Books

Further Conversation on Queer Lit

I promised I would keep communication open on this. If you haven’t read the previous post, this is a good time to do it so you can catch up on my initial thoughts and the responses. There’s also been good discussion elsewhere, and I’ve had some dialog via private message from people who didn’t feel ready to take their thoughts public.

Smaller conversations have been happening on and off for as long as I’ve been part of the published book world. My recent post was sparked by a particular thing I read in which there were multiple characters identifying as something other than gay (yay!) but who were drawn so badly it produced anxiety in me just reading it (boo). It felt to me as though the author wanted greater representation but had no idea how to achieve it and was also trying to fit the characters into an “MM” box. A lot of us who don’t write MM romance have had this experience—make the characters fit or expect your work to receive poor reviews because it didn’t.

I’m going to sum up the things I’ve been hearing people say they need in queer lit. This is by no means an exhaustive list, and I’d love to keep adding to it. I’m sure there are things I’ve forgotten or misunderstood or wasn’t aware of. It would be great if in the comments, folks could add to or change items on this list.

More queer lit which isn’t romance or romance is secondary
More overtly queer science fiction and fantasy (again, without romance or romance as secondary to the plot)
Queer romance with a greater variety of pairings across the gender spectrum
More and better representation of transmasculine characters, especially in MM romance (in particular, allowing transmasculine characters to have a full range of sexual expression; also less emphasis on transitioning)
Better and more accurate representation of transfeminine characters, including in FF romance (less fixation on genitals, coming out, and transitioning)
Wider diversity of socioeconomic class, both in characters and in readership
More asexual and aromantic characters, with a full range of self-expression within that
#OwnVoices, particularly within LGBTQIA books written by LGBTQIA authors (i.e., trans people writing books with trans characters rather than exclusively cisgender people writing them)
Uplifting of books by, about, and for people of color (as opposed to white people writing stories about people of color)
More diversity in books written by white people
Sub-communities for topical interests, genre interests, and individual letters within LGBTQIA, as well as specific to communities of color
A place to discuss issues that come up within queer lit, preferably with other LGBTQIA people
The examination and avoidance of certain tropes which are overtly harmful
Both books which include spiritual and religious content and books which have none at all
Books about bisexual characters in which they are allowed a full range of romantic and sexual expression, including romantic pairings with people who are not their same/similar gender (e.g., a bisexual man in a romantic relationship with a woman, a woman in a polyamorous relationship which isn’t a threesome, a bisexual woman in a relationship with a transfeminine non-binary person, two bisexual non-binary people on different parts of the spectrum in a relationship)
Both gay romance and gay fiction which are not MM romance (this seems to me to be somewhere in between the books of yore which ended tragically and contemporary MM, and they are definitely different from either category)

Again, I realize that’s not a full list, but we can add to it as we go.

So, how do we match readers with books? How do we help authors find readers who are interested in what they’re offering?

The current problem is that a lot of “lgbt” review sites (which is where a lot of people get their recommendations) focus heavily on MM romance. There’s a lot of MM romance out there, to be sure, but this makes it difficult to connect authors and readers. It becomes a problem when an author requests a review of a book with gay or bisexual men in it and the reviewer pans it because it isn’t a romance—even if the author specified that it wasn’t. This is a repeated pattern, and it’s not just one or two authors complaining about it.

This is also a problem for people specifically writing about other letters and genders besides gay and bi cisgender men. It’s become a problem in some discussion groups too, when readers make comments about finding trans people “uncomfortable” or when asexual folks are excluded because they’re “not queer enough.” And not that our allies experience the same things we do, but I’ve seen genuine allies trashed for standing up for us when things get heated (and I wholeheartedly thank you for it!). Some allies understand queerness better than people who identify as “family.”

What I would like to be able to do, rather than creating a “queers-only” community is to be able to connect readers with books that might interest them. But I’m only one person! I can’t read every book every written, no matter how much I want to. I also need this to be something we can do for free. I know there are paid listings where people can share their books, but we need something we don’t have to shell out more money on. Not all of us have the advantage of financial security.

So there you have it. Some of what people are looking for, and the beginnings of what we might need to do about it. I am open to suggestions, but again, I’m only one person. This is going to take team effort to make it happen.

