Criticism, In Good Faith and Bad
Jul. 24th, 2011 09:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mark_asphodelNote: this is not about fandom. This is for the amusement and discussion of those who, like me, like to write about writing. If you think this is aimed directly at you, you are quite wrong. Whoever you may be.
Slate magazine, which has degenerated of late into a flurry of 'articles' like "I hate pie and you do too, admit it," still coughs something worthwhile up on occasion. Frex, this week we got "How Not to Write a Book Review" by Robert Pinsky, which jumps off the sad tale of the allegedly lethal review that John Wilson Croker gave to Endymion by John Keats. It's one of those moments in literary history that, in hindsight, might be reduced to "Wah, Croker was stupid and Keats was a genius, so nyah." This is probably easier to say with a straight face if the speaker hasn't read Endymion.
Then again, Croker didn't actually read Endymion, either, and confesses to it freely in his review, which brings us to Pinsky's core argument: a review in good faith should have three components:
1. The review must tell what the book is about.
2. The review must tell what the book's author says about that thing the book is about.
3. The review must tell what the reviewer thinks about what the book's author says about that thing the book is about.
Reviews that address #1 and #2 while scurrying away from hitting #3 are, therefore, failures as actual reviews. Someone who spends all their time on #3 without bothering with #1 or #2 is likewise deficient as a reviewer. And someone who doesn't bother with any of the three points is a rogue operator. This, in a nutshell, is why pure snark (which describes Croker's review of Endymion pretty well), is such a destructive mode of operations. Snark doesn't have to turn its back on all three rules, but it usually does.
Likewise, some other famously devastating reviews-- Mark Twain's takedown of James Fenimore Cooper and George Eliot's condemnation of an entire genre of 19th century novel-- are operating outside the rules. Twain pretty clearly doesn't care what Cooper thought his books were about; he's more interested in what contemporary critics think Cooper's books are about. It's a reaction not just to the text Cooper wrote, but to everything Cooper came to represent. It's funny as hell, but it's not really a good-faith review of the works. Eliot makes some suppositions about what the "lady novelists" intend in their mind-and-millinery books, and but in the end she doesn't actually care-- the broad menace posed by silly lady novelists matters more than what any one specimen of lady novelist might actually think. But the reviews are amazingly entertaining, and because we "know" Twain and Eliot we're in their corner, even if Twain's essay in particular has come into criticism for its bad-faith qualities.
[Twain didn't think much of Eliot, either, FWIW.]
So, in the end, two of the most famous critical essays in English lit are models of How Not to Do It. But what if they were? What if they operated within the good-faith boundaries? I'll let Pinsky have the last word on it for those who didn't click the links:
"In a sense, Croker cannot be blamed for being unpleasant, or mistaken, or for attacking a beloved figure: Being wrong in judgment and doing wrong as a person, it can be argued, are both within any reviewer's rights. In a book review, even the greatness of Keats and the poignancy of his life story are beside the point. Even John Wilson Croker's introductory confession might be tolerable if somehow, despite not reading most of John Keats' book, Croker had managed nonetheless to follow the Three Golden Rules—instead of ducking them. That is unforgivable."
Interesting stuff.
Slate magazine, which has degenerated of late into a flurry of 'articles' like "I hate pie and you do too, admit it," still coughs something worthwhile up on occasion. Frex, this week we got "How Not to Write a Book Review" by Robert Pinsky, which jumps off the sad tale of the allegedly lethal review that John Wilson Croker gave to Endymion by John Keats. It's one of those moments in literary history that, in hindsight, might be reduced to "Wah, Croker was stupid and Keats was a genius, so nyah." This is probably easier to say with a straight face if the speaker hasn't read Endymion.
Then again, Croker didn't actually read Endymion, either, and confesses to it freely in his review, which brings us to Pinsky's core argument: a review in good faith should have three components:
1. The review must tell what the book is about.
2. The review must tell what the book's author says about that thing the book is about.
3. The review must tell what the reviewer thinks about what the book's author says about that thing the book is about.
Reviews that address #1 and #2 while scurrying away from hitting #3 are, therefore, failures as actual reviews. Someone who spends all their time on #3 without bothering with #1 or #2 is likewise deficient as a reviewer. And someone who doesn't bother with any of the three points is a rogue operator. This, in a nutshell, is why pure snark (which describes Croker's review of Endymion pretty well), is such a destructive mode of operations. Snark doesn't have to turn its back on all three rules, but it usually does.
Likewise, some other famously devastating reviews-- Mark Twain's takedown of James Fenimore Cooper and George Eliot's condemnation of an entire genre of 19th century novel-- are operating outside the rules. Twain pretty clearly doesn't care what Cooper thought his books were about; he's more interested in what contemporary critics think Cooper's books are about. It's a reaction not just to the text Cooper wrote, but to everything Cooper came to represent. It's funny as hell, but it's not really a good-faith review of the works. Eliot makes some suppositions about what the "lady novelists" intend in their mind-and-millinery books, and but in the end she doesn't actually care-- the broad menace posed by silly lady novelists matters more than what any one specimen of lady novelist might actually think. But the reviews are amazingly entertaining, and because we "know" Twain and Eliot we're in their corner, even if Twain's essay in particular has come into criticism for its bad-faith qualities.
