I don't write a lot of negative reviews. One of the main reasons for this is because people don't believe me. It's not a failing on my part, I don't think. People don't believe other critics either. I'm not sure why that is -- perhaps we're all just skeptics or contrarians at heart -- but readers have a perverse tendency to immediately discount any negative review. "Well, that's just your opinion" you can almost hear them saying.
It's true: it is their opinion. But that doesn't mean we should just ignore it. After all, the whole purpose of criticism is for the critic to give his or her opinion. If the critic is a good one, knowledgeable, thoughtful and conscientious, that opinion means something. It doesn't mean they're always right, but it does mean that we should at least listen. Otherwise, why would you read reviews at all?
When I read a review, good or bad, I pay attention to what the critic is saying, particularly the reasons he gives to justify his conclusions. If they seem reasonable and well thought-out, and they seem like the same kinds of factors that I would use to assess the book, I take their views into consideration. Maybe I'll disagree, but at least they've provided food for thought.
Nobody can convince you to like a book you don't like, or vice versa, nor would you want them to. But a good critic can help you choose which books to read, help guide you in some ways of thinking about those books, and possibly provide some insights you might not have thought of yourself. That works in both directions, positive and negative.
Most of us don't listen, though. We don't like to hear that a book is bad. We only want the good news. I fall prey to the temptation the same as anyone else. That's one of the reasons that I tend to single out books to praise rather than scorn.
But sometimes that's not possible. Sometimes my reaction to a book is so strongly negative that I have to break out the acid ink and pen a pan. Such was the case with my first review for the Philadelphia City Paper (edited by crime fiction's biggest name, Duane Swierczynski).
The subject of my review is Tim Dorsey's The Big Bamboo, a book that I didn't care for at all. (If you click through to the review, you'll see why.) I'd never read Dorsey's work before, and after this one, I doubt I ever will again. I disliked it that much.
But don't take my word for it. By all means, pick up a copy and read it yourself. Just don't say I didn't warn you.