A Dialog on Queer Literature and Community

Books, LGBTQ+, Social Justice, Writing

I’m opening this conversation because I’ve been out as a member of the LGBTQIA community for about three years, and I’ve been a published author of books with LGBTQIA characters for just over two years. Over that time, I’ve had many discussions in particular about the MM romance branch of queer lit. This is of interest to me for a couple of reasons.

I don’t technically write romance or even “MM” (male/male) pairings. As a result, I’ve had some negative experiences with reviewers who had expectations I didn’t deliver. I began to notice I’m not the only one. While I may find this mildly annoying when it comes to my books, it bothered me much more when I saw it happening to other authors. I also saw many people asking for MM to open its doors to a wider range of genres and characters. At first, I agreed with this, and to an extent there are things I still agree with (like the inclusion of asexual and trans characters).

However, I now see that the way forward is not to make a closed genre open itself. I think MM romance is a highly specific category, and unless we allow it to return to being as narrow as the name implies (that is, exclusively books about two male characters in a relationship), we won’t see progress.

In the act of asking to be let in the door but knowing the expectations, few options are left to authors. They can openly defy the parameters; they can quietly subvert them; or they can conform their writing to them. The first one frequently leads to ostracizing and poor reviews. The second may gain some ground but ultimately can feel like suppression. The third leads to a vast number of problems which can be summed up with the following formula:

1 penis + 1 penis = “MM” romance

That’s a bit crass, so let me be more specific in how that looks:

Trans women but not trans men are included in “MM” (and excluded from “FF”)
Non-binary people are exclusively transfeminine
Transfeminine people are hypersexualized and often depicted as sex workers, “everyone’s fantasy” (because they “look like a woman” but have a penis), highly sexual, conventionally beautiful, immodest, and/or mentally ill (either as part of their sense of gender or with an overemphasis on self-harm and eating disorders)
Transmasculine people are erased entirely
Intersex people can exist as long as they “appear male” enough to satisfy the fixation on genitals
Bisexual men must downplay their enjoyment of relationships with people who don’t have a penis (this is frequently shown by having the character describe sex and romance with vagina-equipped people as lesser, sloppier, or unsatisfying in some other way)
Asexual characters, if they do exist, must at some point become sexual without any examination or discussion within the context of the relationship
Asexual, trans, and particularly non-binary/gender non-conforming characters being cast as mythical creatures or aliens in a book full of otherwise human or humanoid characters
Disabled characters who never experience any kind of sexual dysfunction nor any need to address their disability before or during sexual situations (aside from the occasional “maybe you won’t find my body attractive”)
Misogyny, expressed through violence against women and lack of positive representation

In other words, for the most part, MM conforms to a cisgender and/or heterosexual gaze. This is unsurprising in a genre heavily populated with cisgender heterosexual writers. (I have not delved into the issues within FF romance, but I gather some of the same themes occur there, perhaps to a lesser extent.)

I am by no means suggesting all MM authors play into those tropes, nor that all MM books can be lumped together. Still, it’s disconcerting that these things happen so often that I can make a list. Over the last two and a half years, I’ve read over 400 books, which isn’t a small sample size. Expanding beyond that are all the conversations I’ve had with people who have read an entirely different set of books from mine yet see the same patterns.

For me, it boils down to a problem of who is being empowered and who is controlling the market. I have no problem with authors writing characters who are not like themselves, and I would not suggest that cisgender heterosexual people should stop writing LGBTQIA characters. The question is, who is benefiting from it and in what way?

The argument in favor of cis-het authors writing queer lit is often along the lines of “But we write about elves, vampires, and werewolves, and we’re not those things either!” True, but since those things do not exist, they are also not protected classes of people within society.

So I think we need to open the conversation about, in particular, what queer readers want and need. If we are writing about LGBTQIA folks, they should be our top priority. Allyship, cisgender heterosexual women’s sexual empowerment, and education of cis-het people should all be secondary. I want queer readers and queer authors to be empowered (including those who are not yet out, perhaps not even to themselves).

Here is a list of things I see as community needs to balance out the heavy emphasis on what I call “pairing romance” (i.e., specifically romance or erotica which emphasizes the binary gender of the couple: MF, MM, FF, MMF, FFM, MFM, FMF, and other multiples; MF is included because bisexual and trans characters are still queer, even in relationships which look cisgender heterosexual).