[Twain didn't think much of Eliot, either, FWIW.]
So, in the end, two of the most famous critical essays in English lit are models of How Not to Do It. But what if they were? What if they operated within the good-faith boundaries? I'll let Pinsky have the last word on it for those who didn't click the links:
"In a sense, Croker cannot be blamed for being unpleasant, or mistaken, or for attacking a beloved figure: Being wrong in judgment and doing wrong as a person, it can be argued, are both within any reviewer's rights. In a book review, even the greatness of Keats and the poignancy of his life story are beside the point. Even John Wilson Croker's introductory confession might be tolerable if somehow, despite not reading most of John Keats' book, Croker had managed nonetheless to follow the Three Golden Rules—instead of ducking them. That is unforgivable."
Interesting stuff.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-07-24 04:42 pm (UTC)Quite an interesting article. Incidentally, I recall quite a few reviews that had 1 stated in a rather clunky book-report way ("Fire Emblem is about a young hero who inherits his father's duty to save the world") -- it seems that "show not tell" can apply to even reviews.
It did raise something that should have been obvious that I didn't really think about. Reviews IRL are something read before the piece. I am so incredibly accustomed to writing things that are understood after reading the piece, thanks to the format of FFN.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-24 05:30 pm (UTC)I didn't want to see the kind of ripple effect that seem to follow posts on lit-crit in this fandom.
Reviews IRL are something read before the piece. I am so incredibly accustomed to writing things that are understood after reading the piece, thanks to the format of FFN.
Heh. Good point.
Of course, with reviewing fanworks, it's not often that we get the chance to even know what the author thinks the work is about, so there goes step #2.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-24 06:18 pm (UTC)If the golden rules really mean to say that the author's externally conveyed intent must be respected in a review, I'm not sure I buy into it, since that discredits entire schools of thought in literary criticism.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-24 10:53 pm (UTC)Mind you, with some fanworks I don't know what the internally conveyed intent is, either. Also: Neon Genesis Evangelion.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 12:09 am (UTC)I think what frustrates me most, on a lot of reviews I've read while looking into any form of media, is the failure of point 1. Either there's nothing there to tell me what it's actually about (which I guess works if, as Ammie said, you're looking for reviews after going through a work), or there's entirely too much and I feel spoiled going into it. Neither are really helpful, when what I really want to know is "what's it about?" and "is it worth looking at?"
Tangent - I think it's worthwhile to note, also, that these seem to be good earmarks for editing creative works. If you convey to the person you're editing for what you think they were getting at in the draft stages of things, it makes it very clear whether or not they're getting the intended point - be it plotline, tone, across.
I mean, we can say all we want that the writer's intent shouldn't matter, and that it should be in the eyes of the reader, but if, say, Fahrenheit 451 left readers saying "hey, society works just fine without books!", I can't imagine Bradbury would have been pleased. (And I've edited a few things for friends that skewed things almost as far from their intent as that.)
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 02:07 am (UTC)I think it's worthwhile to note, also, that these seem to be good earmarks for editing creative work
That's an excellent point.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 12:36 am (UTC)I've no idea what Twain called his wonderful piece of work, though. That was a fun read. :D
My feelings on that disclaimer up there are very mixed. I don't run around reading LJ entries as if they're all about me, and this emerging trend in which people do seem to do just that in our fandom is almost offensive. I'm tempted to get myself in trouble with another post on that topic.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 03:14 am (UTC)I'd also say that stated intent versus actual intent is a factor. Part of the reason that Twain is considered to be not playing fair is that he's using Cooper as a punching bag for an attack on early 19th century Romantic lit in general. Though that is a brilliant takedown and his rules are worth a discussion in themselves.
But I guess the line between "review" and "opinion" is thin, and maybe defined by the three cardinal rules above.
Yeah, like the line between Roger Ebert and Mr. Cranky. Both are readable. Both are arguably necessary. Both have about the same level of accuracy, IMO. But one's a reviewer and the other is snarking for the sake of snark. I've read many of Ebert's one-star reviews, and you still generally come away with a sense of what the film's about, what the filmmakers thought they were trying to do, and how Ebert feels they pulled it off. Whereas my favorite Cranky review was merely "No. Fucking. Way." (for Spiceworld).
and this emerging trend in which people do seem to do just that in our fandom is almost offensive
Yeah, but you can't deny that the correlation between someone making a "serious writerly writing" post and some random person having a butthurt meltdown 36 hours later is very strong. And yeah, it IS offensive. Feel free to get yourself in trouble, 'cause I suspect I'll be with you on it.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 03:18 am (UTC)I think if it bugs you, you should say something. From the looks of it, you're not alone.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 03:44 am (UTC)Lately I've felt like it's okay to not like something - as long as it's something the majority doesn't like - Gary Stus, plagiarism, "fandom pariahs", as they've been lovingly termed, like EQ and Enilas. But just about every time I've stated a problem with something (or someone) else, no matter how tactfully, I've gotten defensive or outright hostile replies.
After the latest big blowout, my enthusiasm and patience are pretty much shot, to be really honest. It really just sucks.