A couple years ago, some writer-friends and I were having this discussion about Obama and that brouhaha about Reverend Jeremiah Wright's remarks about Jews and the like with another, much more seasoned pro writer-friend. I don't even remember what the specific comments were, but I do recall my pro-friend turning to me and saying something like, "Listen, white girl, you just don't know." Now, I didn't take offense or anything because my friend's comment wasn't meant as a slap. My friend was making a point that I, as a white girl (even a Jewish white girl, at whom some of these remarks were broadly directed), couldn't really grasp the cultural milieu in which the comments were made.
I believe my friend--to a point. It's true that this friend is much more knowledgeable about black history; in fact, this friend wrote a very fine mystery series that featured a black protagonist. While the specifics of the series aren't important, this is: at the time these books were out and about in the world, my friend wasn't touring or publicizing them much for a very simply reason.
My friend is white. And of the opposite sex from the protag.
Talk about irony and (a bit of) reverse discrimination.
Why am I not more specific here? Honestly, I'm not trying to be a tease, but my point isn't to out my friend. But I was reminded of this incident after reading the New York Times piece earlier this week all about young Latino readers and educators' fears that these younger kids might not be as drawn into reading because there's a dearth of Latino protagonists for them to identify with. Read the comments, and you'll find both an even split and a wide array of responses. Some people think this is a big deal; others don't.
Now I'll be really honest here: by and large, my feeling is that this is another of those New York Times hand-wringing non-issues. You could say that I think it's not, because as a white girl, I was in the majority back in the day and so always felt that I was being represented in one way or another in whatever I read--but you would be wrong. There really weren't that many female protagonists out there for me to identify with. In fact, in a large proportion of both classical and contemporary lit, the protags were/are white males--and I can guarantee you that the overwhelming majority weren't Jewish.
You want to read about diversity? Pick up any good sf with alien species as the primary protags--I remember one book that featured these funky insect-like creatures--and then tell me that I couldn't possibly have enjoyed that because, oh, the protagonists don't look like me. Back when I was a kid, there wasn't anyone out there in either literature or film for me to take as a role model--and so what? I've never looked to books for role models, nor do I, as a writer, think about providing a role model for my readers. That's way too preachy for me. Conversely, I don't remember a single book that was just so influential I carried it around like a talisman or modeled my life after it. I wanted role models? They were called parents and teachers and other significant adults. ((I mean, my God, my mom was working outside the house, doing science stuff and going for a PhD in an era when women just didn't do that. And who were her role models? Her father was a sponge diver and then worked in a rubber factory; her mother was a housewife. Neither went to college; I doubt my grandmother made it out of high school; they lived in a crummy section of Akron. But they all worked hard.) Similarly, none of my role models lived in books.
I'll be honest (again): whenever I was handed the rare book with a Jewish protag (always male, as far as I can recall), I remember cringing. Reading stories about people I knew--folks I saw every bloody day--didn't interest me in the slightest. Revisiting certain events in my cultural past--say, the Holocaust--was and remains a busman's holiday. Then as now, I look to books to tell me a good story.
I may be really off-base here; maybe I just don't get it. But when I'm immersed in a story, I couldn't care less what the characters look like, or about ethnicity. (Oh all right, yes: if this is a romance that keeps mentioning that the girl is a size 2 and wears strappy sandals without breaking an ankle . . . yeah, okay, I may not want to step on the scale for a couple days, but I don't stop reading on that basis.) When the story revolves around the character's difference--Invisible Man and Native Son spring to mind--then, yes, of course this becomes an issue, because the difference is the story. But that difference doesn't keep me from being able to either get into the story or feel along/identify with the characters either.
The magical thing about becoming lost in a book is that you also lose sight of who you are along the way. It's really quite an interesting phenomenon, if you stop to think about it. You can both read yourself into a character and stand alongside at the same time. You get wrapped up in the adventure at the same moment that you may be thinking, Oh no, don't do it! You can get mad at a character for being so stupid and still get a vicarious thrill with that first kiss. All of that speaks to the skill of the story-teller and--to my mind--has virtually nothing to do with what the characters look like, or whether they're like me. (I mean, guys, think about it: are we really saying that kids can't possibly identify with Wilbur because he's a pig, and they're not? That I can't read about or enjoy or even identify with characters like Fiver and Bigwig in Watership Down . . . because I'm not a male rabbit? Get real.) Picking up a book is a way to get away from me now, just as it was a means to take me on an adventure and out of myself back then. The business of a book is not to instruct.