A free list where authors and readers alike can make entries of books
A de-emphasizing of MM romance as the main category of queer lit
A de-emphasizing of binary gender pairing in general
Inclusion of books which contain no romance or romance only as a secondary/sub-plot
Discussion and dialog led by LGBTQIA people about our books (and a gentle reminder that A = asexual, not ally)
Reviews (either by fellow authors or by readers) for a wide range of queer lit
Safe space for LGBTQIA people to have conversations about what is empowering and what is harmful, without fear of repercussions from cisgender heterosexual readers and writers
Safe space for LGBTQIA people of color specifically to have dialog about what is empowering and what is harmful, without fear of repercussions from white readers and writers
Opportunities for authors and readers to connect, including linking authors with beta and sensitivity readers
Anything else that LGBTQIA readers and writers would like to bring to the table
People willing to come together to organize this into something to which we can all contribute

It’s not an exhaustive list, of course. This is to open us up for discussion on what we’d like to see the queer lit community become. My main concern is that we provide a way in which people can sift through what may be considered mainstream in order to find what we’re looking for.

Maybe it’s too much to ask, but given how many people seem to be looking for more (even if they aren’t sure what more means), I don’t think it is. With so much going on in the world right now, I think more than ever we need something to bind us as a community.

Leave me a comment, start a discussion, anything to get this going. What do you think? What would you like to see in a queer lit community?

Review & Interview: 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian by Jaime Sommers

Books, Faith and Spirituality, Reviews

About the Book

Title: 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian

Author: Jaime Sommers

Paperback: 160 pages

Publisher: Darton Longman & Todd Ltd

Release Date: April 1, 2017 (US edition); September 29, 2016 (UK edition)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0232532575

ISBN-13: 978-0232532579

ASIN: B01MU0BIKD

Categories: Bisexual, non-fiction, memoir, Christian

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32968819-119

Synopsis

119: the number of words dedicated to bisexuality in the Church of England statement Issues in Human Sexuality. The words state that bisexuality inevitably leads to unfaithfulness, and prescribe celibacy, abstinence, heterosexual marriage or counselling ‘to achieve inner healing’.

As a bisexual Christian woman, happily and faithfully married to a man, a mother of three children and with a blossoming ministry as a preacher, Jaime Sommers had always felt as if her true self did not really exist in the eyes of the Church. She could find neither theology nor pastoral support for a person who felt the need for physical closeness with both sexes in order to feel well or whole.

Following a brief, isolated incident in which Jaime kissed another woman, the full extent of the Church s inability to acknowledge or understand her identity became apparent. The disciplinary process to which she was subjected led to her suffering depression and anxiety and feelings of isolation.

Jaime s powerful and emotive story reveals the failure of the Church and of large parts of wider culture and society to recognise and support the experience and needs of those who identify as the silent B in LGBT.”

Review

When this crossed my desk, I was eager to read it. As the author says, there isn’t much (in terms of non-fiction books) about being a bisexual Christian. Since I use both of those descriptors myself, I was keen to find out how other people reconcile their faith and their sexuality, particularly when many churches and other Christian organizations don’t acknowledge the full range of human expression.

This is a highly personal memoir of Jaime’s experiences, both in her personal life and within the Church (capital C this time, as she was in ministry). I assume she’s fairly close to my age, as despite the cultural differences, we have a number of similar childhood pop-culture memories. This resonated very much with me and immediately put me in her corner.

Similarly resonant is the struggle to conform to the expectations of the church while balancing complex feelings. One way in which a disservice has been done, particularly to bisexual women, is to erase people’s emotional needs. Jamie’s declaration of an intense and dare I say spiritual need for connectivity with people of more than one gender felt like an affirmation.

I love Jaime’s writing style. Despite the serious nature of her narrative, there’s plenty of humor. Much of it reads like tea with a friend. It’s easy to be fully on her side as she shares her memories. Still, she’s clear that she’s telling her story to the best of her ability with her biases intact. She owns her mistakes while also calling out the hypocrisy of the Church in their mishandling of the events. In fact, though the Church deeply wronged her, she still maintains a passionate love for the Church, for its people, and for God. She even holds space for those who failed to do right by her. These are marks of someone with deep faith, a person who exemplifies the very love Christ calls us to. I’m a little bit in awe.

