some of their authors handle sensitive topics with all but the subtlety of a sledgehammer. But, while these books require thorough examination before they can be deemed acceptable literature for most, mocking the readers themselves misses the point. The problem isn’t that women are reading shallow stories, but rather that publishing keeps rewarding them for it. The conversation shouldn’t be about scorning people who find joy in easy, romantic escapism; it should be about asking why so much of that joy comes wrapped in clichés, trauma, and poor editing.
It’s hard to deny that much of BookTok’s literary empire runs on tropes. Enemies to lovers, morally grey male leads, “she’s-not-like-other-girls” heroines—stories that rely less on craft and more on emotional sugar highs that litter the platform. The problem isn’t that these tropes exist, but that they often replace actual storytelling. Authors like Colleen Hoover or Sarah J. Maas have built entire franchises on predictable arcs and paper-thin character development, yet their books dominate readers’ to be read (TBR) lists.
It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover, for example, faces criticism for romanticizing domestic abuse. It has become a “must read” novel on TikTok for its portrayal of an abusive relationship, but its glossy writing and romantic framing has made many readers forget that abuse isn’t character development. Hoover fails to tactfully capture what is a very sensitive topic and uses it as a mere plot point instead, defaulting to popular tropes.
Similarly, A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas has been praised for its fantasy worldbuilding, but its male characters often tread too close to the “possessive equates to passionate” love trope. These stories promote intensity and danger disguised as love, and BookTok eats it up because it is dramatic, addictive, and easy to consume.
Of course, not every book needs to be morally pure—literature should make us feel, not just behave. However, there is a difference between exploring darkness and romanticizing it. When emotional impact outweighs moral awareness, we end up praising stories that confuse power with passion.
But here is the thing: we can critique the books without mocking the people who actually read them. For many women—who make up the bulk of the BookTok community—these stories are a rare space where female emotion takes centre stage. Sure, they might be messy or melodramatic, but after a long day of coursework, commuting, or corporate drudgery, who can blame someone for wanting a little romance and escapism? We don’t degrade people for watching cheesy rom-coms or reality T.V. shows, but the moment women find comfort in “bad” writing, it suddenly becomes a cultural crisis.
Many women have expressed viewing the BookTok community as a safe space where they can freely discuss their opinions and reactions. Maybe the problem isn’t that women are reading the wrong books, but that people still don’t take women’s pleasure seriously. Not every story has to reinvent literature—sometimes, you just want a morally questionable fae prince and a plot twist that makes you throw your Kindle across the room.
BookTok doesn’t deserve a free pass, but it doesn’t deserve all the blame either. The inherent issue isn’t that women are reading “bad books,” but rather that the publishing industry keeps feeding us the same fantasies dressed up in prettier covers. These stories romanticize pain, power imbalance, and trauma, yet they’re marketed as empowerment because that’s what sells. We can call out lazy storytelling and shallow tropes without sneering at the people who find comfort in them. If anything, the popularity of BookTok should make us ask why so many readers are turning to these worlds to begin with—and what that says about the one we live in.
Don’t hate the reader; hate the system shoving the same stories down our throats.
