Rightly Reconsidering (Book) Reviews

Are book reviews (and by default, book reviewers) so sacrosanct as to be above reproach?

Authors -- and yes, editors and publishers as well -- are taught at a very young age in their professional careers to ignore reviews, to not take them personally, to turn the other cheek, so to speak. And why is that? Why can't we respond to reviews?

Because we will give the impression that we are unprofessional, that we are whiners. At least that's what our peers -- and possibly readers of the review -- may think. But from our own perspective, we also have to worry that we'll piss off the reviewer by our response, and then that reviewer will take it out on us a hundredfold in the next review, if in fact there even is a next review. And then others may not want to review our work for fear of receiving such a response as well. And as Cheryl Morgan (a book reviewer and critic) just pointed out to me: "...if an author challenges a review, his fans will go after the reviewer, whether he wants them to or not."

Reviews/reviewers and authors are sort of like the separation between Church and State. Yet the incoming president takes the oath of office with his hand upon a Bible; and the coin of the realm all proclaim "In God We Trust."

So where does that leave us?

Some authors I know truly don't care about reviews, reviewers, or what others think of their stories. Once they've completed a work of fiction and it's been accepted by the editor, they then move on to the next project and never look back. While other authors are deeply concerned -- and affected -- by reviews and what others think of their fiction.

I worked with an author on her short fiction collection, and after the book was published we stayed in contact with one another for a bit. The following year her next novel was published, and it was reviewed in Locus magazine -- a mediocre review at best, but at least it wasn't blatantly negative. (Locus, though, doesn't typically publish blatantly negative reviews; I assume if the book is that bad, they simply choose not to review it, so a mediocre review in Locus, when all is said and done, is definitely not a good review.) What upset the author the most, however, was that the reviewer missed a key element of the story -- and that key element would have explained the reviewer's primary issue with the novel (and maybe then the review wouldn't have been mediocre). Locus, at the time, was considered a highly influential publication (though not so much anymore, now that we are solidly in the digital age, and readers, book buyers, and book collectors get the majority of their information and reviews online), so even a mediocre review could have a strong, negative sales effect on a book. But we'll never know, will we: missed opportunities -- aka sales -- cannot be measured.

But the question(s) remains: Did the reviewer blow it big time by missing that key element of the story? Or, did the author -- and, let's be honest, the book's editor shares responsibility in this as well -- blow it big time by not communicating that key element more effectively to the reader/reviewer? If every review of the novel contained this same "omission," then yes, we could agree that the fault lies with the author, and the author's editor. But if only one review were guilty of this oversight, then the finger would indeed point to the reviewer. If the review was on Joe's Friendly Neighborhood blog, then I don't think the author (and editor and publisher) would be particularly concerned; but when that mediocre review shows up in the Washington Post Book World or Publishers Weekly (before Reed Business Information tried to sell the publication, and, to reduce costs, began paying freelance reviewers $25.00 per review; read more about PW's freelance fees), then we know sales will most likely be affected.

Unfortunately, given the Church and State dichotomy, the author has no recourse but to grin and bear it -- or to hit his [the generic use of "his," implying both male and female authors] head against the wall and scream, if he tends to not be the silent type.

And yet, I'm encountering more and more reviews of late where the reviewer just doesn't seem to get it! Why is that? [Notice I keep asking this same question a lot.] Is it the reviewer's lack of experience and knowledge in the genre? It's difficult to say, unless one knows the reviewer personally, or the reviewer provides a professional bio alongside the review. And all of this places even more pressure on the author who cares about what others say of his work.

Here's my take on the three main issues with genre reviews; they are like the plague, and they are spreading...

1. The reviewer is unable to -- or forgets to, or chooses not to -- separate the writer from the characters.

The story being reviewed is just that, a story; it is fiction. An author creates characters and then creates a world in which those characters exist. Often those characters are despicable: racists, misogynists, homophobes, whatever. Again, let me repeat myself: these are traits of the characters in the story the author has created; and these fictional people tend to view the world in stereotypes. That's not to say that people like this do not exist in the real world, but we're talking about fictional characters written by an author who is paid to create a fictional story. And yet, how often have you seen a review in which the author is criticized and chastised for creating stereotypes, for being racist, or misogynistic, or homophobic. Reviewers: your attention, please: Try reviewing the world presented in the story through the eyes of the POV character, not the author!

2. Reviewers who surrender to their preconceptions of the book before they've even picked up the book and begun reading.

A sequel is panned because the story didn't feature the reviewer's favorite character from the first book; the reviewer was disappointed, and didn't enjoy the story as it dragged all the way through because he was waiting for his favorite character to appear, which eventually occurred toward the end of the book. Once again, reviewers, your attention, please: Try reviewing the creation (aka the story) the author has given you. (It's sort of like giving your newborn a bad review because you wanted a blonde with blue eyes and ended up with a redhead with hazel eyes. Maybe you shouldn't have had the child in the first place!)

3. Reviewers who don't do their homework in preparation for a review, including reading the accompanying PR material (as well as the book's introduction, afterword, and story notes).

In a previous blog post on George Alec Effinger, I specifically referred to a review of Budayeen Nights by John Clute. In that same review, Clute also said this about "The Plastic Pasha," one of the included stories: "...a very late story fragment which goes nowhere..." The title of the "fragment" isn't even mentioned in the review. Had Clute read the mere 211 words (less than a page) that made up the preceding story notes, he would have learned that Effinger had just begun this story when he passed away. And as editor of that book, I, probably more so than anyone, was especially sorry that the "story fragment" went nowhere; had Effinger lived to complete it, well, we can only speculate. But a wee bit of reverence from Clute for the last words that George Alec Effinger was ever to write would have been appreciated. I wrote a lengthy letter of clarification to Mr. Clute -- a letter that I thought to be very professional and on-topic -- which I sent to the publisher to forward to John Clute, but the publisher chose not to do so. I suspect he didn't send that letter for the same reasons I mentioned at the beginning of this post.

Wouldn't it be a wonderful world (strains of Louis Armstrong wafting in the background) if we, as authors, editors, and publishers, could open a dialogue with reviewers to discuss key points in the story, iron out perceived misunderstandings, hypothesize and speculate, etc. Such a dialogue would bring more attention to the book, the goal being to encourage readers to purchase the book, read it for themselves, and see what conclusions they themselves come to -- and possibly even return to the discussion with their own input.

With blogs, and bloglike websites, now hosting book reviews, most sites now allow reader "comments."

But then, once you open a review to feedback, there is no guarantee as to what that feedback may yield. And since responding to a review of ones own book remains a professional indiscretion, those who do comment may not always have the best interests of the reviewer, the website, or the book in mind. Certainly no mutual dialogue between author and reviewer will result.

Addendum: Before posting this blog entry, I decided to share it with my friend Judith Moffett, author of the recently released novel The Bird Shaman. I greatly respect Judy's opinion, so I asked her to read this and let me know what she thought. I tweaked a couple things based on her response, but I was most intrigued with her concluding comment (which she has allowed me to share with you): "In the best of all possible worlds, there ought to be a forum for authors and let's call them critics to address one another, responsibly and with respect, and maybe this could be it. Or somebody could start one, and see if it gets abused. Or maybe I'm thinking of writing workshops and student conferences, and live in cloud-cuckooland?"

And your comments are most welcome as well.
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