Sean O’Brien has written a rambling, somewhat disjointed piece for The Times Online titled “Laws of the Thriller: Sean O’Brien on the ups and downs of thriller writers.” (Thanks to Sarah Weinman’s terrific blog, Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind, for making me aware of this. While we’re at it, Happy Birthday, Sarah.) Where “laws” comes in is debatable, and O’Brien seems more interested in finding downs than ups, but he’s a critic. He may consider it part of his job to be controversial, and all of his criticisms are of matters about which reasonable minds may differ.
Almost all.
He devotes a good-sized paragraph to Dennis Lehane’s latest, The Given Day, which I read a few weeks ago. He makes several comments I disagree with, all of which fall under the “reasonable minds” disclaimer above. There is, however, one comment that makes me wonder if he read the same book I did:
“…the political dimension of the book – Boston is teeming with socialist, Marxists, syndicalists, Wobblies and anarchist bombers – causes Lehane some anxiety. He repeatedly takes an oath of loyalty to capital by denouncing and deriding the ideas and the characters of the Left.”
Where O’Brien sees this anxiety in Lehane’s writing escapes me. The book clearly is on the side of the workers. Comments to the effect that the Communists and Socialists spend too much time drinking and arguing are in the context of law enforcement’s efforts to lump those groups together with anarchists as “bomb throwers.” The point of the description is to show the relative harmlessness of the political groups when compared to the violence advocated, and perpetrated, by the anarchists.
Lehane makes this clear by depicting the efforts of law enforcement and the political establishment to associate these “subversive” groups as a way to maintain the status quo of the social order in place as the book begins. Lehane has been quoted as describing his politics as “left of Canada;” nothing in The Given Day would cast doubt on that. Class warfare is a key theme throughout the book, and it’s plain where his sympathies are. It’s one thing to differ about quality, something else to get the point of the book so completely wrong when the author has made it so plain. O’Brien might as well say Steinbeck took the side of the banks in The Grapes of Wrath.
I’ll confess to being in the tank for Dennis Lehane’s work since I read A Drink Before the War; I think The Given Day is brilliant, worthy of the five year wait. That doesn’t mean I’m right. On the other hand, O’Brien’s comment in a respected publication has missed the mark by such a wide margin that one must wonder if The Times has joined the Obama Administration as organizations in need of an overhaul to their vetting processes.
Showing posts with label criticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label criticism. Show all posts
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Reviewing the Reviews
Book reviews have received a lot of attention lately, largely been because newspapers are dropping them faster than a banker can endorse a bonus check. Various web sites are picking up the slack. Most online booksellers post reader reviews, which may be of dubious merit. Some are written by the writer’s friends; others may be written by competitors with an ax to grind before placing it directly between the author’s shoulder blades.
Other sites dedicated to the review and discussion of books and writing. Some are strictly amateur affairs, and show it. Some are the work of dedicated volunteers whose quality of product is hardly amateurish. Still others are professional operations deserving the respect previously accorded only to the traditional print media.
As the primordial ooze of Twenty-First Century book criticism sorts itself out, another, often ignored question comes to mind: what is a book review? Based on what I’ve read, some are little more than plot synopses, with a brief coda to say, “It’s okay,” or “Don’t bother.” Others are more like book reports, summarizing the story, discussing a theme or two, and maybe concluding with a recommendation.
Another category discusses the writing, and its various strengths and weaknesses. These can also be a mixed bag. Some are little more than opinion pieces without example or justification, telling more about the reviewer than about the book. Others cite examples to back up their opinions, though even those who strive to be objective are prone to cherry-pick only citations that support their opinions.
Authors, readers, and reviewers all read this blog. What do you look for in a review? What are the primary reasons for having book reviews at all? If we can stipulate all reviews should pass the Twenty-Five Dollar test (Is this book worth $25?), should the reader expect more than a synopsis and recommendation?
Other sites dedicated to the review and discussion of books and writing. Some are strictly amateur affairs, and show it. Some are the work of dedicated volunteers whose quality of product is hardly amateurish. Still others are professional operations deserving the respect previously accorded only to the traditional print media.
As the primordial ooze of Twenty-First Century book criticism sorts itself out, another, often ignored question comes to mind: what is a book review? Based on what I’ve read, some are little more than plot synopses, with a brief coda to say, “It’s okay,” or “Don’t bother.” Others are more like book reports, summarizing the story, discussing a theme or two, and maybe concluding with a recommendation.
Another category discusses the writing, and its various strengths and weaknesses. These can also be a mixed bag. Some are little more than opinion pieces without example or justification, telling more about the reviewer than about the book. Others cite examples to back up their opinions, though even those who strive to be objective are prone to cherry-pick only citations that support their opinions.
Authors, readers, and reviewers all read this blog. What do you look for in a review? What are the primary reasons for having book reviews at all? If we can stipulate all reviews should pass the Twenty-Five Dollar test (Is this book worth $25?), should the reader expect more than a synopsis and recommendation?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Everyone's a Critic. Or Should Be.
As the heading says, I am a humble writer, with much to be humble about. What accomplishment I can point to is largely due to the encouragement and support of Stephanie Padilla, the editor of New Mystery Reader. Through a series of questionable decisions probably attributable to sleep deprivation, Stephanie has seen fit to publish over eighty of my reviews, four short stories, four author interviews, and an appreciation of the late Ed McBain.
In addition to the much appreciated writing credits, producing reviews has definitely made me a better fiction writer. All writers must develop critical reading skills, both to learn what works and to unmask what doesn’t. That’s not news; everyone who read this far knows that. What writing reviews does—or should do—is force you to justify your opinions.
