Many a time
I’ve heard writers—including some well-known and best-selling authors—say they
don’t read reviews of their books. And they discourage fledgling writers to
likewise ignore them.
I suppose
there’s wisdom in that. After all, book reviews are nothing more than
opinions. And opinions, the old saying
goes, are like certain parts of the anatomy—everybody has them, and they all
stink.
That’s truer
than ever nowadays. Thanks to online sites that allow everyone and anyone to
post a review, their value has diminished, if not disappeared.
Many writers—and
I know some of them—game the system, enlisting friends to post positive reviews,
which are worse than useless and a disservice to prospective readers. There are
even companies that will, for a price, post as many positive—but phony—reviews
as you can afford.
Then there
are reviewers, cantankerous by nature, who seem to derive some perverse
pleasure out of panning books and writers, and offer no basis (or have none)
for their dislike.
So, it may
well be best for writers to leave reviews unread. I confess, however, to
reading them. Here’s a dandy, for my poetry collection Things a Cowboy Sees and Other Poems:
“Hated it. The poems are filled with all the
righteous indignation of a white, Christian male who feels persecuted by
society.”
Maybe I
shouldn’t have read that. But you must admit it’s entertaining.
Besides, travel
can be broadening, and I just can’t pass up the pleasure of taking the
occasional quantum leap into the peculiar parallel universe where reviewers
like that one must reside.
She’s entitled
to her opinion, I suppose. But I’m not sure that particular opinion is about
that particular book.
Read the
book, and see what you think.
