The romantic life of the book reviewer

The pros and the cons (especially the cons)

This essay was written for the Soaring Twenties Social Club (STSC) Symposium. STSC members often create something around a set theme. This time the theme was “romance”.

Book reviewer, by Dall-E

Introduction

Many people are in love with the idea of being a writer, and especially with the idea of being a book reviewer because of, I suppose, the free books. Yet in some respects their romantic notions are not borne out in reality.

Indeed, Dorothy Parker once said:

I hate writing; I love having written.

And Fran Leibowitz hit the nail on the head when she wrote:

Contrary to what many of you may imagine, a career in letters is not without its drawbacks - chief among them the unpleasant fact that one is frequently called upon to sit down and write.

George Orwell, in his 1946 essay Confessions of a book reviewer, was perhaps only slightly exaggerating when he wrote:

Half hidden among the pile of papers is a bulky parcel containing five volumes which his editor has sent with a note suggesting that they “ought to go well together”. They arrived four days ago, but for 48 hours the reviewer was prevented by moral paralysis from opening the parcel. Yesterday in a resolute moment he ripped the string off it and found the five volumes to be Palestine at the Cross Roads, Scientific Dairy Farming, A Short History of European Democracy (this one 680 pages and weighs four pounds), Tribal Customs in Portuguese East Africa, and a novel, It’s Nicer Lying Down, probably included by mistake. His review — 800 words, say — has got to be ‘in’ by midday tomorrow.

Impossible deadlines

Those final words are, for the most part, as true today as they were over 75 years ago. One dreads to ask the question, “What’s the deadline?”, but ask it one must. Any reply which opens with the words “Is there any chance…” is not going to have a good ending.

“Of course”, you answer, wondering which of the other urgent tasks on your to-do list you can de-prioritise, and whether you feel brave enough to simply disappear.

And then the panic begins, a panic which induces the kind of paralysis that prevents your opening the book at all until the ticking clock forces you to.

Unhelpful publishers

You would think, given that (a) most books rise and sink without trace and (b) publishers take at least 90% of a book’s selling price in return for, amongst other things, publicity, that a publisher would bite your hand off if you informed them that you’d been asked to review one of their recent publications. Most do, of course, and the really proactive ones get in touch to ask you if you’d like a review copy, sometimes before the book has even made it to the stores. But a small minority… well, words fail me.

Bear in mind that the magazine that asked me to review the books alluded to below has a circulation of 20,000 and gives away 30,000 copies at an education show every year. Now, maybe that’s small fry to some people but, to take a different scenario, I would love it if the editor featured my Substack newsletter in the magazine. Imagine being offered the opportunity to reach 20,000 or more potential readers. Apparently, some publishers don’t see it that way.

A few months ago I was told I would be sent a copy of a book I’d been asked to review, but that the person dealing with it was on holiday. By the time she returned I had about a week in which to review the book, so I explained that I’d be happy with a digital copy instead. After a few days of silence I suggested to the editor that I review a different book I’d been sent, and he agreed. I still haven’t heard from her.

More recently, I was told, by an American publisher, of course I could be sent a review copy. Then having received no response to my question, “Are you happy to send a copy given that I live in England?”, and no response to my follow-up query, I got in touch directly with the author. He suggested I buy the Kindle version and ask the editor to reimburse me.

Paying for a review copy serves, in my mind, to subtly change the nature of the relationship. It’s not the usual way of doing things, and in a way I can’t quite put my finger on it seems somewhat unprofessional. I can understand (just) that a publisher might not wish to shell out a few dollars sending a copy abroad. I don’t understand why they can’t simply send me a pdf, which would cost them precisely nothing.

A few years ago, a self-published author told me I could have a digital copy of the book only on condition that I promised to delete it from my devices after I’d written the review. I pointed out to him that I couldn’t agree to that because (a) I might have to revise the review in the light of the editor’s comments; (b) I might find another outlet for which to review it; and (c) I’m not in the habit of distributing digital copies of books in breach of copyright, if that’s what he was worried about. (Proof: I’ve been reviewing books for over thirty years, and if I engaged in that sort of thing I’d have been found out long ago.)

Unreadable tomes

Very occasionally I’ve been sent a book that is so unreadable it’s hard to know where to start. I have never quite had the courage to open a book review in the same way as a writer for The Critic magazine:

This is the worst book on education I’ve ever read.

I usually try to find something positive to say, even if it stretches to the utmost limit my ability to tell the truth without plunging the author into a deep depression. Although, if push comes to shove, I see my primary obligation as being to the reader, who is being invited to spend money on the wretched thing.

Unreasonable authors

I suppose that I’m fortunate in that over a thirty year span I have only twice been taken to task by the author — both fairly recently as it happens. In both cases I had advised the reader to buy the book, but sadly some authors or their acolytes appear to believe they are infallible, that their books deserve five star reviews, or that at the very least they should receive an award of some kind.

In one case the online attack was quite brutal, by people (not the author) who appear not to have read my review in its entirety but the pull quote at the head of the review. That is, a pull quote that wasn’t even a quote, because I didn’t actually write it, and it wasn’t in the body of the review. The mob was only silenced when someone else (I never respond to that sort of behaviour) tweeted “But Terry recommended the book!”.

In the other case, the author emailed me privately, and I made the mistake of responding. After he’d suggested, for the second time, that I appeared to be confused¹ (over something I first studied in 1971, and which was a key part of my Masters in the mid-80s) I decided not to engage any further.

I read in Inside the Critics’ Circle: Book Reviewing in Uncertain Times², by Phillipa K. Chong, that some male reviewers refuse to review books by women because they fear being accused of misogyny if they dislike the book in question. That strikes me as a self-fulfilling argument, and as being somewhat patronising, but having been the target of a couple of attacks I can understand their stance. No sane person actually wants to place themselves in the line of fire.

Poor remuneration 

Unless you’re fortunate enough to be (a) a very famous person and (b) asked to review books for a major publication you’re unlikely to build up a nice nest egg purely from writing reviews. If you’re asked to write a book review, I wouldn’t start planning for your retirement just yet.

But on the plus side:

You get to acquire books without having to go through the painful process of paying for them.

Reviewing books is a very easy way to become more widely read, or at least better informed.

Concluding remarks

I realise that there are more negative points than positive ones in this article, but only in terms of numbers. The two plus points, especially the second one, outweigh all the others in my opinion.

To return to the opening theme, the life of a book reviewer is certainly not the epitome of a romantic occupation. But it’s not too bad either!

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have several books I need to read and review by next week.

1. He was referring to my response to his first email, not the review itself. (My sin there was that I disagreed with him.)

2. Amazon affiliate link