A book you used to love, but don't anymore:
The Fountainhead. Only proves how ridiculously strange I used to be as a teenager, that at one point of time this book caused a mini gushfest. Now I cringe when I realize that the book, effectively, glorified rape and that I, effectively, had a crush on the megalomaniac prick of a Howard Roarke. Also, the descriptions of the buildings? Erm, I will take my old fashioned Victorian mansions over the bizarre glass structures any day. Thank you.