Even though I knew where everything was headed, I honestly kept hoping someone would speak up. That someone would tell Jaime we need her, and others like her, in the church. Because we do. We absolutely must have people who can serve as spiritual mentors and guides but who are also just like us. In a sea of heterosexuality, it’s important that we have ministers of the Gospel who are safe for us.

My hope is that other bisexual Christians will read this, will share it, and will find hope in it. I also hope that many within the Church will read and take these words to heart. Change is needed, and perhaps this is a push in the right direction.

For a bravely shared story, feelings which resonate, and hope for the future of the Church, this gets 10/10 fountain pens.

Purchase Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Interview

Today I’m chatting with Jaime Sommers about writing, life, and their current project. Welcome! Let’s talk a little about your new book, 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian

What inspired you to share your story?

I’ve been aware for some time, having trawled through search engines, that there’s nothing out there, and I mean nothing that speaks to the experience of being bisexual and Christian, at least not in the UK where I’m from. So I wanted to do something about that, by writing an autobiographical and reflective piece for all those bisexual Christians out there, struggling to live their lives in a climate that can barely get its head around same-sex attraction, let alone attraction to more than one gender. The title 119 refers to the miniscule 119 words used by the Church of England to describe bisexuality in Issues in Human Sexuality, a booklet that all would-be priests must read prior to ordination training. This contains just one paragraph on bisexuality, compared to around seventeen pages on homosexuality.

Aside from the sexuality/spirituality conflict, I also thought it was important to raise the subject of mental health. Bisexual people make up the largest sector of the LGB community, yet have the highest rates of depression, anxiety and suicide ideation with this cohort. Some of this is to do with the resounding silence on the subject of bisexuality, not just on the part of the monosexual majority, but also on the part of bi folks themselves. If we don’t speak up for ourselves and speak our truth, then we will continue to be misunderstood and misrepresented by people who don’t walk in our shoes.

From a more spiritual perspective, as I outline in the forward to my book, I was inspired by a Stonewall conference in London in 2015 to tell my story. A good friend of mine, a college Chaplain, encouraged me to go for it, and once I started writing, I just couldn’t stop. It was obviously meant to come out! I wrote 66,000 words in just six and a half weeks, it just came pouring out of somewhere deep inside.

What was the hardest part of writing this?

The hardest part was definitely reliving painful events from about five years ago, when I was involved in a nasty biphobic episode at a church my family was worshipping at the time. I had to confront feelings I’d suppressed for some time, as well as rereading emails that I’d kept as documentary evidence of what happened.

Another difficult issue was realizing, with the benefit of hindsight and perspective I guess, that maybe I didn’t handle people or events as well as I could have. I’ve tried to be as honest as I could about that aspect in 119.

How has your life changed since becoming a published author?

Because I have school-age children and a partner, it’s not been possible to write in my own name or identity myself publicly with 119. So perhaps it’s not changed my life externally to the same extent it would somebody with the freedom to write in their own name. However, internally, I do feel a certain degree of catharsis, and an ability to move onto the next stage of my life. The person who first inspired me at Stonewall told me that I’d never leave the past behind unless I told my story, in whatever format that took. He was right. Who knows, maybe there’ll be a sequel, What Jaime Did Next !

If you could take a time machine back 10 years, what would you tell your past self?

I don’t know to what extent things would have been different, to be honest. It’s only been in the last five years or so that it’s been vaguely possible to be open about homosexuality in a church setting, and it’s still not possible to discuss bisexuality. It remains a complete anathema to most church leaders, who rarely take the trouble to try and understand same-sex attraction, let alone sexual or gender fluidity. I think the prevailing socio-cultural conditions for someone who identifies as bi and Christian ten years ago would have still made it very difficult for somebody in my family situation to be open and honest about being bisexual. However much I berate myself for not having been more courageous in the past, we are all a product of the society we live in and it’s not easy to ‘be yourself’ if being yourself involves putting your partner or children in an uncomfortable or risky situation. Added to that, I had responsibility as a trainee church leader for the whole congregation.

How do you hope your writing influences other people?

As I said earlier, it is my deepest prayer that my writing touches all those bisexual Christian people out there suffering in silence. Mental health is a huge issue in our Western culture. I believe one in four British people and one in five Americans suffer from depressive disorders at this point in time. Imagine if 25% of Brits or 20% of Americans were suffering from broken limbs on a daily basis – there would not be shame or silence on the issue. A broken soul is, if anything, a far graver proposition.