Which brings me back to my very talented pro-friend, who could fashion a thoroughly wonderful series about a character of a different gender, culture, and ethnicity, not because my friend was the same but because that writer was (and is) empathetic, passionate . . . and a damned good writer.
Now that's what I call a role model.
Showing posts with label New York Times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York Times. Show all posts
Monday, December 10, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
To Blurb, or Not to Blurb...
This past week, the New York Times ran a piece, Riveting! The Quandary of the Book Blurb, where a couple writers, an agent and an editor/author all weighed in on the question of what, if any, purpose a book blurb serves. Are blurbs obsolete? Do they really say anything to a reader, or are they cues to reviewers, the marketplace, etc., etc.? Go read the various opinions; they're pretty interesting.
The piece got me thinking about my own feelings/thoughts about blurbs: as a reader; as someone who's had a book blurbed; and as someone who's been asked to provide blurbs.
1) As a reader, well . . . yeah, blurbs have made a difference, sometimes. I know for a fact that there are two books I picked up, within recent memory, on the strength of blurbs: not what was said but who provided the blurb. I mean, really, are blurbs going to say anything other than how amazing a book is? Of course not. But I think that blurbs provide some meaningful information to the genre reader, on a par with Amazon recommendations that try to match up what you're looking at with books of similar ilk.
So, if Stephen King or Lee Child has raved about a book, I'll be much more likely to take a look. Will I always agree with either? I can tell you, unequivocally, that I have not; indeed, have felt cheated and lied to by an author I admire when I feel as if I get suckered into a book that isn't my cuppa.
Which then makes a blurb a bit of a problem, doesn't it? Put your imprimatur, your seal of approval on a work, and the work also reflects on you. You're presuming on our unspoken contract; I, the reader, trust you, the writer, because you've always kept your end of the bargain. But now, you've shaken my trust. You got me to read a stinker. So I'll be much less likely to pick up another book just because your name is on the cover.
Very tricky business.
On the other hand, the important thing is that the blurb lead to a sale. It won't lead to a repeat sale, but money in the bank is money in the bank.
2) It seems to be de rigeur these days to ask writers to gather up authors who might be willing to provide a blurb. I've been asked for suggestions, but I've never directly contacted a writer--friend or otherwise. Although I do have friends who have asked me or other writers, if I were asked to do the same? I'd rather stick pins in my eyes. I would feel incredibly awkward. Presuming on someone's good graces or friendship just doesn't sit well with me. Since I've never had to make that contact myself, I have no idea what would happen if a writer suggested that the editor or publicist do this instead. Anyone out there with experience on that? Anyone ever said no and asked that someone else do it?
But as someone who's had her book blurbed, I can tell you that more than one reader said he/she picked up the book on the basis of who blurbed it (not what the blurb said). Just as fascinating to me is the difference between readers in the States and overseas. If you take a look at the ASHES US edition, James Dashner's blurb is featured on the front and Michael Grant's is on the back cover. But for all the overseas editions--including those put out by different publishers--they're reversed. Grant's on front; Dashner's on back. I have no idea why that might be, unless we're talking name recognition or one blurb being seen as somehow better than the other. (Trust me, I was thrilled to have just one of these guys on the book. Two? Died and gone to heaven.)
3) Before ASHES, I'd been asked by several friends to provide blurbs for books. After ASHES, I got, well, a lot more. I've never blurbed a single book, for several reasons. Mostly, it's that I honestly haven't had the time. Yes, I read while I'm writing, but that's usually to turn off my brain a bit, not overheat it more. Blurbing would be, for me, more work. Now, if I were to read a great book and THEN be asked for a blurb . . . that would be a different story, I guess, but then the book would've been out there awhile and why would anyone need me?
