The Meanest Words I've Ever Read
Everyone's a critic.
I recently read a novel that I loved.
It was one of those anomalous experiences where I was hooked from page one. I laughed. I cried. I grew irritated when other obligations meant I’d have to step away from reading. It was so enjoyable that I didn’t even feel envious that someone else had written it (which is often how I know I adore something).
As soon as I finished, I texted a friend to tell her that she, too, must read it immediately. “It was so good,” I gushed, scrolling to procure a link.
And that’s when it happened.
Four stars? I blinked, furrowing my brow at the book’s average across multiple sites. Never mind that four stars is a very respectable, even excellent, rating in this critical world of ours. Four stars is not five stars, and this read was flawless. What fault could anyone possibly find with this book?
Down the rabbit hole I went.
I admit that whenever I’m struggling with the familiar creep of insecurity, there’s a game I like to play to make myself feel better. I’ll look up a book by a writer I deeply admire. Fiction or nonfiction, classic or contemporary, I try to pick an author or work that countless people emulate. An indisputable contribution to the literary canon.
And then I read the reviews.
Every time I do this, I discover that no one is untouchable. It doesn’t matter if the person in question has won a Nobel or a Pulitzer or a National Book Award. It doesn’t matter if they’re dead. Someone out there — often quite a few someones — wants you to know that their work could use some improvement.
If the likes of Nora Ephron or Toni Morrison or Lorrie Moore can garner reviews with comments like “disappointing,” “just ok,” and “not my thing,” then surely we would all be wise to take our criticism with a grain of salt.
For a while, I blamed Amazon for our increasingly two-star review culture. (Amazon is easy to blame for so many things.) But as it turns out, trolling from behind a faceless avatar is an age old pastime, even for professional critics.
“The Times did not start requiring bylines until 1924, and writers could use the cloak of anonymity to be as brutal as they wished… Once reviewers started putting their names on critiques, there was incentive for their assessments, even when negative, to be more nuanced.”
So explains this New York Times piece on the classic novels their own reviewers once panned. And they were certainly not alone.
There are countless examples of renowned works that were ripped to shreds or otherwise dismissed at the time of their publication. Here are some quotes worth keeping in mind the next time someone deems your work less than stellar:
“The writing of The Handmaid’s Tale is undistinguished… ordinary if not glaringly so. This is a serious defect, unpardonable maybe for the genre: a future that has no language invented for it lacks a personality. That must be why, collectively, it is powerless to scare.” — The New York Times, 1985
“Miss Willa Cather in O Pioneers (O title!) is neither a skilled storyteller nor the least bit of an artist.” — Vanity Fair, 1913
“Mr. Huxley has the jitters… Brave New World is described by the publishers as ‘witty and wickedly satirical’… but it must stand on its merits as a lugubrious and heavy-handed piece of propaganda.” — Nation, 1932
“An unpleasant novel told in a very unpleasant way.” — The Saturday Review, 1891, on Tess of the D’Urbervilles
“The plan and technique of the illustrations are superb… but they may well prove frightening, accompanied as they are by a pointless and confusing story.” — Publisher’s Weekly, 1963, on Where the Wild Things Are
“It doesn’t even seem to be written. Instead, it gives the impression of having been shouted on to paper.” — The New Yorker, 1961, on Catch-22
“Monsieur Flaubert is not a writer.” — Le Figaro, 1857, in a review of Madame Bovary
“Lolita is undeniably news in the world of books. Unfortunately, it is bad news. There are two equally serious reasons why it isn’t worth any adult reader’s attention. The first is that it is dull, dull, dull in a pretentious, florid and archly fatuous fashion. The second is that it is repulsive.” — The New York Times, 1958
“Sentimental rubbish… Show me one page that contains an idea.” —The Odessa Courier, 1877, on Anna Karenina
“This sea novel is a singular medley of naval observation, magazine article writing, satiric reflection upon the conventionalisms of civilized life and rhapsody run mad… it repels the reader.” — The Spectator, 1851, on Moby Dick
“It is no discredit to Walt Whitman that he wrote Leaves of Grass, only that he did not burn it afterwards.” — The Atlantic, 1867
As I read through dozens of reader reviews for my new favorite book, I was amazed that so many people could have such different takes on the same novel.