Tell us a little about any upcoming projects.

I remain keen and motivated to write about spirituality/sexuality conflict and I also want to write about so-called MOMS, mixed-orientation marriages. I have a number of collaborative projects in the pipeline regarding these subject matters, so you’ll just have to watch this space!

Things I Wish Reviewers Knew About Authors

Arts, Books, Reviews, Writing

My post from yesterday sparked some really interesting and respectful dialog. It’s true that I used a broad brush, and I’m aware that nothing is simple. However, I stand by what I said as general principles.

I find it easier to talk about what it’s like from the reviewer end. As an author, I’m fairly unknown. I have some positive reviews and some negative ones. I’ve had a few bizarre comments and some harsh criticism. I don’t ever want what I say to be taken as “bitterness” against reviewers. I might find some things reviewers have said to be unhelpful (the person who started their review with “I don’t understand bisexuals” comes to mind). But I stand by my belief that every reviewer has the right to say whatever they like about my work.

That said, there are a few things I’d like to say which come partly from my own experience as an author but mainly from feedback I’ve gotten from authors as a reviewer. Once again, these are broad, general ideas; your mileage may vary.

1. We prefer if you read the tags and summaries on our books.

Not just the categories Amazon or whatever bookseller has used but the ones we provide in review requests or which other reviewers have used or which our publishers have used. I hear all the time from authors that they got feedback along the lines of “It didn’t have enough romance/sex for me.” Okay, but did you check to see that it’s not a romance? Did you read the blurb? Similarly, I have exactly zero right to complain that a book contains content I don’t like to read if it’s there in the tags or the synopsis.

2. Reviews can feel highly personal.

Yeah, I know. I said yesterday that reviews aren’t the writer’s personal mission to reward or punish an author. And that’s true, but we like when you keep your reviews free of personal commentary about the author. It’s so much easier to believe our work is complete garbage than to think it’s something special. It might not seem that way, judging by the way some authors behave like toddlers even when reviewers have gone out of their way to be respectful. But a lot of those reactions are because we feel like you’ve just confirmed that we are The Worst Ever. I’m not asking for anyone to coddle us, but please at least try to use neutral language and stick to specific points in the book, not snide remarks.

3. We’re tougher than we look.

Although my previous point made it seem like I think we’re fragile, we’re actually not. The majority of us appreciate thoughtful criticism. I was surprised at first by the number of times I would hear from an author who thanked me for my specific, direct feedback about a particular issue. More often than not, it’s led to some great conversations, and I can think of at least three times it’s resulted in a solid friendship. (I have to be careful here not to reveal authors’ identities because of the Amazon Review Watchdogs.) Those reviews are highly valuable to us. A low rating with a clear explanation is more sought-after than a high rating with some fluffy, bubbly text which tells us nothing.

4. It isn’t necessarily your job to “help” us.

This one is going to get me in trouble. My own opinion is that I’m not looking at reviews of my work to learn how to be a better writer. A reviewer may feel that’s their purpose, but those are the reviews I ignore. It simply isn’t the format I find most helpful to my ongoing process. I also think it smacks of a certain degree of arrogance on the reviewer’s part. I had one recently which said my writing was bad, which it very well may be. However, the exact same book had several reviewers who felt exactly the opposite. So whose “help” do I choose? If I took every single criticism to heart, I would be a wreck, so that’s out of the question. They’re not even all correct. Trust me, when I tried to do that, I ended up writing a book that I hated, and judging by reviews, readers didn’t like it too much either. The overall sense I got was that readers prefer me when I’m the real me, not their version of me. Reminds me of the song from Free to be…you and me: “Some kinds of help are the kind of help that helping’s all about. And some kinds of help are the kind of help we all could do without.” (Oh, god…please tell me there are other children of the ’70s who remember this album!)

5. Reviews should be about the content, not the minutiae.

I do think it’s acceptable to point out if a book was unedited or the editing was sub-par. But do I want a review which says that I misspelled something on page 34? No. I read a lot, I review a lot, and I edit people’s work, so I have a trained eye. Trust me, even books from Big Five publishers have typos. Pointing a couple out in a self-published or small press book is kind of pedantic. I have had a couple of people whose only reactions to my work are along the lines of, “You missed an end quote on page 86.” Literally nothing about the plot and characters, and not even general comments about the style, flow, and word use. I’ve seen reviewers go after an author because they hated the title. Didn’t even read the book. Take a step back, breathe, and maybe think about why you wish to point out nothing but these picky details without discussing anything else.

