Bad reviews are good, actually
Last year, I set out to buy a new fan. My neurospicy ass is inconveniently sound-sensitive. 9/10 times, if a sound sounds, I have to pay attention to it. This makes sleep challenging. Hence my carefully conducted symphony of white noise. The wind section (it’s a very wind-heavy orchestra) is driven entirely by one fan. Loud. Unceasing. Constant. Wind. The French bulldog equivalent of a hurricane (tiny, contained, great difficulty breathing). So, I went to Amazon. (I’d have gone to a local bookstore, but they don’t sell fans. I asked.) I skipped the five-star fans, and the four-star fans, and went straight to the three-star fans. I read dozens of reviews, almost all variations on a theme:
TOO LOUD.
I bought it. Fan has served me well since.
How did it manage even three stars? Well, I wasn’t alone in trolling (anti-trolling?) all those reviews. Plenty of other people were doing what I was doing: looking for a loud-as-fuck fan. Thing is, I really had to go out of my way to find that low-rated fan. Makes sense in a way, I guess. But the Great Algorithms On High (may they be ever merciful in their computations) punish prod—sorry, I just gagged a bit—PRODUCTS (fans, books, those little rubber doodads that keep your glasses from sliding down, me, you) for negative ratings and reviews.
Cheese and triscuits, do I hate that. I hate this sense that somebody taking the time to leave a negative review of a book is being a dick because aUtHoRs rEaLlY sTrUgGlE (true, but still not the point). Or that any negative review is AN ATTACK UPON WRITERLY LIVELIHOOD—NAY, STORYTELLING ITSELF.
But reviews aren’t really for writers. They’re for readers. Or, they used to be. Reviews (such as they are) are one of the precious few remaining avenues for critical media engagement and forum/community formation readily available to us. Far more self-interestedly, I hate that readers are made to feel any pressure not to leave a negative review when that negative review could be precisely the thing to convince someone else to buy the book—and just as accurately as a positive review could, if not more so. And don’t get me started on how many reviews are pay to play. Really. Don’t. There are only so many hours in the day, and I’ve already overbooked myself with angst over state of XYZ.
My debut HEREAFTER LIES: R.I.P. did the debut thing on September 1st, and I’m trying (failing) not to obsess over reviews. I haven’t gotten any negative reviews (to my knowledge… it’s not like I get emailed or anything)—YET.
Rationally, I know it takes all sorts, nobody can be everybody’s cup of tea, blablabla. Pre-rationally, the gut punch still comes. But I don’t dread that gut punch. And loitering about author spaces, I get the decided sense that pre-rational gut punches aren’t the real concern there either. It's not because “reviews are for readers not writers” is common wisdom. It’s because the actual content of the reviews isn’t important—not “algorithmically” speaking. And that’s fucked up. Who are we if we are not staring balefully into the middle distance while fighting the urge to ugly-cry over the content of our negative press?? It fucks over authors, and it fucks over readers (who are often the same people—no, really! I’m assured that many authors are literate).
Imagine stumbling upon this review of Hereafter Lies: R.I.P.:
2 STARS. Too many puns. Protagonist way too sarcastic. Nothing like Tolkien. Funny AND scary AND heartfelt parts?? Pick a lane, please. This writer probably has ADHD. Also, I didn’t like the writing style. I hate it when authors use sentence fragments, or when the characters use improper grammar. It doesn’t sound “natural,” it sounds grammatically incorrect. The concept of trains and mortifiers and stuff was cool, but there wasn’t nearly enough detailed explanation of how everything in the Hereafter worked or where it was, and I hated how there’s still questions left unanswered by the end. I didn’t know who ANYBODY’s father was. A map and appendix detailing the ge0graphy, history, and geneaologies of the Hereafter would have been helpful—like Tolkien. Also, I was picking up some pretty gay vibes??? Admittedly, that’s not NOT like Tolkien, but still!
Now, if I came across that review, I’d think it pretty likely I’d enjoy the book. And if somebody had written the “Mirror, Mirror” version of this review on another book (lamenting the information dump of an appendix and the lack of emotional rollercoasting but thinking the trains were cool), that first negative reviewer probably would have LOVED that book. But no! They got stuck reading MY book. Like a sucker! Because ALGORITHMS. (Or maybe a poorly chosen birthday present or something. I don’t know their life, I just made it up.)
Sometimes, yucking one person’s yum is yumming another person’s yuck, ya know?? If my book appeals to every reader on the planet, I didn’t write the book I was trying to write. Sure, I’d be a very, very wealthy man, resplendently billowed by my myriad fans—but I’d be a wealthy, resplendently billowed FAILURE.
This isn’t an invitation to leave me a negative review (please don’t oh my god what-will-the-algorithms-and-my-parents-think). It’s not a call to action at all, really… or, wasn’t trying to be. It’s just me griping… here, on Blog, because that seems like the healthiest channel for it. And maybe other people want to gripe about it, too.
I may not be able to hear you, though.
This fan is real frickin’ loud.
And it’s PERFECT.
Read In Peace,
Elijah