How I single-handedly destroyed book reviewing. Or not.

Bluestalking has served as a portfolio of sorts, initially the humble offering stretched out to publicists when begging review copies, before I had actual publishing credentials. I needed proof I had a platform, and readers who dropped by to listen to me yammer about books, so other publishers would give me more books.

Circle of life.

That’s how early bloggers leveraged their experience to branch out and write for other venues. There weren’t that many of us back in 2006, not like today, when countless cool kids are vlogging and podcasting and going all Facebook live. We reviewed the old fashioned way, in actual typewritten prose. And we liked it.

Instagram? YouTube? Try Blogspot and Blogger — Typepad if you could afford the subscription, then WordPress, once you figured out how to migrate your posts and navigate their platform.

At present, the only book-review videocast that’s widely available is the Washington Post’s The Totally Hip Video Book Review featuring Ron Charles. Charles, the regular fiction critic of Post, writes sincere, uninspiring reviews. The success of the videocast is Charles’s ability to laugh at himself. The episodes are, of course, totally unhip but charming nonetheless.

– Sarah Fay, “Could the Internet Save Book Reviews?”, The Atlantic, May 7, 2012

Get off my damn lawn, lousy millennials. You and your fancily composed tableaux of books, coffee with pretty designs carved in the foam – how do you even have the time? We downloaded cover photos from Amazon.

Guess what? We liked that, too

There used to be websites tracking book blogger rankings. If you dropped your guard your nemesis would sideswipe you, sending you skidding into the tires like an even nerdier version of Mario Kart. Amazon was brand new and already becoming a review site superpower, bloggers an extension of their reach. We became the first top Amazon reviewers just by showing up. Try accomplishing that now.

Try it, punk.

the prolonged, indiscriminate reviewing of books is a quite exceptionally thankless, irritating and exhausting job. It not only involves praising trash–though it does involve that, as I will show in a moment–but constantly INVENTING reactions towards books about which one has no spontaneous feelings whatever. The reviewer, jaded though he may be, is professionally interested in books, and out of the thousands that appear annually, there 
are probably fifty or a hundred that he would enjoy writing about. If he is a top-notcher in his profession he may get hold of ten or twenty of them: more probably he gets hold of two or three. The rest of his work, however conscientious he may be in praising or damning, is in essence humbug. He is pouring his immortal spirit down the drain, half a pint at a time.

– George Orwell, Confessions of a Book Reviewer”

Upstarts like me were yelled at by literary critics of stature, academics bloviating about the ways we were ruining everything, taking their jobs by undercutting them. We weren’t specialized, had no idea what we were talking about. We were not professionals.

It’s funny to me now just how much that pissed me off at the time. Sitting in my living room in 2019, I’m frankly flattered they even noticed. It’s like getting a no thanks note from The New York Times. Usually they just ignore you; embrace the rejection.

– Dorothy Parker, book critic, The New Yorker

John Sutherland lead the crusade, positively apoplectic the great unwashed civilian book reviewers put ourselves out there — worse, that readers were responding. After one particularly insulting article I sniped back at him, though I wasn’t his primary target. On behalf of those without specific educational credentials, I felt personally affronted by his elitism. The purpose of reviews is to sell books, I told him. If you don’t sell the books, no one reads them. If no one reads them, his job was rendered moot.

As for reviewers on Amazon, why did you need a doctorate to have an opinion? He engaged me briefly, then crawled back inside his ivory tower.

It was awesome.

Nothing stands still on the web. There is emerging, on Amazon, a corps of regular ‘reviewers’, so called, trusted to kick up dust and move books. Dinahbitching is becoming institutionalised.

Why do the web-reviewers allow themselves to be recruited as unpaid hacks? Partly for freebies. But more because they enjoy shooting off their mouths. And they enjoy the power.

– the Guardian, 19 November 2006, “John Sutherland is SHOCKED by the state of book reviewing on the web”

“THE POWER!” We were mad with it: a vast conspiracy, one small step below the moon landing.

Knowing how it panned out, I can look back with a lot more empathy. His huffing and puffing appeared reactionary, half annoying and half amusing, but turns out the dude wasn’t wearing an aluminum foil hat. His fears were not misplaced.

Overall, the market for writing about books and literature has atrophied almost to distinction, comparatively speaking. Most national papers have cut books sections, those that remain no longer plump and healthy. A large percentage of literary journals have either gone belly up or migrated exclusively online, printing costs skyrocketing past the point of affordability.

It pains me to admit John Sutherland had a point.

Writing in the literary field is not a viable career path; it’s been decimated. If you’re still undeterred, you better be prepared to violently elbow other writers in the ribs and push some prams in front of speeding busses. Respect to the strugglers, but this is why I’m not quitting my day job.

Fair warning: I’d still keep an eye on that pram, not gonna lie.

The internet opened up writing and reviewing to the masses, and when publishing professionals saw that they swooped in. Given a choice between paying an exorbitant wage to an established writer or giving away a few books to popular blogger/reviewers, which do you suppose a financially-strapped publisher would choose?

Word of mouth isn’t so easily separable from book reviews. What is a good review from Michiko Kakutani but a recommendation directly from a reader to hundreds of thousands of her closest non-friends? As with word of mouth, it’s tough to measure the impact of a glowing review on sales numbers. Still, one study showed that reviews do influence libraries’ purchasing choices. Another suggested that New York Times reviews swayed sales. In 2010, GoodReads pulled charts showing massive spikes in certain books’ activity after the books were reviewed or recommended on major platforms.