6. Reviews may not be the best place to discuss poor editing.

I don’t think it’s wrong, necessarily. I’ve pointed it out in reviews. For people who struggle to read poorly constructed sentences, it’s probably a good idea to know from a review if a book has that problem. I mentioned yesterday that I found The Handmaid’s Tale to have this problem. However, all that’s required is a mention. It doesn’t need a paragraph describing it in detail or listing all the flaws in hopes the author will go back and edit. If you really want to go to that much trouble, try contacting the publisher (or the author if it’s self-published). We’re not all that hard to find, even big name authors. I think for me, what it amounts to is if you’re not willing to talk to the author directly about it, and you’re not willing to contact the editor or publisher, then a public review (which the author may not even read) isn’t the best place. You may be inadvertently calling out an author who can’t afford a better editor. Suggesting maybe that person shouldn’t have published something if they couldn’t pay is classism.

7. Please tag your reviews for spoilers.

I’ve put spoilers in a review before. The few times I’ve done so, it’s because I thought some of the content might be triggering for readers. I may have put in spoilers on a small number of other occasions when something was done particularly well but was integral to the plot. In every case, I white it out or use spoiler tags. I make it clear my review contains such content. It is really, really aggravating to me as a reader to have a story ruined before I’ve read it. It’s extremely frustrating as an author to have worked hard to lead up to a big reveal in the plot but have reviewers take away the fun for readers. Just don’t.

8. Leave meanness for private conversations with your friends.

You and your three besties hate some book? Fine. Go mock it to your hearts’ content in a private discussion. A review is not the place to pile on an author. It’s not just about the hurt feelings of the author. When one reviewer shreds a book and twenty other people who have not even read it jump in to participate, it creates a toxic atmosphere. I’m aware that people sometimes need to express anger because a book has perpetuated, say, racial stereotypes. That’s not what I’m talking about. I won’t name names, but I’m guessing there are people reading this who know exactly the type of thing I mean. (For my own safety, if you do, please, please, please do not provide any identifying details in the comments. I don’t need those folks coming after me. Seriously. You know they will.)

9. Reviews work best when they are clear, direct, and specific.

I mentioned yesterday that authors rarely get upset over 5-star reviews, and I was informed by several people that some do. If the review contains spoilers or if the review has no substance, some authors will vent about it. (I maintain that the level of upset is still a lot lower than a 1-star review containing spoilers or with no real explanation.) The thing is, I’m pretty forgiving. I know that not all readers are able to write well, and I think it’s a bit snobby on our part to expect that they do so. But that only applies to the average reader, who really might be just leaving a quick note to say they liked or didn’t like the book. Reviews provided by book blogs and online media sources need to be well-crafted for a number of reasons.

The reasons why you like or dislike a book are important. For me, as someone who also spends time in social justice arenas, I need specifics if you find something problematic in what I’ve written. My personal goal as an author is to represent a wide variety of people and do so respectfully. It’s not a matter of “diversity for diversity’s sake.” For me, it’s about the people in my own life and honoring and celebrating the wide range of people I know. So if I’ve done it poorly, not only do I need to know, I need to know what specifically was inappropriate. Writing a review which says, “This book is transphobic AF” tells me nothing. (Note: This applies only to people pointing out what I’ve done but who are not part of that marginalized group. I don’t expect marginalized folk to educate me.)

10. We don’t always read our reviews.

No matter how good your intentions, and no matter how hard you’ve worked on a review, we may not read it. I tend not to read my reviews unless I’ve been contacted directly or I’ve sent a review request. Just like you ultimately have the right to put whatever you want in a review, I have the right not to read it. Being indignant because your opinion went unheeded by me is silly. If you want me to see it, then contact me. I’m really easy to reach by multiple social media avenues, all of which are conveniently listed on this blog (and I think on Goodreads, too). Just so you know, even if I’m not reading your reviews, I’m still glad you’re voicing your opinion. I’m glad you read my book, even if you hated it. And I wholeheartedly believe that even if you ignore everything on this list, you have the right to do as you choose without fearing that I will go after you publicly. You have my guarantee.

