I read pretty much anything, from fantasy (City of Stairs by Robert Jackson Bennett) to romance (Bared to You by Sylvia Day) to classics (Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad). The only genres I don't read are self-help and comic books/graphic novels.
I will never, evereverevereverever, understand the mindset behind you taking a reader to task over a review. What is there to gain from spraying gasoline on a fire? Only more heat, right? You're only guaranteeing that the flame won't go out anytime soon. If they didn't like you before, arguing with them isn't going to yank them into your corner. If they say they'll never read you again, shouldn't that be a good thing in your eyes?
(bangs head against desk)
Listen, I'm all for your stupidity. It makes me feel smart by comparison, and I'm a pretty dumb motherfucker, but this is kinda getting out of hand. You're like cockroaches basking in the spotlight that's been shone on you instead of scurrying back into the cracks and crevices from whence you came. If you have something disparaging to say about a review or its author, do so in the privacy of your own home, and then only around people who you know won't spread that shit like Nutella over Iron Kids.
I know, I know, this is all social media's fault. Literary greats like Edgar Allan Poe and Norman Mailer were famous for ripping apart reviewers who dared challenge their genius. Then the internet came along and ruined everything. You should be able to share your literary herpes without having to worry about everybody finding out you're infected.
(wipes the puddle of sarcasm off my desk and onto the floor)
Seriously, some of you ass-hats make me embarrassed to call myself an author, if only because you dare label yourself one.
(P.S. Feel free to share as needed.)