"Bad Bad Bad Bad Book"

Well, this is pretty much a rant directed at an audience of Jeff, Jesse and I, but I'll try to make it as user-friendly as possible. In English class, all the books we've read have been terrible, but especially the "book" The House on Mango Street. This book was so utterly awful that I could barely put up with it. Reading it made me realize the positive sides of dying due to sudden and massive trauma to the face. But why? Why did we read this book? As I understand it, we were supposed to read it due to its "poetic" style. However, as far as I could tell, it was nothing more than poorly arranged phrases stacked into a page to create some semblance of weak imagery. But was there some deeper meaning to subjecting us to the torture of reading such a pretentious work? I'll leave that for Jeff to decide (thus, yes there was).