Weighing in on the critics, in the New York Times

Isn't Charles McGrath a right voice in our time?

(Wait. Did that sound critical?)

This week the New York Times Book Review asked Charles McGrath and Adam Kirsch the question: Is Everyone Qualified to Be a Critic? It's a question I often ask myself. A question I've been asking myself for the past 20 years, in fact—throughout my reviews of many hundreds of books for print and online publications, my jottings on behalf of the competitions I've judged, and my meanderings on this blog.

What makes me qualified? Am I qualified? And do I do each book—whether or not I like it—justice?

I do know this: If my mind is dull, if I am distracted, if I feel rushed, if I've grown just a tad weary of this trend or that affect, I won't review a book, not even on this blog, where I own the real estate. Writers (typically) work too hard to be summarily summarized, falsely cheered, unhelpfully glossed. Reviews should only be treated as art (as compared, say, to screed or self-glorification). It's important, as McGrath notes, that we reviewers keep reviewing ourselves.

His words:

It’s surprising how much contemporary critical writing is a chore to get through, not just on blogs and in Amazon reviews but even in the printed paragraphs appearing below some prominent bylines, where you find too often the same clichés, the same tired vocabulary, the same humorless, joyless tone. How is it, you wonder, that people so alert to the flaws of others can be so tone deaf when it comes to their own prose? The answer may be the pressure of too many deadlines, or the unwritten law that requires bloggers and tweeters to comment practically around the clock. Or it may be that the innately critical streak of ours too frequently has a blind spot: ourselves.

Read more...

Standing up beyond the critique

Sometimes (it's intermittent), American Idol is on in this house; a few weeks ago, while photographing that precarious icicle, I walked by the screen and snapped this photo. It's Simon, obviously, disagreeing with Ellen, while a singer who has just left her heart on the stage awaits some kind of verdict: Is she good? Does she have a future as an artist? Should she defer her dream, or hold on?

Who is the expert? Whose voice matters? To whom do we-who-are-striving listen to? These are age-old questions, and every artist faces them; each of us, no matter how experienced, wonders. Because while, in some ways, artists are defined by the work they've already done, most artists I know hold that the work they're doing now is the work that counts the most.

And yet: Artists are not going to please everyone. Artists don't have that power. Gangbusters action or poetry. Conservative or risky. Over-the-top hysterical or rather straight-up. The occult or contemporary realism. Life issues or gossip. Right now or in the future. Easy reading or a deliberate tangle. You can have some, but I can't think of a single book that contains them all, and because this is so, it is a tricky business to calculate: What counts the most, and will my work be among the counted?

I wouldn't want to live in a world in which every opinion is the same. I wouldn't want to be operating inside a single standard. I doubt that you would, either. So that what I've learned, in my dozen years of publishing books, is that knowing who you are, as an artist, counts for a whole lot, and locating those voices who can help you do better work—who ask questions you respect, who judge a book not by a pre-established coda but by its own ambitions, who care about artistry, if you, too, care about artistry, or who are experts at action, if that's your thing—counts for a whole lot, too.

You can't please the world. You can always get better.

Read more...