9 September, 2024
From my close observation of writers… they fall into two groups:
1) those who bleed copiously and visibly at any bad review, and
2) those who bleed copiously and secretly at any bad review.
Isaac Asimov
It was a Friday in July when someone who calls herself Lady Readsalot felt the need to give a warning to anyone who might be interested in reading my novel and highly praised creation, The Clock Of Life.
When she finished reading my newly birthed word baby that had finally arrived after years of nurturing, she declared it a two-star read.
TWO STARS? What does two stars mean? As dull as my Grandma’s oatmeal?—A waste of time and paper?—Someone should have smashed the damn clock!—I’d rather gnaw off a finger than finish this book?
I felt the heat of rejection enter my chest. Soon mortification, humiliation, and failure joined in. Until then, reviews were coming in with solid four and five-stars that included glowing accolades for the beautiful writing and wonderful, poignant story.
I finally read what she actually said. Next to the two stars, she wrote: “I am sorry, but I could not get into this book. I found some of the language used offensive so I stopped reading.”
Offensive language? Well, of course there’s offensive language. If she had read the back cover she would have known it’s about two boys, one black, and one white, who grew up in the South in the 1970s and early 1980s. No one sugarcoated crude remarks back then. And, to add salt, she said she didn’t finish the book.
Aren’t there laws that say, “There will be no reviews of books until the reader has finished every word.” Or, “If you can’t use your real name, it’s not a real review.”
No? There should be.
I wondered about bad reviews other authors have received, and I scoured through some of the best sellers on Amazon. Ends up I’m in good company.
A few examples:
Instead of referring to it as an American classic, this reviewer of J.D. Salinger’s, Catcher in the Rye, said, “This was one of the most disappointing books I have ever read, maybe not as bad as The Great Gatsby.” Boom. And one for you, too, Fitzgerald.
Instead of praise, one reviewer said they slowly battled through every boring word of Harper Lee’s, classic, and added, “How on Earth did To Kill A Mockingbird win a Pulitzer Prize?”
And look at what this poor wretch said when reviewing Betty Smith’s, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. “Do not read it. It has no plot and nothing to do with a tree. The story doesn’t even take place in Brooklyn.”
So, on behalf of J.D., F. Scott, Harper, Betty, and myself, I’d like to say phooey to all y’all.