There were many who loved it just as much as I did, peppered with the occasional hater. There were those that demonstrated just how many ways we’ve invented to say, “Ehh… it’s just okay.” Then there were the armchair critics.
“Here are some things that would have made this book better,” wrote one such person, before presenting a numbered list of scenes, characters, and assorted editorial choices they would have handled differently. It was not short.
I wondered if the author is the type who reads their own reviews. If so, I wondered how they felt about them, if it was disheartening to see the fruits of one’s labor praised and maligned and misunderstood.
And then I did something I rarely do — I penned a review of my own.
No matter who we are or what we do, criticism is a part of life.
There are jobs with built-in review cycles. There are Uber and Lyft ratings. There are dates that seem to spark, yet they don’t call. There are those who misunderstand us… and those who judge us without giving us a chance.
Even Beyoncé is not immune to an off-the-mark critical assessment. Her first solo album, Dangerously In Love, received a New York Times review baring the headline, “Beyoncé: She’s No Ashanti.” (Has the author ever lived that one down?)
Still, what becomes laughable in time can feel crushing in the moment.
In an ideal world, we would all learn to pay our critics no mind. We’d find it easy to brush off our disappointment, to trust that another’s opinion has no bearing on our worth. But we don’t live in an ideal world. We live in this one.
And so, we do our best to remember that almost everything is subjective and open to interpretation. And to rest assured that when it comes to less than stellar endorsements, we are always in very good company.
Card of the Week
Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.
The Moon has many faces. One night full, the next night waning. One night a slender crescent, the next conspicuously missing, its presence concealed in shadow.
If we consider the moon, its lessons are many. The same situation can look quite different depending on one’s vantage point. The same face is capable of many expressions. There may be more than meets the eye.
In the context of tarot, The Moon often hints at what is hidden — the knowledge and influences buried just beyond our view. Why do we harbor certain fears? Why do we have certain preferences? Are they inherent to us, or can we trace their origins? How much are we capable of change?
A common depiction of this card shows two animals — dogs or wolves, or a combination of each — often howling at the moon. They speak to our wildness, our relationship to instinct and expression. Who would we be without our ego? What would we do if we didn’t fear the judgment and criticism of society? The Moon wants to know.
In the foreground, a pool glistens in the moonlight as a crustacean emerges from its depths. This is a symbol of our subconscious, and depending on your personal feelings about lobster, the good and/or awful things that dwell there.
We cannot see what else may be swimming beneath the surface, just as we may not be aware of the unconscious beliefs exerting their pull upon our days. But just as everything in this scene is connected — moon to tide to creatures that need water for survival — we are inextricably tied to the worlds both around and within us.
This card can also speak to what happens under the cover of darkness, during the hours when the moon is our only witness. What happens overnight may not always be visible to others — dreams, middle-of-the-night anxieties, sudden epiphanies, caffeine-fueled all-nighters. These moments are often a time of deep reflection, as we learn to work through our fears and uncertainties. If we can find our way through the dark, we will be rewarded with clarity.
As the moon changes, making its way through its perpetual cycle, it reminds us that it’s natural for us to do the same. It’s okay to amend your beliefs, expand your worldview, update your opinion, change your mind. It’s perfectly alright if things feel differently than they did yesterday.
If something no longer serves you, move on. If something new interests you, pursue it. If there’s a piece of knowledge you’re missing, seek it out. If you find yourself needing support or assistance, ask for it. The moon appreciates that we are all on a journey toward wholeness, and that it looks different in every season.
The moon’s glow may be nothing compared to the light of the sun. But its purpose is distinct. It has no interest in generating light; it has everything to do with gravity.
At times, we are all misunderstood, and the moon is no exception. We may be compared to others with whom we have no association. We may be held to standards we play no role in choosing. We may be imbued with meaning we never asked for.
We may think we know a lot — about our world and about ourselves — and in many ways this might be true. But the moon encourages us to always be on the lookout for what we don’t yet know. To notice what has changed. To acknowledge what is shifting right at this very moment.
The Moon reminds us that the only constant is change, but that, too, is a constant. Lean in to transition, uncomfortable though it may be. Allow yourself to be cradled by the cycles of this world. And when the moon is missing, the sky awash in darkness, trust that no phase is forever. Another is always coming over the horizon.
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Please don't leave us hanging! What is this amazing book??? I need a new read, almost done with my current.
I loved your meditation on the Moon card here.