Reviews sluggishly come out and what they reveal, from my perspective, are generational conflicts; misreadings of what I have written and a few salient criticisms which I have had to swallow and digest, resolving to do better next time. At times only one or two essays from out of 36 are honed in for special criticism, as if the blogger chooses not to evaluate or assess the total thematic sweep of the book. Assumptions are made about me which are grossly erroneous but what can the blogger do but assess what is written before him. Am I what I have written or am I not what I have written? Should the content be assessed only and the author left out of it? All this is debatable and moot.
Since I am on the receiving end, I think there is another way. Stay with the content and try not to make a bridge to the writer’s personality because you will often be in error. Each of us is unbelievably complex, so save your best salvos for your own characterological faults. To say it differently, if the writer chooses not to change his character, or grow as a human being, or reassess who he or she is, it is not your task as a blogger to urge anything upon him or her. Review the book, not the person.
In my own mind I hold that the artist is not separated from what he or she has created. I hold Wagner responsible for his anti-Semitism. And consequently I choose not to listen to his music, and the same goes for T. S. Eliot. Label it any way you wish in your own mind. As the writer of my book I am totally responsible for what I have written and I stand by it. However, there is that grayish area in which assumptions are drawn (is that the reviewer’s task?) that lead reviewers to assess me as a man, to wit, one ninny writes, “he has a superiority complex.” A term that I believe is outdated among psychotherapists. . Grandiose, that I can accept. Slightly pompous as well and arrogant on occasion. Mea culpa. In short, I don’t need a blogger to massage my psyche, for I have been doing a much better job of it for decades.
After all, what is a review? We are back to definitions. And is a blogger a literary critic. By definition, I think not. Is he a book reviewer? Yes, in the most primitive sense of the word. So what is he? Perhaps he shares more with a coffee taster — sip, taste, swallow, rinse, all over again.
And blogger, what is it that triggers your response, what part of your ox is being gored? Never to be answered queries. I have chosen not to comment on reviews that I find errant, distasteful or just plain scathing. What is to be achieved? Since most self-published books need to be reviewed by bloggers who have become a kind of powerful force on the internet, if I bite the hand that feeds me which I have been accused of doing, all I can utter is wwwwwwwooof! wwwwoof! Every writer should abolish that crude shibboleth; go ahead and bite the hand that feeds you, for very often it is a condescending, paternalistic, capitalistic hand that ultimately takes its toll.
Some bloggers suffer from their youth, oh do they, others cannot write a clear sentence and others show an array of other dysfunctions, sloth, anger, poor social skills, all the petty foibles we encounter on a daily basis — inordinate lateness in responding, failure to contact the author that a review is up, not keeping promises or commitments, offering excuses — my dog has herpes, being snide and presumptuous. Ah, the species!
Distancing myself from some of the sharply pointed comments about myself and the book, I fully realize that if many of my essays pick on human scabs (my self-imposed task as a writer) I cannot expect roses and perfume laid on my doorstep. Imagine if you will that I am a trampoline and high above each blogger with his or her review crosses the bar. When they dismount and flop into the trapoline which is me, composed of my many years, personality, my softness, my hardness, everything that I am, they make their impressions. I can only say as I am struck against the fabric of self that I experience pain, sensitivity and hurt. I choose to take it all personally, for if it is high praise I surely bathe in that. But can I endure a bath of acid ? I cannot have it both ways, I believe.
I non-grandiosely relate to Freud’s comment that his books or his psychoanalytic findings had disturbed the sleep of mankind and he was quite prepared to take the heat. Rightly so. I am also protective of who I am, although I “foolishly” expose myself in my writings. I seek fairness — are you serious? and balanced judgement and when I do not experience that I cave in somewhat like a squeezed marshmallow, dimples here and there. There I go again expecting (expectations!) the world to comform to my desires and when it doesn’t do so I turn away and seek out a shadowed apse to hide in. Another neurotic vein in my self, I await a blogger to assuage my malady.
Pretty well defended as a personality, when you go after my scribblings it is truly as if you go after my self. I choose not to take advice and counsel on this by well-intended friends or other writers because they will not be lowered into my casket. I have to answer all this by myself.
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