Contrariness and Book Reviews

As a writer, I tend to find book reviews discouraging (and these are for other people’s novels, not my own, so you know I have a problem). Maybe some of you understand because you’re in my shoes as well (I thought they were getting a bit cramped), but let me explain for those of you who don’t. When I study the differing opinions of others, it quickly becomes apparent that there is no such thing as “the perfect novel”. Far from it. While I may love a story to death, someone else might be just as willing to tear it to pieces. And rudely. Likewise, people adore books I hate, emulate authors I disdain, and tout styles I despise. So trying to write “the perfect novel” is about as effective as trying to lick your elbow, only less fun.

It turns out our fingerprints aren’t the only things that make us unique. You thought political discussions could get pretty heated? Try authorial debates. Everyone has his or her own idea of what makes a novel work and how to write said novel. Wouldn’t it be easier if there were one universal right way and one universal wrong way? Then maybe I could stop talking to my bookshelves and generally acting like a crazy person.

Unfortunately, I often catch myself falling into the trap of oversimplification, and I become like that individual who, in aiming to please everyone, pleases no one. For instance, I like tight, beautiful prose. While I don’t want writers to waste words, I also want poetic and descriptive language. I like sentences of middling length that don’t always start with words like “the” or “I”, “he” or “she”. Those are boring words; give me lines that kick off with prepositions and verbs and (GASP!) adverbs. Make your sentences lock together like puzzle pieces, each one flowing into the next with no pause, not even for a breath. To me, storytelling isn’t just pacing and plot; it’s art and beauty and rhythm. But I realize there are those who prefer short punchy sentences with fewer frills. So when I edit my story to my satisfaction, I need to do so knowing that some will wish it were different. If I can’t let myself be all right with that, I’m liable to go nuts.

Case in point:  A little while ago, I was dithering over whether or not to buy IMAGINARY GIRLS by Nova Ren Suma. Already I had read the first chapter, and I had rather liked it. I’d also read a favorable account from a reasonably trustworthy source. Still, I was unsure. Once the money is paid, the money is paid, and I want to know I’m getting a good deal. So I decided to read the customer feedback on Amazon, hoping that might give me an idea of how to proceed. And it was thoroughly depressing. Of all the reviews I skimmed, about 98% hated the book, or at least weren’t thrilled with their purchase. They all seemed to list similar reasons—a dark, confusing, disturbing plot that petered off and ended in an anti-climax. Several flat-out said they wished they’d been warned to avoid IMAGINARY GIRLS, so they were extending that desired word of caution.

Contrary person that I am, I bought the book. SO THERE! (And it wasn’t because I felt bad for the author, though who wants that many bad reviews?)

Let me tell you—I absolutely LOVED that book. In fact, the very bits that others hated were the ones I adored, like Ruby’s complex, hypnotic personality—both selfish and sacrificial. Sure, there were parts of the work that I didn’t appreciate. It wasn’t as clean as I would have liked. But when it comes down to it, there isn’t a single story in my shelf that I would not have written differently. I enjoy the pacing and the action of Veronica Roth’s DIVERGENT, but I can’t allow myself to focus on the style because I know it would mar my enjoyment. I’ve been almost skimming the INHERITANCE CYCLE in places because Christopher Paolini uses far too many words. All three authors are imperfect at their crafts (like every author), and there are others whom I consider better who had to fight harder to make it (I hear that C.S. Lewis, for instance, suffered about eight hundred rejections before ever publishing anything). There is no formula for success, no magic method to make you famous. Even hard work won’t guarantee you a spot on the New York Times Bestseller list.

So when I find myself more and more discouraged as I read book reviews and despair of ever writing anything that millions of people will buy, I need to remember some very important facts. Writing isn’t about glamor, it isn’t about popularity, and it isn’t about money (though I’d love to make it a full time job). I spend hours hunched over my computer, ignoring aching wrists and drinking far too much coffee, not because I want people to know my name and praise my talent to the skies, but because I fear a future without stories. I can’t think of myself, ten years down the road, not writing. That would be unacceptable. So success or no success, I’ll be at it every spare moment, building worlds and torturing nonexistent people, solving problems and discovering more and more about how my mind works. When that is my focus, discouragement cannot thrive; I give it no food. All I do is live and process and grow. And while I’m at it, I’ll learn to appreciate the unique aspects of each book I read, and I will respect each writer’s chosen style, knowing I would want to be offered the same respect.