Having spent most of my adult life in the entertainment business (first in rock music, then in book writing), I’ve experienced both positive and negative reviews of my work. These experiences have allowed me to draw some conclusions about how to respond to criticism and how a critic can offer an opinion that is useful rather than merely attention-getting.
A case in point is a recent review of my novel “Lucas Manson,” posted by Daniel Nighting on the book review blog “Reading for Sanity.” As reviews go, it was pretty rough. Scathing, in fact. Mr. Nighting had plenty of negative things to say about my book, and nothing positive.
But unless a negative review discourages people from buying the book, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. The fact is that an artist can often learn more from a negative review than a positive review. A reviewer who writes, “This book is great!” or “I was captivated from beginning to end!” is offering praise but is not offering useful information to the author as to how he or she can be a better communicator. But the reviewer who says, “The plot was too simplistic” or “The lead character was thinly drawn” is offering useful information that an author can consider for the next project.
Mr. Nighting, aside from expressing his general disdain for “Lucas Manson,” made a few specific comments. In particular, he disliked the amount of detail: the Bakelite elevator button, and the descriptions of what the characters ate at various meals. Fair enough; these are choices that I made and if he doesn’t like them then I’ll think about how I can write more effectively in the future. Whenever an author includes a small detail, you never know whether it’s too much or whether, as you hope, it allows the reader to become part of the scene. We all try to avoid needless or empty detail; somehow every bit of information that you give to the reader has to have meaning or relevance to the story. For example, in Homer’s “Odyssey,” there is no little time devoted to describing the meals: the selecting of the lamb or cow, the slaughtering, the cooking of the meat (always wrapped in fat), and of course the oft-repeated mixing of the wine. Could the story survive without these descriptions? Probably. Would it be as much fun to read? No.
Negative comments can be useful. But it is up to the critic to be careful and responsible. In his review, Mr. Nighting states that Lucas Manson and the members of his “Evil Cult of Darkness” are “vampires,” and “pathetic” ones at that. This is where his comments become useless and silly. The definition of a “vampire,” and one that with some variations every conventional romantic vampire novel follows, is “the reanimated body of a dead person believed to come from the grave at night and suck the blood of persons asleep” (Merriam-Webster). In my book I deliberately did not use this term to describe Lucas Manson. Manson and his followers are not vampires; they are perfectly ordinary hominids who go out in the sun and eat regular food. They cannot become bats and they cannot avoid mortal death. They don’t sparkle and they don’t have sharp teeth. What they have is an addiction to human blood, just like a junkie is addicted to heroin. And if each one doesn’t get his or her pint of blood every week, they undergo horrific withdrawal. As the leader of his people, Manson’s problem is simple: he has to feed his growing flock. It’s a business. It’s not romantic and it’s not always fun. Is Minister Manson a bit of a buffoon? You bet, just like most petty dictators are. He is wrapped up in creating his own mythology, and to ordinary folk he seems outsized, like a Macy’s parade float full of hot air. He’s more Mussolini than Dracula.
Mr. Nighting states that the “vampires” in “Lucas Manson” are “pathetic.” What does this mean? That they are not super-powerful? That they cannot sprout wings and fly? That they have ordinary human characteristics? What Mr. Nighting’s comment really means is that Mr. Nighting had a preconception about the book and about vampires. I can only surmise that he must have wanted the characters in “Lucas Manson” to be like the conventional vampires he has experienced in fiction and enjoys reading about. They are not, and therefore the characters did not fit his preconception of what a vampire ought to be. This reveals a rigidity of thinking and an unwillingness to approach a book with an open mind.
It would have been much more useful if Mr. Nighting had said, “I understand what the author was trying to do, and here is how he utterly failed.” Or even, “I cannot figure out what the author is trying to do!” Unfortunately, his comments reveal more about his own personality than offer validation of his activities as a book critic.
Should I, the author, address this problem? Perhaps I could put a big banner across the book’s cover that proclaims “Lucas Manson Is NOT a Vampire.” How about this one: “Lucas Manson: The Vampire Book Satire.” Or I could go in the other direction and edit the book to make Lucas Manson more vampire-y and romantic. But that would be no fun.
Perhaps the best way to do it is to keep plugging away and doing the best I can to be original and provocative and entertaining.
