Image: Wikimedia Commons
What I Wish I’d Known is a regular series where we ask some of our favourite writers to reflect on their writing and publishing journey, and share some of the unexpected and useful things they’ve learned along the way. In this instalment, writers reflect on criticism and the mortifying ordeal of being reviewed.
Rawah Arja, The F Team
To put it simply, it’s not the end of the world if someone doesn’t like or enjoy your work. I remember the first time I read a bad review of my debut book The F Team, I went into a panic and messaged my publicist and my publishers freaking out. I thought their review was right and even believed what they had written. It was until I spoke to my publisher that I understood the process and how one person’s perspective isn’t reality. It’s one of those tricky situations every author goes through in their life that can’t really be understood or explained until you go through it yourself. One person’s review is subjective, and so as long as you are happy with your name being associated with your work, then that’s all that matters. No one truly knows all the hard work that’s gone into your work but yourself, and so the best advice I can give is to, in a nice way, brush it off. That bad review ended up making me appreciate my work even more. I realised that my book is only for those who ‘get it’—and by ‘it’, I mean what it’s like to be a teenager feeling lost and alone.
Ronnie Scott, The Adversary
One of my favourite pieces of writing anyone did about The Adversary was a nasty little comment somewhere on the internet that when I read it made me laugh out loud. It was unfair and very funny, and I felt like it was kind of in the spirit of the book; to be misunderstood is one thing, and you’ll get those reviews too, but to be seen, and understood, and publicly found wanting—I wish I’d known that this could be quite cool. I think, deep down, most writers know that reviews aren’t the same as edits—which is not to say they can’t be interesting or useful, but they’re not exactly for you, or they’d do something about the timing—and we also know that part of making art is being read in ways that are beyond you. On a practical note, no one is as equanimous as they’d like, and I wish I’d known earlier that you’re allowed to turn it off—open and closed states are both valuable for writers, so it’s really up to you to exercise your judgement and work out when to be public and when to be private.
Sam van Zweden, Eating With My Mouth Open
The best review I have received was slipped into my hand after an event. It was scribbled on the back of a COVID vaccination info slip. Before Eating with my Mouth Open was released, I expected to get the most excited by the highest-profile reviews—ones with fancy mastheads and large readerships. That hasn’t been the case. A large women’s magazine gave the book about 50 words and missed the mark spectacularly—I doubt anyone bought the book after reading that review, and if they did, I’m not sure whether they got what they were expecting. Some of the most meaningful reviews have a readership of one. They arrive in my DMs, or on a slip of paper. These reviews confirm that writing the book was a good idea, and that it’s being read by people who need it most: people puzzling over their difficult or complex food and body relationships. There are no stars involved.
I also wish that someone had told me that most reviews aren’t for me. I don’t need to read them, respond to them, stew over them. They’re for readers, and they’re part of letting the work go into the world as its own thing. Sometimes, even though my book appears in the review, the piece has much more to do with the reviewer than my work. That’s fine too. There’s space for all of this.
Victoria Hannan, Kokomo
One thing I learned the hard way is that you should never ever read the Goodreads reviews of your book. The only time you should visit Goodreads is to read the bad reviews of some of your favourite books to make you feel better about yourself (one user called Jenny Offill’s Dept. of Speculation ‘a collection of random gibberish’ in a one-star review. Another called Patti Smith’s Just Kids ‘absolute penguin shit’). Actually, I take that back. It’s not even worth it for that. Despite its name, I promise you: nothing good ever happens on Goodreads.
Patrick Allington, Rise & Shine
As a novelist who is also a critic, I found myself analysing reviews of Rise & Shine: ‘Ah, interesting structure’, ‘neat summarising’, ‘reliant on the blurb’, ‘positive with a twist of negative’, ‘negative with a twist of positive’, and so on. That’s no fun, so I made myself take a step back and look at what each reviewer thought was the novel’s essence—what these readers thought made it tick. That was more satisfying, regardless of whether a reviewer liked or hated the work. And meanwhile—look out!—here come the next month’s new releases, and the next and the next and the next.
Katherine Brabon, The Shut Ins
Part of the strangeness of being reviewed is that the reviews arrive so long, a year or more, after the creation of the work. When my first novel was released, I’d lost the intimacy of it being just me and the book, but I didn’t know that my sense of the work would change like it did—in good ways.
Critical reviews, in the true sense of the word critique—to examine, notice, contextualise—can be so illuminating for a writer, even if they aren’t always full of praise. I learnt so much from a review of my first novel by the wonderful Khalid Warsame. He picked up an error in the book (and was so gracious about it) but behind this was a keen noticing and a thorough, researched insight into the work. And this is what can happen when you’re fortunate enough to get a long review of your book: you’ll learn things about it and your own technique as a writer.
Mark Brandi, The Others
In the weeks following publication, I read the paper each Saturday with a queasy mix of anticipation and impending doom.
It’s taken me three books to feel slightly more relaxed. That isn’t to say that I don’t get anxious—I still do. But I’ve been fortunate to receive some reviews (and reader feedback) that has given me fresh insight into my own work.
Such thoughtful, in-depth analysis is a gift—it can help you see your writing anew.
Imbi Neeme, The Spill
Five star ratings are mostly given by family and friends because they are a little bit scared of me.
Four stars are from complete strangers who really enjoyed my book. Bless them one and all.
Three stars are fine. Just fine.
Two stars kind of hurts, but it’s okay. No, really. (But maybe not really.)
One star is like the gap in the curtain that causes the light to shine directly on my face at 6 AM, but instead of light, it’s bone-crunching uncertainty, and instead of 6 AM, it’s almost any time I sit to write. On those days I am feeling tender, I need to remember to pull those curtains tight. But on those days I am feeling strong, I should just throw them open completely and say ‘Here I am, world. Take me as I am.’
Want to learn more about the ins and outs of the publishing process? Check out Getting Published with Rebecca Starford and Hannah Kent, or any other of our Online Writing Courses, available to complete in your own time, at your own pace.
Check out the previous entries in the series, on being edited and book covers.
