'Not quite Shakespearean'

Processing my bad reviews on Goodreads

Coming upon the first ever Goodreads review of my novel, Not Exactly What I Had in Mind, was the emotional equivalent of taking the ice bucket challenge. It was Christmas 2021, a full seven months before the novel was due to be published, and I wasn’t aware that anyone but my publisher and agent had access to the text. I’d only gone on Goodreads because I was excited that it actually had a Goodreads entry and I wanted to show my mother-in-law the American cover. ‘Oh my God, someone’s reviewed it already!’ thought I. And then, skimming it: ‘Oh my God, it must be a troll!’ And then, looking more closely: ‘Oh my God, there are spoilers! They’ve actually read it! It’s real!’

According to the (anonymous) reviewer, numerous crimes against literature had been committed. The novel was ‘tedious’, ‘desperate’, ‘obvious’, ‘ludicrous’, ‘unsatisfying’, ‘formulaic’, and — the crown jewels — ‘too estrogeny for its own good’. It was an ‘assortment of first-world woes and cliches […] pretending to be a proper novel’. Things happened ‘to no one’s surprise’; my main characters were ‘blubbery milquetoasts’ (I actually really like this — an excruciating stab wound, yes, but so poetic). The one compliment, that it was ‘eminently readable’, was caveated by the observation that ‘this kind of crap always is.’ ‘Oh my, though,’ said the reviewer, sweeping majestically towards their devastating conclusion. ‘Let’s face it, not quite Shakespearean.’

I’m quite sure writing and publishing a novel is nothing like actually having a child, but it’s an analogy I like nonetheless. You ‘conceive’ of an idea and sort of… birth it onto the page, and then you parent it through its early developmental milestones and awkward adolescence until the day comes when it’s mature enough to strike out on its own. By the time I’d been through several rounds of edits I felt akin to a mother whose adult offspring was still living rent-free in the family home, and I really, really wanted it to move out. But reading this review was like learning that my grown-up baby, having gone out into the world expecting to find kindred spirits, had found herself living among bullies instead. The bullies didn’t understand her. The bullies thought she was worthless. Everything I liked about her, they hated. I wanted to bring her home and nurse her. Because after all, she was mine.

Only she wasn’t! It was the beginning of the transmutation every book must go through, from being something private to something public. When a book is published it stops belonging solely to its author and starts belonging to its readers as well, who — short of committing libel — have every right to feel, think and say what they like about it. Thanks to the internet, they can now do this to a large audience which might well include the author, if the latter happens to enjoy torturing themselves by snooping around Goodreads. They can express deep regret at having wasted precious hours of their lives reading something so beset with failings and the author of said waste of paper can counter with absolutely nothing except ‘Hey! I can hear you! Why are you being so MEAN?’

Okay fine but do you have to express this in a public forum

It’s a problem that I can hear the mean people, but also that I am listening. Hypothetically I could just… not. I’m sure many authors are sensible enough never to look at what people are saying about their books, but I am not very sensible. The difficulty is that Goodreads reviewers can also be kind. You might go on there and read, ‘Simply wonderful!’ or ‘This was a truly stunning debut’ or ‘I have now begun the grieving process you go through when you finish a great book’, and spend the rest of the day feeling invincible and extremely important. This possibility is slightly addictive and spawns silly thoughts like, ‘I’ll just have a quick peek at Goodreads because if I’ve changed someone’s life for the better in the last twenty-four hours I bloody well want to know about it!!’ And then you find out that the existence of your annoying little book has made someone’s life demonstrably worse. Still, I suppose there’s a sort of boot camp-esque justice in getting your ego battered when you’ve gone out of your way to try and have it stroked.

I actually think the best outcome of a casual trip to Goodreadsville is the discovery of a good-bad review. These are reviews that are meant to be bad, but end up bringing more to one’s life than a good review because they are hilarious, a backhanded compliment, or both. Allow me to regale you with my all time favourites, in descending order of preference.

4. I could only get through half of this book. It was just so crude and vulgar that I didn't want to read any more.

I had a snoop on this reviewer’s profile and discovered that she’d also been reading Vol. 2 of a history of the Mormon church. My book IS crude and vulgar and not suitable for Mormon sensibilities and one can only speculate about what made this lady push through the sex scene on page one.

3. so bored while reading this that you should call me carol borderman

Nothing but deferential respect for this master of dry and casually devastating wordplay.

2. Definitely not what I had in mind when I checked it out! Very WOKE, very modern miss, nothing at all like people I know (or want to know).

Not just woke, WOKE. And very modern miss! What is ‘modern miss’? Is it an adjective or a noun? Am I one? I hope so!

1. This honestly reminded me a great deal of something that could have been written by Sally Rooney […] I am one of the few who cannot stand Rooney’s novels and I could not stop thinking about how much this reminded me of her books, but a tad more witty. Overall, this was not my cup of tea.

Sally Rooney, but a tad more witty. I will take it, please and thank you.

These days I am at peace with the fact that some people were quite vocal about how much they did not like my first book, and the reason is that I am writing something else and all my loving attention and nurturing instincts have been transferred to that instead. I’m a total novice, so what do I know, but as far as I can tell this is the only panacea for having to watch your wordy little baby get thrown to the wolves: make another one. Sorry, first-born, you’re on your own now.