11
Mar
I decided for myself I’m something of a critic when it comes to occult and new age writing. Nobody else named me, I just dubbed it on myself, and now I live with the consequences. When at last I myself issue a book into the wild, I’m positive that no one will hold back. It’s scary. I already know for a fact I mortally offended one pagan author for choosing a path other than praise for one of her books. It was in no way an assessment of her character; really, she’s very sweet. But her book had a few failings and raised a few questions, and I pointed them out. It’s what I’m here to do. I feel bad about hurting her feelings, but speaking out about the book was a matter of conscience.
My conscience has an obnoxious habit of winning. For some reason my deepest mind rates honesty over kindness, which I realize is the inverse from the way most people work. I have wished so many times it was the other way around.
So when I see a work that someone obviously cared about, put their passion into and laid it – and themselves – vulnerable to the world, I cringe a little deep down when I feel compelled to write “this is bad” or “this has some serious problems.” It’s been happening less lately – I try to choose books I believe will be good, even though good reviews are much harder to write than bad ones. I know my bad reviews get read; they’re the most entertaining. But I don’t like feeding the fairies Troll and Snark. They gorge on daily life as it is.
Truly, I want everyone’s work to be good. But sometimes, it just isn’t.
There’s a standard formula for what constitutes a “good” Wiccan book that I’ve seen in various Internet postings and at least one pagan gathering in the past decade. It is as follows:
1. Must have a long bibliography. The more pages of the bibliography, the higher the estimation.
2. Must be historically accurate in whatever form of historical accuracy is presently trendy.
3. The denser the prose, the better.
There are exceptions, but they pass quickly. I’ve barely heard Phyllis Currott’s Book of Shadows: A Modern Woman’s Journey into the Wisdom of Witchcraft and the Magic of the Goddess
I suspect, when publishers insist that the 101s sell better, they are telling the truth but are too polite to say the entire truth.
These dense semi-academic Wiccan books that some clamor so loudly for? They’re damn near unreadable.
Writing quality matters. A good writer can be understood. A bad writer does a lot of things, one of which is refusing to “dumb down” the writing for the sake of some academic self-perception/illusion. One of the dirtiest secrets of the Ivory Tower is that academic writing is some of the worst in the world.
I bring this up because I just read a doctoral thesis with lots of historical accuracy and a huge bibliography. I know I’m supposed to say it’s excellent. But truthfully? I found it unreadable.
I think relatively few people think I’m stupid. Most people know that I finished my bachelor’s degree (and had to fight for it) and that I do have three years of graduate-level education as well. I do know a little bit about academics and academic writing.
So I’m going to risk accusations of heresy and say the following:
Now I’m hoping that the next think on my review pile is something I can read.
The Gawker blog recently ran a story about author Alice Hoffman going berserk on Twitter over a rather eh review of her book, going so far as to publish the reviewer’s phone number and email address on Twitter. Admittedly the neutral/”eh” reviews are by far more damning than ones of high praise or ones of low blows (which will always draw attention to the sourcework.) All the same, Hoffman’s behavior: NOT OK.
I live on both sides of the giving and receiving criticism, feedback and critique equation. I know that when you put your creations out there, you are putting yourself out there, and it’s a bit hurtful that everything you create isn’t received by strangers with the love and support that it is (or should be) by your nearest and dearest. If you don’t have time to read much further, take my advice with you: when you ask for critique while still creating, seriously consider what suggestions people proffer. After you’ve released your work into the wild, never ever read your reviews. Even if they’re good. All it does is get in your head and affect your work in a way that keeps creative material from coming from the same or the new place you need to be at the next time, and that happens whether it’s good or bad.
I write book reviews for the pagan community. I also write short pieces and I’m working on two books right now. I also design perfume. The give and take of criticism – and the inability to do anything about it – is very much part of my daily life. It’s impossible to make a universally loved perfume, and I’m not the person who’s going to write the Great American Wiccan Novel. I also do NOT expect to read it in my lifetime.
In my critical writing, I have hurt feelings but I certainly hope I have not stunted creation. I have called out bad jobs. I tend to pinpoint books without bibliographies, weak arguments and historical arguments so weak that I know off the top of my head they’re not accurate. Especially in the genre I review, which is roughly all areas of occult and neopagan religion, there is an unfortunate tendency to capitalize on a market without really understanding that particular demographic. Admittedly, neopagans are damned squirrely. And not all bad jobs come from a bad place: there are lovely, spiritual people who are not equipped with writing skills to match their spiritual skills, or who don’t know that revisions are what really makes a good book. Even if I know the author is lovely, if the book isn’t a useful or at least interesting read, I’m going to be forced to point that out.
Critics are a necessary part of the bookselling engine, and even if books as we know them disappear, someone will always want someone else’s opinion on your creative material. That’s just the nature of the beast. In the meantime, if you do decide to read your reviews, don’t go all Alice Hoffman over Twitter about it. People will see you.