I hope that my two posts have given both authors and reviewers some things to think about. Neither list is exhaustive, and both lists are my own opinions based on experience. You don’t have to agree, and you’re welcome to add more to either list.

It’s difficult to be a person on both sides of the situation because I’ve seen a lot of unnecessary hurt and drama. The fact is, for those of us who are self-published or with small presses, we often rely on each other for multiple parts of the process. That can produce some unhealthy interactions. Maybe if we work to understand each other we can build better trust and community.

Things I Wish People Knew About Book Reviews

Arts, Books, Reviews, Writing

A recent (and somewhat contentious) discussion on what “belongs” in a book review prompted me to consider the question at a deeper level. I’ve been reviewing books for a few years, and it’s something I genuinely enjoy doing. I love to read, and my reviews at this point are split 50/50 between what I’ve bought and free review copies provided by authors/publishers.

As an author, I can understand wanting to receive good reviews. This is especially true for people who are self-published or go through a small press. We don’t get the advantage of being picked up for review by the New York Times unless our work manages to viral. It’s even more true for niche writers, such as those of us writing LGBTQ+ literature.

That said, there are a few misconceptions people have about what it’s like to be a reviewer. So I’m going to clear up some things.

1. Reviews are not for the author.

That should be obvious, right? I mean, sometimes they are. Uncle Bob writes a cookbook of his favorite chili recipes, or Grandma Jane writes a mystery-thriller with a crime-solving horse, and every family member might get a copy and review it on Goodreads. But most reviews are not personal gifts (or punishments) for the author. The purpose is to tell the world what the reviewer thought of it so they can decide whether or not to buy it themselves.

2. Reviews are not personal.

Even if someone thought a book was complete horseshit, chances are good they don’t know the author. Part of that is Amazon’s rules. You can’t review books for people you know, although how they determine your level of “knowing” someone is debatable.

I have actually tried to write a review with the author in mind. The person is my “author crush” (you know, the one who writes in your genre who you’d like to be when you grow up). I read a book and tried very, very hard to make it personal, and yet I still had to put in something for readers. I have many people following me on Goodreads expressly for my reviews, and it seemed unfair not to make sure they didn’t one-click just because I loved it.

3. Reviews are personal opinions. Yes, all of them.

Even if a book is critiquing only the literary style, the plot, and the character development, it is still the reviewer’s own opinion whether or not the author did it well. This is true regardless of whether the author is Uncle Bob, Grandma Jane, or Neighbor Joe or if it’s J.K. Rowling, Stephen King, or Ernest Hemingway. If you doubt this, go look at the reviews for any author published with a Big Five house or any book considered classic literature. You will find people who simply use the space to say they hated it or it was the best thing since sliced bread, but you’ll also find people who authoritatively critique the so-called objective elements. Reviews are opinions, but some people are better at expressing them than others. And some people just want a good story and don’t care if you are a minimalist (Hemingway) or love your adverbs (Rowling). What makes a book good or not is subjective and depends on a whole lot of factors.

I found that The Handmaid’s Tale was a fantastic story but painful to read because it was not well edited. It wasn’t a deal-breaker, but I struggled. I don’t like to have to work that hard to enjoy something, and that would have factored into my review if I’d posted it. Whereas another reader might not have minded or even noticed the issues. I cried my way through Elizabeth Berg’s The Art of Mending because the characters were so similar to people I knew. I read them as being well-written because I could sense them so well. Another reader said they hated that book because the characterization was bland. Which of us was correct?

4. Reviewers have the right to determine for themselves their criteria.

Because books and reading are both personal and communal experiences, there’s no set of rules to determine precisely what makes a book good. There are some common elements, but even those are subjective. Some readers have a set of things they look for as marks of a good example of the book’s genre. Others are looking primarily for entertainment. Neither of those is better than another. Personally, I’m looking for a book that both entertains me and speaks to me as a person striving for social justice. Anything that takes a step backwards is probably going to get a content note from me. If a book features a black character but I end up feeling like I’d be embarrassed to give it to my black friends to read, it’s not getting a good rating. There might be a few people in my circle who would love it anyway, but I’m more concerned with the wider implications. I recently gave a high rating to a book which had less than spectacular writing style but addressed a social issue that’s relatively uncommon in fiction. Other people were much more bothered by the author’s style than I was, and I don’t have a problem with that. After all, what good is a book that has an important message but readers find irritating to read? It’s okay for both of those things to exist simultaneously. In fact, it’s ideal—it gives potential readers a chance to understand more about the book and make their own decision.