This does make me wonder about writers who blurb, and seem to blurb a lot. Either they read much more quickly and work more efficiently than I do--always a strong possibility--or they are blurbing as a favor to an editor or friend, or ... they are being PAID to blurb. Now, if an editor asked me for the favor, I wouldn't refuse. I just flat-out wouldn't. I'd find the time, somewhere--because the editor's signaling several things with the request: a) we're at that stage in our relationship where manus manum lavat; b) the editor is telling me that my name carries clout; c) putting my name on the book might actually be to my benefit, too. Then, attaching my name to a book would have the same impact as, say, introducing a new writer at a conference or festival: my name carries weight, and this gives me more exposure and legitimacy. Blurbing reaffirms me as an important voice.
So . . . then blurbing becomes very loaded, doesn't it? Yes, it's flattering; there are all sorts of implied and explicit meanings. But blurbing can backfire, not only if I lend my name to a dud (no matter what I think of it) but if I agree only to discover that I actually can't say anything nice.
This once happened to me. I agreed to do someone a favor and read his book. It was downright terrible. It was SUCH a bad book that I ended up skimming the whole thing in about an hour. And then I was stuck because this writer said that even if I hated the book, writing a review would generate hits and drive up the Amazon rating . . . etc.
Well, I declined. I wrote him a very nice note and said that the book just wasn't my cuppa. In all conscience, I couldn't recommend the book--but I also declined to slam it. Really, life is hard enough without that kind of nonsense.
After that experience, though, I've become very leery of requests to blurb. As I've said, I've been much too busy to even consider it. For me, I think that if I were to provide a blurb, the circumstances would have to be akin to those I outlined above: a favor to an editor. Otherwise, I think that, for us authors, blurbing is full of all kinds of pitfalls and unforeseen consequences--not just that we might give only a lukewarm endorsement or, worse yet, lie, but blurbing something that isn't all that great might also provide unwanted blowback. For example, I know that a few writers' blurbs, seeing their names? I won't pick up those books because of my prior experience with stinkers they thought were so great.
Like, I said . . . life is hard enough. I don't need any additional headaches.
***
For those who follow me on Twitter and Facebook, you know I bake just about every Sunday and then post a picture of what I've done, unless it's just too gruesome. [There is, I am sure, a deep, dark psychological reason why I bake, too. I've got a coupla ideas about that.] Anyway, I figured to start carrying this over to the blog because . . . I dunno . . . I like pictures of pretty cakes. Today, I had to slog through my taxes and decided that my weekly cake had to be both beautiful and bright in the mouth. So, today's cake: a lemon-blueberry done in my bran'-spanking new bundt pan. Quite the beauty. Tastes pretty darned good, too.
The piece got me thinking about my own feelings/thoughts about blurbs: as a reader; as someone who's had a book blurbed; and as someone who's been asked to provide blurbs.
1) As a reader, well . . . yeah, blurbs have made a difference, sometimes. I know for a fact that there are two books I picked up, within recent memory, on the strength of blurbs: not what was said but who provided the blurb. I mean, really, are blurbs going to say anything other than how amazing a book is? Of course not. But I think that blurbs provide some meaningful information to the genre reader, on a par with Amazon recommendations that try to match up what you're looking at with books of similar ilk.
So, if Stephen King or Lee Child has raved about a book, I'll be much more likely to take a look. Will I always agree with either? I can tell you, unequivocally, that I have not; indeed, have felt cheated and lied to by an author I admire when I feel as if I get suckered into a book that isn't my cuppa.
Which then makes a blurb a bit of a problem, doesn't it? Put your imprimatur, your seal of approval on a work, and the work also reflects on you. You're presuming on our unspoken contract; I, the reader, trust you, the writer, because you've always kept your end of the bargain. But now, you've shaken my trust. You got me to read a stinker. So I'll be much less likely to pick up another book just because your name is on the cover.
Very tricky business.
On the other hand, the important thing is that the blurb lead to a sale. It won't lead to a repeat sale, but money in the bank is money in the bank.
