This Artist’s Understanding of Reviewers

I just finished reading The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin, and here’s the review that I posted on Goodreads:

“This is not a book to read quickly to complete some reading goal. Rick Rubin’s words need to be absorbed, considered, as if you were reading Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching. To rush through it is antithetical to the entire purpose of the book. Rubin states early on that you might not agree with everything he is written. When this happens, it is wise to. Consider his own advice in the book to step back when this happens and consider why. It isn’t about Rubin or his words; it is about you. That then funnels through you into your art, which, as Rubin writes, is ultimately not about you. Such paradoxical passages invite us to ponder how we approach ourselves, our art, our lives in a way that is bigger than what we might have ever considered in our lifetimes.
Do not be dissuaded to read this work by other reviewers who are critical; remember, their experiences (including my own) are not yours. All I am recommending is that you read this book as you might accept the challenge of completing a 1,000-piece puzzle. Maybe, by the end of your read, you will see yourself as just one piece of abstract lines and colors contributing to the bigger, universal picture of life, of love, of all we do not need to understand to embrace our harmonious part.”

I wrote both in defense of Rubin’s words and in response to several critics who had posted reviews. As I mention in my review, I believe that the act of reading books is a very personal one, and anybody who reads a review needs to be sensitive to understanding what type of reviewer that might have been, and what their intentions (conscious or otherwise) were.

Reviewers, in my opinion, are cut from a variety of cloths with different intentions.

Cloth One: The Accumulator. This reviewer is most interested in quantities, such as number of likes for their review or the number of books they can read (and offer their comments on) in a designated time. You get the type. They are not interested as much in the writer’s or the universe’s purpose of the work; they only really care about getting through the book and offering their (often) highly critical and judgmental review to prove that they read it. Accumulators usually pick one part of the book to represent the whole of the book (“I can’t believe what they wrote on page 272 about the grandmother! That’s no way to treat a human, even in fiction! I hate this book, and if you have a grandmother, you’ll hate it too!”). Accumulators are also proud of the number of books they have read in a year’s time. Often these numbers are at least one book a day, if not two (or even more!). Their assessments are sometimes error-ridden (I just read a review by an Accumulator who called out Rubin for passage that didn’t even exist in the book; other reviewers then picked up on THAT mistake and used it as a part of their reviews as well. Welcome to the world of online misinformation).

Cloth Two: The Needle Threader. This reviewer has such narrow standards of acceptability that, to please them, the writer must thread the head of a needle with great precision, from first word to last. The Needle Threader approaches reading books with a specific list of criteria, demanding that the writer execute their story exactly the way the reader desires, with no exceptions. Often, Needle Threaders judge a book in as little as two pages (some even give the writer a mere two sentences!). They do not consider the artist’s approach, style, or voice in storytelling. They like their books and stories told one particular way, and nothing else will do. Needle Threaders often stick with a few “approved” authors, but ultimately become disappointed in one or two books that end up “ruining” their experience with the other books (“How can they write so many good books and then write this trash? Makes me feel like I wasted my time in reading all those other books!”). Needle Threaders’ mantra is, “You come to me. You write for me. Thrill me. Is that all you got?”

Cloth Three: The Simile-arian. This reviewer is all about comparing the work with other works that they have read, including those in the same genre or by the same author. Statements like, “This book reminds me of…” or, “If you liked this book, you are going to LOVE….” or even this, “I wish the author would have done this like this author did.” Everything is a comparison with another book, and the work cannot stand on its own merit. The Simile-arian might be accurate in their comparisons, just like any simile might stand on its own in painting a clear picture to its reader. But The Simile-arian cannot escape this trap of comparisons. Rubin writes about this in his book, where evaluations are impossible without comparisons. What is missing from these reviews, however, is a focus on the work itself. And, if readers of The Simile-arian’s reviews are not privy to the other books being used in those comparisons, then the review offers no help at all. In fact, it can do the opposite and alienate them.

Cloth Four: The Sojourner. This type of reviewer enjoys the temporary stay with the author and the experience that has been provided. They don’t look too deeply into the work, they are not overly critical of any one aspect of the book, and they don’t place many expectations on the writer to “satisfy” them. Often, Sojourners can describe the general experience of the book, but they are not as interested in the micro details to carry on a conversation with another reader. In fact, Sojourners would rather not talk too much about the book. They had their wonderful experience and journey with the characters, and they don’t feel it necessary to tell the world (or any one person, for that matter) about what they thought. The Sojourner might have a wonderful conversation with themselves in their journal about the book, the places it took them, or the memories it conjured.

Cloth Five: The Empathizer. This reviewer tries to consider, maybe to a fault, everything they believe the author was attempting to do with the book. The Empathizer is considering the author’s background, or latest social media posts, or possible purposes or intentions in writing the book. The Empathizer will look for messages, signs, symbols, motifs, themes that they claim are intentional, and they feel good that they have “identified” with the author and “get” why they wrote the book. Sometimes, this reviewer is right in understanding the author; other times, the Empathizer is simply assigning way too much intention on behalf of the writer in a desire to “connect” with them at some transcendental, cognitive level. The Empathizer often nods their head saying, “Yes! I get you. I see what you are doing here. Yes!”

Look, I’ve been all these types of cloths in my lifetime, and I’d be lying if I told you that I don’t dip back and forth every now and then between them. I’m human. We all are. But my point here is this (and I think it is Rick Rubin’s point, too): as writers, we know this about you as readers. We know that different people will come to The Page as whoever they are right now. In this moment of their own evolution. That’s okay. When we write the work, we release the work. We know that what we have done is the best we can do, and it will be received in a variety of ways by readers. All of this is out of our control.

All I ask is that you know where you are right now in your own evolution. Experience a book as your own cloth (or a combinations of any or all of them), untainted or unstained by the experiences of other readers. There will always be “mixed reviews” because readers approach a text with a uniqueness that can only be defined in that moment. That’s okay. We get that. We just want you to be aware of it as well.

Read. Enjoy as you will. But do not allow the reviews of others to deny you of your own experience, whatever that might be in your own moment.