Review Review

I was chatting with someone about book reviews recently—their importance, intricacy, challenges, and place in the book ecosystem. And I had to admit I don’t write them, or not for publication anyway. I just find them too challenging, too time-consuming, too hard to get right, and too subject to scrutiny if you get them wrong. Of course, I scribble my little thoughts here or on my blog or on Goodreads, but I would not call it anything so formal and organized as a proper “book review.”

I might, honestly, have been talking from the inside of a time machine, but my interlocutor was very kind or more likely simply didn’t care what I am and am not willing to term a “book review,” the lines have blurred so much these last ten years. There was a time when not the definition but the content of book reviews seemed to matter tremendously, at least in certain circles, albeit very small circles (perhaps they were dots?) The debate about how negative one could be in a book review, and the difference between negativity and criticism, and to what end either or both existed, and to what end book reviews exist, felt very fierce and immediate to me and I did (and actually do) have Opinions. But whatever I thought was going to happen in that tiny debate, it was not that the vast majority of professional reviews (ie., reviews assigned by a publication to a reviewer, paid for, and published) were simply going to go away and the debate would become moot (and with it my Opinions). Now people review how they want to review, on their blog or on Goodreads. And if their review is “This is very good book.” or 3000 words about how the protagonist is a bad person, well, someone coming along later can decide of themselves how seriously they want to take it.

Print reviews and journalistic online reviews still exist of course, but they are rare enough that there is tremendous pressure on them. I know reviewers sometimes feels sad or scared of saying the wrong thing about a book that might get no other reviews at all. I know I would be. My most recent book received no reviews of this type at all, which was upsetting but honestly better than receiving one that was bad, I guess. It’s hard to know exactly what one wants, other than to be universally adored and lauded by everyone.

Reviewing properly, thoughtfully, and seriously is a good skill to possess. It makes me a more discerning reader when I’m able to sort through in my mind (as I can sometimes) what is a personal preference, what is a cultural bias, and what is just a faulty structure or aesthetic choice in a book. And what flaws can be overlooked in favour of a whole that comes out as a great read, and when the flaws overwhelm the good and we are left with a reading experience that feels like a chore to get through.

Anyway, shortly after the above conversation, I was reading my Write Magazine winter edition (don’t @ me, I know it’s summer) and there was an article on how to write a book review. Fortuitous! The article is called “Do Book Reviews Matter?” and is mainly about how book reviews boost sales for a book, which is a little bit—well, I always feel like it’s none of my business to be honest. But one likes to help the cause. It was written by poet and retired community college prof, John Oughton, and generously included a step-by-step guide. Let’s try it!

• “Describe the book’s genre, theme(s), approach, and what makes it unique.

• Outline the writer’s apparent intentions. State how the work compares with the writer’s previous publications (if any).

• Highlight book good points and flaws. Quote examples from the book.

• Remember you’re not reviewing the book you’d have written.

• Don’t be too negative, because the writer may be on the next jury for your grant, award, or writer-in-residence application. (Joke.)”

So the book I finished reading most recently is So Much Blue by Percival Everett. It’s a novel—a realist novel—about a painter. He’s married with two kids living somewhere in New England, and going through a difficult period, reflecting back on two other difficult periods in his life. In one, about ten years prior, he is in Paris, having an affair with a woman much younger than he is. In the third period, thirty years before, he is in El Salvador, stuck in a grim, unhappy adventure trying to help his best friend Richard help his brother. Richard appears in the two other time periods as well, and an early contender for main theme in the novel seems to be the bonds and limits of friendship. This remains in important but not central as the novel moves on.

It takes a long long time for the three timelines to coalesce. For a big chunk of the novel, it is just three stories that happen to have occurred in the same person’s life, moving back and forth seemingly at random junctures. I didn’t really care because all three were fascinating, intense and weird, and Everett is such a good writer, knowing when to lean into the scene and let the narrator just be a character, and when to build the “I” voice back in with self-conscious aside. I was engrossed. The story about the affair is the most pedestrian—no one cares about your May-December fantasies, old men—but it was well-written and sad. The El Salvador section was BANANAS and I never knew what was going to happen next and it was terrifying and fascinating. The present-day section had aspects of both stories I had heard before and the wildness of people behaving unexpectedly.

I’m not going to explain the main theme of the book because that’s kind of what takes the whole book to work out—it would be a thematic spoiler. Obviously the author intended us to draw some connection among the three stories and at the end he helps us a TINY bit to do so, but really, I may have missed some connections. I don’t care because as I say, it was a great read and I got enough of it that it was still plenty to think about. Everett always brings a banquet, so you can’t taste everything. This is the third novel of his I’ve read—I started with Erasure like many people, I’m sure, because I thought the film based on it was so good. The novel is astounding and if not better than the film, certainly more surprising. Then I read James, which is a re-imagining of Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn from Jim’s point of view. I thought James was very impressive and interesting but didn’t enjoy it and had to drag myself to the end of the book. My mom read it too and had the same experience. She pointed out that it was probably because she hadn’t really liked Huckleberry Finn, which cheered me up—neither did I. I just don’t like that story, no matter point of view you tell it from.

All three novels by Everett I’ve read so far centre around a middle-aged Black man who is very intelligent, intellectual, and self-conscious. Also a creative person or an artist of some kind (obviously, in James Jim is mainly on the run from being a slave, but he seems to want to become a writer, if he can). All three books don’t shy away from the improbable or the catastrophic, but they also are fine with threads left unfinished, circumstances left unexplained, and messy endings (James has a tidier ending than made sense but that was a ROUGH book to get through and I was happy to enjoy a somewhat pat ending, as a treat).

I thought some of the best parts of So Much Blue were the visual descriptions, which only made sense for a book narrated from the point of view of an artist. Everett is also an artist, and he knows what he is talking about. The parts about colour in this book are so very good, and really tie all the strands together. Even the very wrenching parts were somehow a pleasure to read, it was so beautiful. I like this book very much and I look forward to reading more by this author, knowing his work varies widely and I won’t like everything, and that is part of the adventure.

…what do you think? Does that count as a real review?? Is there more or different (or less) stuff you would want to know about the book?