2) It seems to be de rigeur these days to ask writers to gather up authors who might be willing to provide a blurb. I've been asked for suggestions, but I've never directly contacted a writer--friend or otherwise. Although I do have friends who have asked me or other writers, if I were asked to do the same? I'd rather stick pins in my eyes. I would feel incredibly awkward. Presuming on someone's good graces or friendship just doesn't sit well with me. Since I've never had to make that contact myself, I have no idea what would happen if a writer suggested that the editor or publicist do this instead. Anyone out there with experience on that? Anyone ever said no and asked that someone else do it?
But as someone who's had her book blurbed, I can tell you that more than one reader said he/she picked up the book on the basis of who blurbed it (not what the blurb said). Just as fascinating to me is the difference between readers in the States and overseas. If you take a look at the ASHES US edition, James Dashner's blurb is featured on the front and Michael Grant's is on the back cover. But for all the overseas editions--including those put out by different publishers--they're reversed. Grant's on front; Dashner's on back. I have no idea why that might be, unless we're talking name recognition or one blurb being seen as somehow better than the other. (Trust me, I was thrilled to have just one of these guys on the book. Two? Died and gone to heaven.)
3) Before ASHES, I'd been asked by several friends to provide blurbs for books. After ASHES, I got, well, a lot more. I've never blurbed a single book, for several reasons. Mostly, it's that I honestly haven't had the time. Yes, I read while I'm writing, but that's usually to turn off my brain a bit, not overheat it more. Blurbing would be, for me, more work. Now, if I were to read a great book and THEN be asked for a blurb . . . that would be a different story, I guess, but then the book would've been out there awhile and why would anyone need me?
This does make me wonder about writers who blurb, and seem to blurb a lot. Either they read much more quickly and work more efficiently than I do--always a strong possibility--or they are blurbing as a favor to an editor or friend, or ... they are being PAID to blurb. Now, if an editor asked me for the favor, I wouldn't refuse. I just flat-out wouldn't. I'd find the time, somewhere--because the editor's signaling several things with the request: a) we're at that stage in our relationship where manus manum lavat; b) the editor is telling me that my name carries clout; c) putting my name on the book might actually be to my benefit, too. Then, attaching my name to a book would have the same impact as, say, introducing a new writer at a conference or festival: my name carries weight, and this gives me more exposure and legitimacy. Blurbing reaffirms me as an important voice.
So . . . then blurbing becomes very loaded, doesn't it? Yes, it's flattering; there are all sorts of implied and explicit meanings. But blurbing can backfire, not only if I lend my name to a dud (no matter what I think of it) but if I agree only to discover that I actually can't say anything nice.
This once happened to me. I agreed to do someone a favor and read his book. It was downright terrible. It was SUCH a bad book that I ended up skimming the whole thing in about an hour. And then I was stuck because this writer said that even if I hated the book, writing a review would generate hits and drive up the Amazon rating . . . etc.
Well, I declined. I wrote him a very nice note and said that the book just wasn't my cuppa. In all conscience, I couldn't recommend the book--but I also declined to slam it. Really, life is hard enough without that kind of nonsense.
After that experience, though, I've become very leery of requests to blurb. As I've said, I've been much too busy to even consider it. For me, I think that if I were to provide a blurb, the circumstances would have to be akin to those I outlined above: a favor to an editor. Otherwise, I think that, for us authors, blurbing is full of all kinds of pitfalls and unforeseen consequences--not just that we might give only a lukewarm endorsement or, worse yet, lie, but blurbing something that isn't all that great might also provide unwanted blowback. For example, I know that a few writers' blurbs, seeing their names? I won't pick up those books because of my prior experience with stinkers they thought were so great.
Like, I said . . . life is hard enough. I don't need any additional headaches.
***
For those who follow me on Twitter and Facebook, you know I bake just about every Sunday and then post a picture of what I've done, unless it's just too gruesome. [There is, I am sure, a deep, dark psychological reason why I bake, too. I've got a coupla ideas about that.] Anyway, I figured to start carrying this over to the blog because . . . I dunno . . . I like pictures of pretty cakes. Today, I had to slog through my taxes and decided that my weekly cake had to be both beautiful and bright in the mouth. So, today's cake: a lemon-blueberry done in my bran'-spanking new bundt pan. Quite the beauty. Tastes pretty darned good, too.
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