posted in Did you know it’s tough out there for a critic? Yeah, yeah, you’re saying. You dish it out, so sit down, shut up, and take your lumps. I’d like to talk about those lumps at length (extreme lengths, in fact). I’m afraid if I don’t disclaim it will backfire, so quick: I am not looking for pity or sympathy or pats on the back. I walked into this knowing there might be consequences. I want to talk about what I experience as a critic in our community, and wish it for it be so, so, so clear that the majority of my experience is awesome because I have awesome pals that support me, even if we are different. I am super lucky to know the people I do.
Onward!
Let me share with you some of the things that have been said to me in my time criticizing books. I’ve been called a bitch and a bully, a loudmouth and a snob, I’ve been accused of attacking authors personally, as if author bleeds when you say something negative about a book. I’ve been mansplained to (one such riveting story is here) and friends, there is nothing else like it in the world (unless you’re a man and then you’ll have to find something else, sorry). I’ve been told I read the book wrong, that I’ve just misunderstood, I’m just confused, that I’m being too sensitive and overreacting. I’ve been called a condescending, hysterical cunt, been accused of missing the point, been mocked with my own words, chided over being stupid, being too emotional, too angry. I’ve been told I need to be “nice” and “polite” as if those mean anything worthwhile in the type of discussions I have. I’ve been told to watch my tone and that my sarcasm is off-putting. Most of this doesn’t stay public or is in e-mail which I can’t publicize. It happens, though. Not all the time, but it happens.
Now it’s blown up in my face in a way that if I make it private I will look like I am trying to silence people. Recently I reviewed a book and the author asked for my honest opinion. What happened next? Well, he then accused me of being homophobic. I understand, after speaking with people why he accused me of that because of things I left out of my review that should have been explicit. In other words: I believe my review wasn’t thorough enough and therefore easy to misinterpret. I disagree with the assessment of my character. However, as much I disagree, he has a right to say what he wants just like me. His words will stand.
But…I don’t think I’m seeing things, or a homophobe, I don’t think I’m a bully, or hysterical. I know I’m not crazy.
Yet, still, people don’t like what I say sometimes, most times, all the time. People don’t like me.
I have opinions and I share them. Sometimes I might be wrong, but that’s fine. I stopped being afraid of my words and my thoughts awhile back. I stomped the fears that someone—oh no—might disagree with me. I stopped worrying about my words having negative consequences, because if you spend your time worrying about negative consequences, you never get anything done and also you have to buy a lot of Tums. What’s the worse negative consequences can do? I show my ass; I own it, I apologize (not hard to do), I learn (this is important), I move on.
I’m not afraid of being wrong. Wrong is easy, wrong gives me a chance to change myself and learn and grow. It’s being right that’s hard. Being right means I have to face my fears that the culture I live in, the culture that publishes the books I read, is kind of broken and I don’t have enough teaspoons to fix it. Being right means facing that the books I read are filled with the culture crud so subtle no one even notices it anymore, so subtle otherwise smart, intelligent people will defend it and will give it a free pass. That’s hard to face. I do it because I don’t want to become some jerk who doesn’t examine her privilege, especially in my entertainment where I spend the most of my time.
Authors don’t write in a vacuum. Pretending they do is just foolishness.
I am critical of what I read. I am critical of sexism and racism and all the other -isms, I am critical of the patriarchal, racist, sexist society that has given rise to these things and made them normal, I am critical of their propagation when we now know things can be better if we try harder. I am critical of people who view the world through their privilege or refuse to view the world outside their privilege at all. I am critical of these things in myself and others. I am critical of the lack of critical evaluation I see in the world when it’s called out, I’m critical of people who ignore it when it’s waved in their face, the lack of analysis that allows the skeeve to slip by unnoticed, invisible, only to spread slime around another day to another reader.
There are my consequences. Take a good look: cunt, bitch, I hope you get beaten to death, fuck you this book is great, you’re just an idiot, why are you so hateful, you asshole?, stop being so picky, why are you so angry? It would be sad if it wasn’t so damn uncreative. It’s the Internet Fuckwad Theory proven, over and over again. This is my space and I get to say what I want and deal with the aftermath. That’s what owning your opinions is about. I’m not afraid, just sometimes I get frustrated and tired. The higher your expectations, the harder it will be for them to be met and the more critical people will become of you having them set so far up. This is what I see as a book critic and as a cultural critic: name calling, shaming, sexist slurs, derailing. The messy underside of a community few talk about either because they don’t see it because they don’t criticize in the same way or they think people like me are getting what we deserve.
Authors and fans will argue with me and tell me I’m wrong, wrong, wrong in the most offensive language possible and here’s how they’re right and why I am wrong and my reading is wrong, wrong, wrong and as a bonus they rehash all the things in their defense that I just discredited. It’s not a discussion or a dialogue: it’s them panicking that I had an opinion and oh shit it’s long and critical and anyone can see it and fuck, let’s make her change her mind/shame her/accuse her of overreacting/make her feel stupid so she’ll edit that shit out! It’s me repeating myself. It’s an endless loop.
There’s not an active community of cultural critics in the book blog community, although many book bloggers do criticize generally (though I have not yet found one like me). For instance, in the Book Blogger Appreciation Week awards: where was the category for best critic? I’m not calling the awards out at all, they’re totally awesome and I love them. I could have written in best critic myself and suggested some folks, but the absence gave me pause enough that I would have felt suggesting it would open the door to the A-list bloggers telling me that category isn’t needed, it’s not what we’re about, etc., etc. I honestly didn’t want to face being told what I do doesn’t fit in the community.
That I don’t fit in the community.
Who fears criticizing books because of the negative consequences? Who fears criticizing books because your fellow bloggers are going to shun you? Who fears criticizing books because it’s going to hurt the author’s feelings? I admit, I assume there’s more fear over the last one. I fear only one of those (guess which, har), so sometimes, you see, internets, I feel really alone. I feel like: what am I doing here? I am doing what I love, that is, talking about books in the way that pleases me in hopes I will connect with someone that says, “Yes, this!”, but some people don’t love that I love it. They think I should be ashamed of myself. They think I should stop being so angry when in fact I have expressed no anger, simply frustration. There are people out there that will frame this post as angry and therefore wave it off—discredit it.
I am not angry at the people who do these things, send these e-mails, post these comments. I am contemptuous and disappointed.
I am just one critic in a big wide ocean of reviewers but sometimes I feel very alone. Who do I tell these things to, that won’t simply respond with, “Well, Renay, you ASKED FOR IT.” Did I ask for it? I signed no document asking for people to fling verbal abuse or or derail my discussion with shady tactics because I criticized a book they loved, but I put my opinions out there: have to own them! Most of the time, I don’t mind defending my opinions. Other times, I get so damn tired of wasting teaspoons on people who not only won’t listen—they don’t know how to listen. It’s not about learning, or dealing with privilege—it’s about doing their level best to pretend they can’t learn because they’re already smart enough, thanks, and aren’t affected by privilege. I see this so often, internets. Too often. It’s the norm.
The problem is, I expect more than this and I won’t stop because people want to call me names and try to silence, shame and discredit me. The good news is: it will never work.
“All I ever do is try to empty the sea with this teaspoon; all I can do is keep trying to empty the sea with this teaspoon.” – Melissa McEwan
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