It’s hard reviewing books. Even when all I did was read, and the only opinion I had to worry about was my own, it still took work. Sometimes you just want to enjoy the emotional experience of a book without having to put it into words. Publishing a review thrusts you into the public eye, turning your raw feeling into something that can influence another person—that’s one heck of a responsibility!
As an author, things get complicated. It’s often hard to share a raw opinion, especially if it’s not overwhelmingly positive, knowing there’s another writer out there just like you, who may be hurt or confused by what you have to say. “Suck it up, buttercup” is unhelpful on both sides, even though we authors are generally advised to grow a thicker skin and accept we can’t please everyone. The thing is, we’re all human—fallible, vulnerable, sensitive—it’s what makes us able to relate to each other and create good stories for our readers.
There’s also the matter of reconciling the technical self with the emotional self. What happens if you can’t stand the way an author writes, but the story’s so good you end up enjoying the book? Or what if the story is dreck, but perfectly written? What’s your criteria for adding up those stars then?
Then there are the times when things get uncomfortable. Early in my career, I agreed to participate in a review swap. In case you’ve not heard of these, it’s when the two (or more) authors agree to read each other’s books and leave a review, usually on Amazon and Goodreads.
I got right to reading, but found I couldn’t connect with the characters or the story. And when I wrote to the author privately to let them know, they responded asking me not to post a review because they only wanted 5-star reviews associated with their book.
Now, I understand the desire to write a 5-star book. I can appreciate that publishing is a business no matter how romantic the story, and that practices like this are common and accepted in some circles. But something about this exchange didn’t sit well with me.
As a writer, it made me feel like I chose a dishonest line of work. As a reader, it made me lose trust in the indie publishing sector, where we may lack the readership numbers needed to outshine these minor manipulations. I used to wonder why many reviewers state explicitly that they were giving “an honest review”. After this incident, I stopped wondering.
These days, I avoid review swaps, review requests, and any kind of review-related transaction. I’ve learned that I’m a “mood reader” and, as such, it would be unfair of me to promise a fair review if I’m emotionally incapable of delivering one.
Likewise, I don’t expect any of my writer friends—even close ones—to read or review my books. Reading fiction is a privilege and a pleasure, and I think sometimes we authors lose that in the deluge of our work.
If, like me, you’ve grown weary and wary of book review culture, here are a few alternative ways to support an indie author whose stories you admire:
- Recommend instead of review. A book may not be for you, but you might know someone who’s looking for that exact read.
- Include the book in literary discussions. Need an example in a blog post or forum discussion? Consider citing a lesser-known book alongside the customary bestsellers.
- Give that author a boost on social media. Even if you’re not sharing your in-depth opinion of their work, this helps them reach a wider audience and achieve stickier brand recognition.
- Engage with their online content. Social feed algorithms are diabolically good at helping bigger names overshadow smaller players. Every like, reply, save, repost and follow can help your favourite newcomer gain visibility and connect with more readers.
About JL Peridot
JL Peridot writes love stories and more from her home beneath the southern skies. When not chipping away at her current WIP, she’s chomping down on a new favourite book, watching Netflix, and chilling real good. Subscribe to JL’s mailing list for banter, updates, teasers and the occasional microfiction.
Website: http://jlperidot.com
Blog: http://jayelle.pink
Chasing Sisyphus
Bounty hunter Adria Yuan is hot on the trail of her final hit: a notorious hacker wanted by the city’s elite. With the reward, she can pay for her brother’s surgery and finally get out of Basilica City. Trouble is, her line of work’s not exactly legal, and she’s barely staying ahead of the cops who want her target, too.
Detective Rhys Carver may be a little unorthodox, but he’s a good cop. Born and bred in Basilica, he does his part to keep his city clean. As clean as it gets, at least. And with Adria suddenly in his sights, it’s going to take more than falling in love for him to let her go.
As the pair close in on their mark, they are unwittingly drawn into a high profile conspiracy that could thrust the whole of Basilica into chaos. Can Adria and Rhys set aside their differences, and their desires, to save the only home they know?
- Amazon: http://amzn.to/2GvpPS7
- Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36459546-chasing–sisyphus–the–basilica–conspiracy
Excerpt
Adria hadn’t counted on the tripwire. This kid knew someone would follow him home one day. He’d strung a line of empty soup cans across the apartment hallway. When she kicked that out, a hefty serving of iced water came down squarely on her head. Gooseflesh prickled her neck and shoulders. The muscles in her jaw seized in the cold. Against the shock, she scrambled to her feet, fired up to catch the stomping and crashing in the other room before it got away.
A figure ran past the doorway.
“Stop!” she yelled.
It rounded the corner. Adria gave chase.
She scanned the room. It was dim at best, thanks to the streetlights from outside, but she saw enough. Computer equipment and various peripherals lay strewn across the floor, some still plugged into a transportable battery in the corner, emitting tiny lights and numbers.
A window slammed shut. The glass shattered. Shards crunched and ground beneath Adria’s boots as she hurried in pursuit of her fleeing target.
When she stepped out onto the fire escape, two hands rammed her into the ladder. The whole balcony shuddered from the collision. Pain flared down her shoulder, but she kept her grip on the gun. She held it up with her good arm and fired.
Two shots.
Missed.
She stumbled backward, clutching her burning shoulder, but the railing crumbled under her weight. Adria grabbed what was left of it with both hands as her footing slipped away.
It looked like a four-story drop. Maybe five if she’d miscounted. Her legs dangled over thin air while from below came the clatter of broken pieces of railing, along with her gun, as they hit the concrete.
Overhead, her target stomped away on the rungs and disappeared onto the roof.
Adria’s shoulder raged. She tried to pull herself up, but couldn’t take the weight with just one good arm. Her feet kicked out, searching for a foothold, but the grill beneath had long withered away to slivers of rust and sharp edges.
Water and sweat dripped into her eyes. She swiped them helplessly on her sleeves and winced as rough seams grazed the skin. The railing creaked in her clammy grip. She could always let go. If she timed her landing right, maybe she’d get away with a broken ankle and a tetanus shot. Surely it only looked like a long way down.
Then she heard a gunshot from inside the apartment.
