Being Reviewed: One Writer's Naive Take

Yes. I'm like a sad goth kid when I read your
words, Lois Tilton and Sam Tomaino.

So, as many of you know, I have a story in the January issue of Asimov's. I'm particularly proud of "The War is Over and Everyone Wins." I think it's one of the better things I've written, and not the least because it's a take on a controversial—if not exactly groundbeaking—subject: Ethnic Bioweapons. It's the story of a young Indian man who goes home to visit his family after his grandfather's death. It's about family, and racism, and American culture. Not much really, uh, happens, per se, but I think I got the emotion right, which is what counted for me on this one.

            Anyway, I was actually anticipating good reviews. I don't know why—I'm not known for my optimism, really—but for some reason I was.

            I waited, almost giddy with anticipation, Googling my search terms daily.

            (For some, this might be seen as pathetic. I know more than a few writers who profess not to give a shit about reviews, but I think most of them are either douchebags or liars. I mean, think about it: If an author doesn't care what someone—a person who's gone to the trouble to read his or her work and comment on it—thinks, then what does that make the author? A self-involved prick, by my measurement. Plus, I just don't buy it when most authors say they don't care. I think they're either lying to you, or they're lying to themselves.

            OK, rant over, back on topic.)

            Finally, the Locus review came in: "This is primarily a story of family dysfunction, but the larger scenario is not quite clear. The setting appears to be America, which is of course a mixed-race nation, but we know nothing of what has happened elsewhere in the world, in more racially homogenous regions. Perhaps, elsewhere, other tribes are busy killing each other off with some other excuse. This should be depressing, but it would be more so if easier to believe."

            Then, the SFRevu: ""The War is Over and Everybody Wins" by Zachary Jernigan takes place in a world in which white people were mostly wiped out in a plague that started at the end of 2017. Mike's father, apparently, had something to do with it, but that is not made clear. The remaining races do not get along and things are not for the better. Mike is appalled by this world and is estranged from his father. His grandfather has just died of the plague which took more than 20 years to kill him. This one was just a downer and did not really have much of a resolution."

            Well, obviously, neither of those is a glowing review, which—to anticipate everyone patting me on the back and telling me it's not the end of the world—I understand will happen now and then, even to good stories. Understand: this is not me being (too) defensive. My story could, after all, be not that great to the majority of readers. Or it could be that these reviewers represent a minority. Who knows? I'm not writing about this expecting to get an answer.

            But if that's the case—and I'm not sure it is; perhaps I am seeking an answer—then why am I bringing this to your attention? Surely, I promise, I'm not writing this post so that you, the reader, will show me some sympathy. Shit, I don't want to be pitied for getting a bad review. At the same time, I really want people to know that I noticed the review, that I'm not just sitting here all smug, or conversely crying my eyes out about it. Basically, I want to be the kind of person who always confronts things, wringing events for all the worth I can get out of them, rather than just letting them pass me by. There's a lesson in a bad review beyond the obvious one, which is that you're receiving feedback about something you've written.

            No, there's something else—something about the relationship between an author and his or her audience. I'm appreciative as hell that Sheila Williams took my story, and that it has the chance to be reviewed, but this also means I have opened myself up to being hurt. A story—and trust me, I know it's an annoying cliché—is kind of like your baby, and it hurts to have your baby pooped on. I started writing in the hope that people would read my stories and then come talk to me about what they read.

            I want a dialogue, always. I can imagine few greater things than talking to someone who has read one of my stories, hearing his or her impressions of what I meant in writing the thing—knowing that my words were compelling enough to analyze at all. And then, of course, the vice versa: I want intensely to show other authors how their stories fit into my life. Writing is about communication, and in my opinion the best writers are always willing to engage in the conversation. No, strike that. They are encouraging the conversation. They are intensely interested in how their words are taken.

            What I guess sucks about a review—especially a bad one—is that it seems so final.

            Oh, you didn't like it? I failed to compel you? Well, shit.

            It's not like you can email the author of a bad review and try to start up a conversation. He or she'd be suspicious of your intentions, and rightly so; I wouldn't want to listen to someone defend their story, nor would I want to defend my own opinion of said story. Of course, it's not the same with a good review. You can thank the person and strike up a dialogue based on mutual good feeling: You liked my story, and because of that I like you!

            It's frustrating, and it's only the beginning. Hopefully, I'll keep publishing stories, maybe even a novel or two, thus increasing my chances of being blindsided by a bad review. I'm a sensitive guy, I admit. Too many negative assessments and I might just collapse in upon myself like a dying star.

            At the same time, the more people that are exposed to your work, the more opportunities there will be to interact with people on a meaningful basis. I can't see any better reason to write than that.