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Aug. 20th, 2011 06:47 pmI'm thinking about books again. Or still. Right now, though, I'm thinking that a lot of people send me books with bits of paper in.
Most of these bits of paper are not useful to me, but are a part of the industry's way of handling review copies. They include all the book's details in an easy package in case I were writing the sort of piece that required those details. I've written these one-pagers: they have publication information and cover notes and the nice words others have said. I've seen them used in some reviews and articles, too: a ready source of information for an over-pressured writer who has a limited space to report on far too much books and not nearly enough time to do the job properly. I used to read them with glee, because they tell me a fair amount about a publisher and about how they're presenting the book to the public. Now I just glance over them (for I still want to know these things, but they no longer have the fascination of the new) and then move on.
Sometimes (especially with self-published books) I accumulate a small stack of character sheets, or personal suggestions on when or how I should write anything I might write about the book, of miscellaneous data about the book's inception and the author's life. Maybe I should collect these for a year or two and then write about them as a cultural artefact. It seems wrong to even think this, however, because my writing wouldn't be about the book that encased them, but about what writers and editors and publishers think needs saying when they send those books those books into the wilderness that is my desk.
I don't read these pages for reviews or for critical essays, or even, let me be honest, when I'm judging for an award. When I'm writing or thinking about a book, I'm writing about that book and not the publicity person's sense of where it would sell or the views of someone else concerning it*. I don't want to know if someone I may or may not have heard of, may or may not be on drinking terms with, has said, "This is the best book since Sliced Bread**." I just want to know the story, the characters, the writing. I want the book to talk to me. Why would I evaluate using a piece of paper when I can read the whole thing? It's a major part of why I adore books, after all, the fact that they're so very wonderful in and of themselves.
I was trying to explain this at a crit group a while back. How I was very happy to read a friend's draft novel and talk about its strengths and weaknesses, but I wasn't happy to spend my free time reading complex tables of contents and appendices and character charts and world timelines and technical detail concerning spaceships and moon rising times and who wears what colour in hats and why the writer thought this particular book ought to be written***.
This is always the way I have worked. I read GBS for his prologues, but I got to know his plays first. And it's a good way to approach books - read them for themselves and what they say and how they say it.
Which leaves me the question: what do I do with the character list that fell out of the book I was reading, just now?
* Well, mostly not, an evil genie entered me a few days ago, for which I blame owlfish, and I may very well be writing a review that discusses other reviews of that same book, but this is an exception, not the rule.
** By a very famous writer whose name everyone forgets. Source of many of the misbegotten mixed-up quotes and failed metaphors in my life.
**There have been others, but I can't be bothered making a complete list. My favourite was a recipe, but that was included by error and I had to return it.
Most of these bits of paper are not useful to me, but are a part of the industry's way of handling review copies. They include all the book's details in an easy package in case I were writing the sort of piece that required those details. I've written these one-pagers: they have publication information and cover notes and the nice words others have said. I've seen them used in some reviews and articles, too: a ready source of information for an over-pressured writer who has a limited space to report on far too much books and not nearly enough time to do the job properly. I used to read them with glee, because they tell me a fair amount about a publisher and about how they're presenting the book to the public. Now I just glance over them (for I still want to know these things, but they no longer have the fascination of the new) and then move on.
Sometimes (especially with self-published books) I accumulate a small stack of character sheets, or personal suggestions on when or how I should write anything I might write about the book, of miscellaneous data about the book's inception and the author's life. Maybe I should collect these for a year or two and then write about them as a cultural artefact. It seems wrong to even think this, however, because my writing wouldn't be about the book that encased them, but about what writers and editors and publishers think needs saying when they send those books those books into the wilderness that is my desk.
I don't read these pages for reviews or for critical essays, or even, let me be honest, when I'm judging for an award. When I'm writing or thinking about a book, I'm writing about that book and not the publicity person's sense of where it would sell or the views of someone else concerning it*. I don't want to know if someone I may or may not have heard of, may or may not be on drinking terms with, has said, "This is the best book since Sliced Bread**." I just want to know the story, the characters, the writing. I want the book to talk to me. Why would I evaluate using a piece of paper when I can read the whole thing? It's a major part of why I adore books, after all, the fact that they're so very wonderful in and of themselves.
I was trying to explain this at a crit group a while back. How I was very happy to read a friend's draft novel and talk about its strengths and weaknesses, but I wasn't happy to spend my free time reading complex tables of contents and appendices and character charts and world timelines and technical detail concerning spaceships and moon rising times and who wears what colour in hats and why the writer thought this particular book ought to be written***.
This is always the way I have worked. I read GBS for his prologues, but I got to know his plays first. And it's a good way to approach books - read them for themselves and what they say and how they say it.
Which leaves me the question: what do I do with the character list that fell out of the book I was reading, just now?
* Well, mostly not, an evil genie entered me a few days ago, for which I blame owlfish, and I may very well be writing a review that discusses other reviews of that same book, but this is an exception, not the rule.
** By a very famous writer whose name everyone forgets. Source of many of the misbegotten mixed-up quotes and failed metaphors in my life.
**There have been others, but I can't be bothered making a complete list. My favourite was a recipe, but that was included by error and I had to return it.