There are a few things we do in life which involve handing ourselves over to the tender mercies of others—other institutions, other people. Medical procedures are one. Helpless and confused, we take off our clothes, our shoes, our glasses. Blinking and bewildered, we are sedated, numbed, probed, injected, x-rayed. We expect it to be a less that pleasant experience. And it usually is. But there is more and more a concerted effort to make it as minimally unpleasant as possible.

Airline travel seems to be going the other way. Read More »

“Everybody’s a Critic,” the line goes. Well no, not quite. It takes a certain amount of balls, as well as an organized mind and a distinct point of view, to really be a critic in a meaningful way. And via Teresa Nielsen Hayden at Making Light, I hear that the author of LifeCode: The Theory of Biological Self Organization is suing critic PZ Myers for writing a review of his book.

Specifically, he’s upset that Myers didn’t like the book, that he dismissed it on the grounds of being lousy science–or non-science masquerading as science–and that he called the author, Stuart Pivar, a crackpot. Frankly, given what I could understand of Pivar’s theories, it sounds like Myers was only saying sooth; still, I can’t imagine that Pivar enjoyed it. Do I think he has a legal leg upon which to stand? Not hardly. And in any case, talking back to critics is almost always a bad idea. I mean, I can think of situations in which it might not be so bad, but for the most…reallio-trulio not smart.

Case in point. I knew someone once who sent my mother her novel. This was before I started publishing anything, and mom was the only person this woman knew who might know someone in publishing. And so…she sent her novel to mom; mom read the book–an arid, grim novel about the intertwined lives of academics at a small college. She gave it to me to read. It was so unlike anything I would have read by choice that I couldn’t think of a thing to say about it. But mom had a friend who did this stuff for a living, and she sent the book to her. And that critic wrote the novelist a long letter, explaining why the book, in the shape it enjoyed at that moment, was not publishable. Not just a “this doesn’t suit our needs at this time” letter, but a thoughtful, well-crafted critique of the book, with suggestions about where work was needed to render it publishable. Short of getting a letter back saying “Hey, love your book and want to publish it,” this is the sort of letter a writer dreams of getting.

Mom’s friend was livid. She wrote a long letter right back to the critic explaining why she was wrong, and including the raves she’d gotten from her friends. She didn’t hear back from the critic, who was smart enough not to feed the energy-monster. My mother, hearing the story from her friend and from the critic, shook her head and apologized to the critic. End of story. Except that when I think of this, I hope the writer took up a different line of work, because the only kind of word-of-mouth she’d be getting wouldn’t have helped her.

When I read a negative review of my work, it hurts. Why wouldn’t it? It’s like someone dissing my child. But I know better than to say anything back; there’s no upside to it. If the critic’s given a thoughtful critique, I might learn something. If the critic’s a jerk…don’t engage with jerks, it just tires you and feeds them. I don’t engage. I don’t sue. Not even if someone calls me a crackpot.