Book reviews & audience in the Internet Age

Book reviews are the published writer’s reality show. Many of us cannot help ourselves. We peruse them to get a glimpse of our beloved audience, for better or for worse.

(Side note: A quick search on the history of book reviews came up with nothing! I cannot help but wonder when the first reviews were published in periodicals. Anyone?)

Remember, much of a writer’s time is spent alone in a room with a notebook or laptop, maybe in a cafe or library. Even when surrounded by people or pets, we’re often in our own worlds. By the time a book is published, we are hungry for ways to eavesdrop on the reader as she reads our words and enters our worlds.

Book reviews give us a window. Of course there are book signings, readings, and book clubs visits–all wonderful way of making contact. But for every one town we visit, there are hundreds we cannot. Historically, how did writers reach loyal readers and gain new ones? Book reviews.

Until the arrival of the internet. Suddenly writers (and artists, musicians, etc.) had new ways to connect with their audience and with each other. It started with message boards and blogs,  then myspace, facebook, and twitter. Ah, twitter.

I know that I’ve written about this before. Sure, there’s a lot of mundane filler on twitter, but there are also gems. For me, it’s nice to know that at 2am I can dip into twitter and connect with others also working during the witching hours, a patchwork picture of the creative process: Felicia Day peruses casting submissions for The Guild, Neil Gaiman works on his Monkey book, Leonard Nimoy shares an old photograph from his early days on film, Molly Robison writes a Ouija-inspired ghost song, Ellen Kushner listens to the final mix of her radio play The Witches of Lublin, Amanda Palmer composes an analysis of Rebecca Black and music today, Kabriel designs a new double-breasted vest, Kyle Cassidy shares his beautiful portrait of Michael Zulli. Along the way they talk to fans and to each other.

But back to book reviews. They carry weight. Depending on where they appear, they carry different types of weight. A New York Times book review is not the same as one posted on a personal blog. However both are online, are collected by google, reach people around the world, and can influence readers.

One twitter friend who reads The Silence of Trees sends out a tweet about how much she loved it. Perhaps ten of her friends go out and buy a copy on Amazon (or on kindle for $.99) Five of them love it and tweet about it, or post it on facebook, and so on it goes. The readership grows. It’s remarkable really. Word of mouth can become viral on the internet.

Speaking of viral and reviews, doubtless some of you have heard about the author who publicly trashed a book review and damaged her reputation (if not, here you go.) She broke the rule, you never respond to book reviews except to say, “Thank you.”

I don’t always share my book reviews, but I do read all that I can get my hands on (thank you, Google Alerts). I’m sure this will change in time. Published writer friends have told me that I will eventually stop reading the reviews. Perhaps.

This book review written by Kristen Thiel on The Nervous Breakdown made me happy:

“The Silence of Trees is a modern American narrative steeped in fairy tale. Though some scenes are rather laborious, most provide excellent vehicles for conveying Ukranian folklore and religion, the surrealism of war and immigration, and a woman sharing her story with both bluntness and wonder, the mixed result of finding her own voice after decades of restrained living.

Few book reviews start with a foot rub but, really, more should. In one of the most thrilling scenes in Valya Dudycz Lupescu’s first novel—exciting for its unabashed passion and feminism, and most important for the new story it promises to start even thirty pages from the book’s end…”    Read the rest here.

Tastes vary in style, story, genre. I understand that everyone will not like everything I write. I understand that people will take issue with a story or poem or book or a character for any of a hundred reasons. Some will love it. Some will just like it. Some will not. I guess that’s why they tell you not to read the reviews. So that you don’t get paralyzed as a writer.

As writers, we can read the reviews; we can share them (if we want); and we can bite our tongues and keep writing.

Thank you to everyone who takes the time to write a review for The Silence of Trees on their blog or on Amazon or Goodreads. For new writers, you are our PR teams.

And thank you, Kristen Thiel. You made my Thursday morning.

Even coffee cannot tame the savage Monday morning

Update (Work in Progress, Book #2)

I finished the first draft of S.C.* back in 2009, but 2010 was so hectic with Issue 2 of Conclave, the Chicago Literary Hall of Fame, and the release of The Silence of Trees, that I didn’t get to spend much time with it.

There were a few plot points that needed to be tightened up before I sent it out into the world, but when I returned to S.C. in earnest this winter, I felt like my characters were sleepwalking through molasses. I couldn’t quite get them to do what I wanted them to do.  More likely I was the one trudging through sticky words, making sloooow progress, editing here and there but missing…something. So I worked on some short stories and notes for an upcoming secret project with Madeline C. Matz. I cooked creative recipes and planned this year’s garden. The months were productive, but not as much with S.C.

Until March, when something shifted and woke up. Maybe it’s Spring, maybe it’s my imagination, maybe my Muse was teaching me a lesson or the story was aging like a nice Bordeaux? Whatever the reason, my characters are very much awake, and I’m trying to keep up! This means many more sleepless nights and late night coffees, but I’m happy-exhausted! They’ve surprised me twice this week with revelations about their characters that are helping to reshape the ending in a way that feels more authentic. Yay!

So I’m going to try and finish up the draft this week and send it off to my readers this weekend. Then next week I begin to work on the next project until my readers get back to me.

In the meantime, I have a question for you: What is the opposite of fear and why?

Consider this background research. Many thanks.

xxo

* I’m not quite ready to reveal the title of Book #2 but S.C. are the initials. It will remain a mystery for a little while longer.

Pussy Willows and Spring coming

We came home from the kids’ first fencing class today—awesome but for another post—and saw our black and white pussywillows with their catkins. We planted them last summer, long after the catkins hadgiven way to leaves. This is our first spring seeing them at Casa del Lobos. It cheered us on this cold Spring day.

In many of the Eastern Rite Churches, pussy willows are used instead of palms on Palm Sunday, and they are tapped gently (mostly) on backsides with the saying “It’s not I, but the willow, that taps you on this week of Easter” (translated from Ukrainian).

In typical Ukrainian fashion, there’s a folktale about the origin of pussy willows. I’ve posted an excerpt from my novel, The Silence of Trees, where Nadya recounts the story to her granddaughters. Warning: It is not a happy story.

Do you know why pussy willows have these fluffy white buds?” I asked them. They shook their heads. “Well, once there lived a mean old farmer who had a pretty little brown cat—”

“What was her name?” Tamara asked.

“Her name was Kasha,” I answered, “and one spring day, Kasha had nine beautiful baby kittens. But the mean old farmer didn’t want the kittens, so he took them all and threw them into a great big sack.”

“Oh no,” the girls said in unison, looking around for Khvostyk, who stared at them from under the table.

“Well, he took the sack down to the river and tossed it in, waiting for it to sink to the bottom. Kasha sat on the riverbank mewing and crying for her lost babies until a willow tree nearby asked her what was the matter. Kasha told the willow what had happened, and because willows are naturally kind trees, the tree plunged her branches into the water and pulled out the sack. Kasha ripped a hole in it to free her babies, but all but one of the kittens had drowned. Ever since, willows everywhere bloom with kitten-like buds in memory of the drowned kittens and their sad mother.”

From The Silence of Trees, by Valya Dudycz Lupescu (Wolfsword Press 2010)