Declan Burke speaks a little of this at Crime Always Pays. To wit:
[Crime fiction as a genre] deserves more from me, certainly, than reviews that run along the lines of, “This is a great book because I liked it and I liked it because it’s a great book.”
No point asking how many of you have read reviews like the one he describes; we all have. Written by well-known reviewers for major publications, too. Maybe that’s enough for the casual reader who wants to be sure the body count meets his standard. Serious readers—and anyone wishing to call himself a writer must, of necessity, be a serious reader—need more. Speaking personally, I can forgive plot holes if I’m enjoying the trip; the more enjoyable the trip, the more holes I can tolerate. True, a point can be reached where there are so many holes the fabric of the story doesn’t hold together no matter how entertaining the reading, but a book that reads more like a chore than a pleasure had better be damn near perfect in its plot.
This is where proper criticism can step up. A bit of synopsis is needed; the reader may be able to eliminate a book from his potential To Be Read pile by that alone, and a reviewer’s first duty is to that reader and her twenty-five bucks. The synopsis alone is but a recitation of facts; a book report. At best, it can tell a reader whether a book is worth reading at all, when placed in conjunction with the reader’s tastes. The reviewer’s real value comes from explaining why, or why not, the reader should invest time and money.
It’s not enough to say you liked the characters; why did you like them? What is it makes them people you enjoyed spending several hours with in the already crowded confines of your head? Did the dialog help or hurt? How? Why? Justify everything. If you think the banter between Parker, Louis, and Angel brings John Connolly’s books alive in a similar manner to the interplay between Spenser and Hawk, then don’t settle for “I liked the dialog. It was good.” Make the comparison. Reversing the situation, if the author is writing in the style of someone else and doesn’t quite pull it off, say so. But tell where he falls short.
This is not an altruistic endeavor; it will improve your fiction. Having to justify your opinions in writing forces you to examine them. This constant re-evaluation can only deepen your comprehension of your strengths and weaknesses, and, hopefully, help you to understand whether to leverage a strength, improve a weakness, or find another way to write a troublesome passage.
Reviewing makes you read for a different level of comprehension, as well as to improve your expressiveness of that new level of appreciation. Opportunities are not scarce; the proliferation of online venues means you should be able to find an outlet. Too busy to add another obligation to your plate? Write them for yourself when you want to think more on a recently read book. Have fun with it. Write it up as a conversation. Compile comments on several books into a manifesto of your writing philosophy.
All writers, especially new ones, search for the voice that will tell their stories in their unique way. How do find that voice—or voices, as different stories may demand different methods—is always vexing. It may be impossible without a more complete knowledge of your own tastes and abilities than can be obtained by reading along. Law school has been said to sharpen the mind by narrowing it; reviewing may sharper your skills by examining them.
In addition to the much appreciated writing credits, producing reviews has definitely made me a better fiction writer. All writers must develop critical reading skills, both to learn what works and to unmask what doesn’t. That’s not news; everyone who read this far knows that. What writing reviews does—or should do—is force you to justify your opinions.
Declan Burke speaks a little of this at Crime Always Pays. To wit:
[Crime fiction as a genre] deserves more from me, certainly, than reviews that run along the lines of, “This is a great book because I liked it and I liked it because it’s a great book.”
No point asking how many of you have read reviews like the one he describes; we all have. Written by well-known reviewers for major publications, too. Maybe that’s enough for the casual reader who wants to be sure the body count meets his standard. Serious readers—and anyone wishing to call himself a writer must, of necessity, be a serious reader—need more. Speaking personally, I can forgive plot holes if I’m enjoying the trip; the more enjoyable the trip, the more holes I can tolerate. True, a point can be reached where there are so many holes the fabric of the story doesn’t hold together no matter how entertaining the reading, but a book that reads more like a chore than a pleasure had better be damn near perfect in its plot.
This is where proper criticism can step up. A bit of synopsis is needed; the reader may be able to eliminate a book from his potential To Be Read pile by that alone, and a reviewer’s first duty is to that reader and her twenty-five bucks. The synopsis alone is but a recitation of facts; a book report. At best, it can tell a reader whether a book is worth reading at all, when placed in conjunction with the reader’s tastes. The reviewer’s real value comes from explaining why, or why not, the reader should invest time and money.
It’s not enough to say you liked the characters; why did you like them? What is it makes them people you enjoyed spending several hours with in the already crowded confines of your head? Did the dialog help or hurt? How? Why? Justify everything. If you think the banter between Parker, Louis, and Angel brings John Connolly’s books alive in a similar manner to the interplay between Spenser and Hawk, then don’t settle for “I liked the dialog. It was good.” Make the comparison. Reversing the situation, if the author is writing in the style of someone else and doesn’t quite pull it off, say so. But tell where he falls short.
This is not an altruistic endeavor; it will improve your fiction. Having to justify your opinions in writing forces you to examine them. This constant re-evaluation can only deepen your comprehension of your strengths and weaknesses, and, hopefully, help you to understand whether to leverage a strength, improve a weakness, or find another way to write a troublesome passage.
Reviewing makes you read for a different level of comprehension, as well as to improve your expressiveness of that new level of appreciation. Opportunities are not scarce; the proliferation of online venues means you should be able to find an outlet. Too busy to add another obligation to your plate? Write them for yourself when you want to think more on a recently read book. Have fun with it. Write it up as a conversation. Compile comments on several books into a manifesto of your writing philosophy.
All writers, especially new ones, search for the voice that will tell their stories in their unique way. How do find that voice—or voices, as different stories may demand different methods—is always vexing. It may be impossible without a more complete knowledge of your own tastes and abilities than can be obtained by reading along. Law school has been said to sharpen the mind by narrowing it; reviewing may sharper your skills by examining them.
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