5. Reviews for websites are generally not professional.

The definition of professional is “paid.” So if reviewers for a given website are not receiving payment for their content, they are not professional reviewers. That’s not to say they shouldn’t be good at what they do, but you can’t expect the same level of writing from a website called “Friends Love Books” as from the NY Times. That said, you should be able to expect higher quality writing from a book blog/website than from someone who happens to have picked up the book for fun and decided to leave a review. If you’re mostly getting poorly written reviews which don’t tell you anything about why the book is or isn’t good, you have the right to avoid sending things to that website for review.

6. Not all reviews come from websites.

People read stuff. They like it or they don’t. Sometimes they post their reviews. Positive reviews might be a way to find like-minded readers for discussion. A lot of people who write negative reviews do it because they’re venting or want to be validated by other readers. Is it sometimes annoying? Yes. But we’re not hall monitors of the internet, and we can’t control what other people think or type. Best to ignore it and scroll on past, no matter how hard it is not to look.

7. No one complains about positive reviews.

In all the time I’ve been reviewing, I have never once seen someone gripe that a favorable review was unprofessional, biased, or otherwise a bad thing. The most I’ve seen is people wishing that readers wouldn’t leave only a star rating, but they say the same regardless of the number of stars. Other than that, most authors are thrilled by positive reviews. You could write absolute nonsense and no one would gripe that it’s badly written tripe. The second your star rating dips below a 3, it becomes an issue of “bias.” Perhaps rethink this.

8. The power of a reviewer vs. an author is not a zero-sum game.

An author’s career does not rest on a single 1-star review from Judy’s Favorite Reads that calls the book overly sentimental trash. Both authors and reviewers have the power to destroy each other, especially if the reviewer is also an author. The recent episodes with people attempting to reveal an author’s personal details or the times authors have gone shark-attack on reviewers for negative feedback are proof. It’s unnecessary to create that much drama just because someone didn’t like your alien cowboy tentacle erotica. Equally bad is for a reviewer to personally attack an author because they didn’t like some fussy detail. You don’t launch a Twitter battle because you have an overly developed sense of righteousness. It’s not the review that harms; it’s the vicious actions people take apart from it. We may all hate Amazon’s ever-changing review policies, and they certainly need some nuance, but they do help in some of these situations.

9. Readers have the right to not like something and say so.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard, “Well, why did you read it if you didn’t like it?” Sometimes I finish it because I was asked to. Sometimes I think it’s going to be the type of thing I like, only to discover it contains material I find offensive later in the story. I have a list on my blog and on my page for the site I review for, and I make it clear what I will and won’t take. I’ve had authors lie to me outright or by-pass my rules because they think theirs is an exception. I’ve also had times when the content is what I was willing to take, but it turns out the author and I don’t define it the same way. I usually finish a book because I want to give it a fair chance. For example, I don’t read books marketed as “gay for you.” But I’ve read books which looked like they were going that direction and ended up being fantastic by the end. A book can’t always be evaluated based on the first couple of chapters.

10. It takes a long time to craft a good review.

I spend anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours on a review post, depending on the length of the book and the genre. A romantic comedy short story takes much less time to review than a literary story of the same length. This isn’t because the literary work is “objectively better” or even because I like one genre more than the other. I see them as being entirely different things which I will evaluate based on many factors, and I’m not comparing the two when I read or when I review. This is why I can give Harry Potter (any of them) the exact same star rating as The Old Man and the Sea. I’m not evaluating poor Harry as a work of high literature; I’m viewing those books as engaging children’s/young adult books.

Ultimately, the question of what “belongs” in a review is the wrong thing to be asking. It’s not my job as an author to cater to reviewers (I’ve tried that; the experiment did not go well). Nor is it my job as a reviewer to stroke an author’s ego (that also ends badly the first time you hate one of their books). In both cases, it’s only my job to do the best I can with the tools at my disposal and hope someone gets something out of my work.