Well, some things remain truths universally acknowledged. Certainly this has been and still is held to be true here in Nottingham, England : 
 He had much to report... who had been drinking wine, or champagne, or schnapps, and how much of each had been consumed by whom; and finally who had been sick and how many times. For in Sarszeg this served as the surest measure of a good time. Those who were sick twice had had a better time than those who were only sick once. Yesterday some had even been sick three times. These enjoyed an exceptionally good night. 
 So anyway, a short, bleak, bitter novel if that is your poison. I think we may agree that Samuel Beckett is the gold standard of bleakness, so 7.5 on the Beckett scale. As a comparison some of Jacques Brel's songs score 7.2, one by Leonard Cohen scores 8.9 and the novels of Michel Houellebecq regularly score 9.5. And the Winter Light trilogy by Ingmar Bergman scores a perfect 10. There should be a bleakness rating on the back of books I think.