-Claire Fallon, Book Critics Don’t Exist to Flatter Your Taste” HuffPo, Nov. 25, 2015

Once through the door, a lot of talented people took advantage of the opportunity and carried it further. That’s called opportunity, and it’s no bad thing.

Are book bloggers responsible for the partial collapse of formal criticism? I still say no: the two markets are very distinct. Everything we’re seeing was inevitable following the explosion of the internet. It would have happened without us.

New York Times chief book critic Michiko Kakutani steps down to write a book about Donald Trump

The arts aren’t immune to rules of supply and demand. When the walls came down, canny writers with drive were able to break into the old boys’ club, throwing their legs over a few wingbacks and grabbing handfuls of Cubans. But maybe this lot of mostly old, white men had grown too complacent. Maybe writing about literature needed an injection of fresh blood.

Shaking things up every few hundred years is no bad thing. A little scary, granted, but necessary for growth.

Blogging opened a lot of doors I’d never have found on my own. I’m still not published in Harper’s, but it’s paid off far beyond the time I’ve invested. There’s more I could be doing, but work-life-avocation balance is a consideration. And I’m not quite dead yet. I nominate myself as one of the top thousand-ish writers to watch under 60.


I appreciate the opportunity afforded to writers by the grace of the internet. It’s not all good or fair, but was it before? It’s a damn sight more accessible, this I know. It’s also dynamic, still in transition. When I revisit this in another 15 years, who knows?

The exciting part is it’s completely unpredictable; it will never, ever grow stale. As long as there are markets I can barge into, and ribs to elbow, I’m happy taking the good right along with the bad.

Michiko Kakutani am I.


Only a cocky, snobby brat would crow she immediately recognized the framework supporting a contemporary, Pulitzer-winning masterpiece of a novel as the bones of one of the novels of Dickens, right? A cocky, snobby brat or someone who’s read one hell of a lot of literature. Who majored in literature, thank you very much and whose favorite Victorian novelist is Charles Dickens: the self-same reader who whiled away summer days engrossed in the works of Mr. Dickens. Not Danielle Steel, Dickens.

Am I admitting this to brag? A little but I believe I’m entitled. It shows I know my stuff, it gives my opinion weight and adds credence when I throw that weight around.

Why the obnoxious outburst? Because I saw all this in The Goldfinch before I read the review of the novel written by the inarguably toughest literary critic alive today: Michiko Kakutani, the Pulitzer Prize-winning literary critic for the New York Times, who fills every published writer’s heart with dread. She is the hard ass of hard asses. She does not suffer fools, gladly or otherwise. She is my heroine, unafraid to say what she thinks, going against the grain and not caring one iota what anyone thinks of her. People hate her viscerally but she commands respect. Hers is the first review I seek out upon publication of a new novel, though she doesn’t review much or very often. She has earned the right to write as she pleases. That, too, commands respect.

Someone needs to have the ovaries to stand up to all the false praise thrown around by reviewers, about books that are sub-par. Finishing and publishing a novel isn’t special; finishing and publishing a brilliant novel is. Not just that, it’s damn near impossible. So when Michiko Kakutani likes a book it is rare as hell. And she loved The Goldfinch. She loved it and immediately recognized the Dickensian plot, as did I. For one brief, glorious moment my mind clicked with hers. Don’t think for one moment I didn’t cheer in a loud and suitably obnoxious way.

To be honest, I don’t have the huge ovaries of a Michiko Kakutani. I’m a sucker for too many charming, beautifully-written works she would scrape off her shoe in disgust. I don’t always agree with her; sometimes she angers the hell out of me.  The takeaway isn’t that I’m brilliant or the greatest book reviewer on earth. Please. It’s a strong lesson in learning to trust myself more, staying true to my opinions. I’m not talking about filleting a book without hard examples backing up my opinion. Rather, it’s the opposite. When my head and heart tell me a book is sub-par, I can’t be afraid to say so. Nevermore. Not on your life.

My goal isn’t to become the reviewer writers fear. Until the Chicago Tribune sent me a contract, my visibility wasn’t as great as it will be from now on. I’ll have a byline now. My opinions won’t be couched under the auspices of the venue for which I’m reviewing. Before, all my review quotes were attributed to Library Journal, Public Libraries, etc.  Now, I stand as myself. I will be in print, in a nationally recognized newspaper. What I say will be in my name. Instead of feeling cowed by this, hesitant to say what I mean instead of kowtowing to writers with great reputations, I’ll be fair but every bit as tough a critic as I am in my mind. Tiptoe around a popular writer? I don’t think so. I’ll be honest and forthright.

No worries, Michiko. You can rest easy. I’m late to the party and the room’s already packed. When it’s all over, and I’ve hung up my laptop, I will be happy with what bit I’ve accomplished. A nobody born in the Deep South, raised in an abusive home, convinced of my own incompetence and worthlessness, it’s almost inconceivable I’m not drunken and homeless. Even dead. Reviewing for the Chicago Tribune? I would never have dreamed of it, not in a million years. Through it all I’m still standing and in my daydreams those who knocked me down will see that. Know that I am here despite you; ultimately, what you subjected me to only made me stronger. It took a while and the path has been uphill and crooked. I’m not yet where I want to be but know I will not hesitate to go Michiko Kakutani on your asses, without even a glance backward. You could not be more irrelevant.

If I seem over-confident to anyone, you don’t know me and you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m learning confidence, despite my life experiences. I’m learning to trust myself, without needing a Pulitzer-winning critic to back me up. I will screw up sometimes, no question, but I won’t ever stand down. One thing I know is great writing. I know it when I see it and feel it in my heart. So thank you, Michiko Kakutani. I’ll take it from here, though I appreciate the backup.

But damn, that did kick some serious ass.




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