Don't Mourn The Longform Review

A discussion in an online readers' group over someone lamenting the death of "traditional book reviews" and the rise of bookstagramming turned the old gears once more.

Such grist for the mill seems to frequently come out of the Indian subcontinent, which boasts a long and colourful history of publishing along with robust and riveting discourse.

Some examples of bookstagramming provided include that of a graphic designer who offers minimal takes on books using emojis. At the end, the writer wonders whether Instagrammers can contend with privileged pedestals such as the New York Times bestseller list.

As expected, members of the online group commenting on the piece were put off by it. Someone pointed out the writer's choice of words, which I felt were polarising: the "new" ("short", "quick", "millennial" - ugh) versus the "old" ("stuffy", "hallowed", "needlessly long").

I also had to check the date: published 7 February 2021. Bookstagramming has been around before then. How long was this piece sitting in the writer's computer? Or has India finally woken up to the trend?

(Uh-oh. The writer majored in literature. Probably ego-searches on occasion. Better watch my step.)

Now, the piece makes some good points. For one, the ecosystem surrounding "traditional" book reviews has always been a rarefied circle jerk. Certain reviewers have a cosy relationship with the papers they write for, who in turn have connections to the big publishers and literary agents. These same people tend to end up in some book award panels too.

Even when the printing press was invented and the written word became more accessible, gatekeeping determined what gets and does not get published. Then and now, getting a byline in a paper is a big deal. While some have higher aspirations, middling critics like myself have more pragmatic goals: gaining free books, extra cash and writing cred.

But this cosy relationship narrowed the number of books that "matter", so the same authors and publishers tend to grab the headlines year after year. From their lofty lecterns under distinguished mastheads, marqueed reviewers sometimes take potshots at certain works, shielded from the anger and call-outs from readers.

Restaurant critic Pete Wells's takedown of Guy Fieri's American Kitchen and Bar in the New York Times was entertaining, but it was mean towards a guy who's a lot more than the hair, shades and loud shirts. (Okay, not a book review, but.) And what to say of Michiko Kakutani, who has been held in awe, dreaded and loathed for decades?

While the piece doesn't delve too deeply into the history of book reviewing to stick with the traditional-versus-Instagram tangent, the tone sounds off-putting. Was there a need to compare bookstagrammers with a controversial Indian author?

And if readers today are too "lazy" to even read captions on Instagram posts, perhaps it's because they feel that their limited time, squeezed out of a packed schedule weighed down by the stresses of modern life, is better spent elsewhere.

So what if "anyone" can influence what their peers read, especially with social reading platforms such as Goodreads? People in such circles tend to or would come to know one another, so they're comfortable with and confident in what they see there.

Also, people are more educated now. Technology is connecting people, granting them access to knowledge, and giving them a soapbox. Folks are finding their voices and skipping past the gates to be heard and read. Describing these newcomers in language that screams "hoi polloi" is tasteless and foolhardy; being picked apart alive by weaver ants seems more merciful.

Critics now are more exposed to the risks of being wrong or challenges posed by those who know more but aren't part of the nexus. So they better learn to tread lightly instead of longing, even briefly, for an imagined golden age when, presumably, it was fine to write with your head in the clouds - or up your ass.

But does that mean "traditionalists" and "purists" have to start bookstagramming to stay relevant? Whatever works, I guess. However, some rules - like ignore your personal feelings and biases, don't be too rough, and suchlike - can be set aside so you can get creative and interesting, but not mean and divisive.

Critics, for a start, should take to heart the monologue by Anton Ego, the food critic in the Disney production Ratatouille, which sums up the realities of criticism and is lent significant gravitas by the voice of the late Peter O'Toole.

But a larger pool of material means more to read and digest, which means gatekeepers are still relevant, perhaps more than ever. In George Orwell's "Confessions of a Book Reviewer", one line goes "Until one has some kind of professional relationship with books one does not discover how bad the majority of them are."

As someone with a professional relationship with books, I've found this to be true.

Orwell adds that a short pithy statement is the only criticism most books warrant, while a professional reviewer would only bother with a book if they were paid to review it. But:

...the public will not pay to read that kind of thing. Why should they? They want some kind of guide to the books they are asked to read, and they want some kind of evaluation. But as soon as values are mentioned, standards collapse. For if one says ... that King Lear is a good play and The Four Just Men is a good thriller, what meaning is there in the word 'good'?

So if a book isn't worth the time, maybe an emoji or a GIF meme will suffice - better than rendering superlatives hollow through overuse. Using cleavers on sparrows might grab more attention but it's wasteful and unnecessarily theatrical.

By now, I think there's enough space for criticism in many formats, of any length, and that space is still growing. A humongous marketplace of opinions should be celebrated and readers can take their pick in an environment where quality does shine.

However, as long as "traditional" book reviews are still being written, the format will never die. Longform articles will always have a key role in some situations when an emoji or a hundred-word caption won't do.

With growing scrutiny and greater access to information, perhaps they will get better and become more deserving of those hallowed pedestals than before.

When The Water's No Longer Fine

Putting pen to paper - or keying things to screen - about the ongoing pandemic and its myriad of inconveniences is hard. Who wants to relive or read about that? No different from daily news reporting for the past year, chock-full of negativity and few bright spots.

Which reminded me of two negative encounters online that I thought I had laid to rest.

One was with a notorious personage who seemed to like nothing more than to brag of their love for literary fiction and the amount of which they've read - and picked fights with others in an online community about their reading choices and apparent lack of knowledge on books.

A few years ago, Personage praised me for something I wrote (forgot which one though) but later, in a comment to my blog that I deleted, harangued me for not knowing anything about Arabic literature, then accusing me of not being literary enough to talk about books. I chalked that up to "Personage being Personage" and brushed it off.

Only when I received news about Personage's terminal illness and passing did much of their behaviour make more sense.

Whether it was their condition or something else, they perhaps found solace for it in the online community and, over time, developed an idealised view of it. When the community failed them in any way, the reality of their situation crept through the crack in the rose-tinted bubble, sparking a backlash.

The quarrels Personage stirred were either attempts to stay inside that fracturing bubble, or cries for help. The people Personage sparred with or hurt might empathise now that the former is gone, but Personage will be known more for the rows and burning bridges.

I have less time and understanding for the guy who tried to interrogate me about a phrase in my Facebook post to a readers' group. I wasn't even talking about Nazis or Hitler, but a chapter in comedian Trevor Noah's book. The bit about Nazis and that there are worse out there was a throwaway remark, but to this guy it was important.

What this dude did, which I now recognise as textbook sealioning, was probably to get me riled up about the Nazi bit because he believes that no, nobody is worse than the Nazis and that I was talking out of my ass when I said that - yet he had no guts to tell me that to my face.

Even then, however, I smelled cari gaduh all over his all-too-polite queries. If Sealion wanted to school me, he could've beat me over the head with his own research and opinions. But assuming that he was genuinely interested in knowing who I thought were worse than Nazis, I don't owe him that either.

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People run from trouble. When they can't run any more and they're deep in a rut, they find ways to escape, whether in themselves, safe spaces, or objects. Sweet treats. VTuber clips. Online communities.

But they're not the solution. And you will eventually be disappointed or desensitised.

Personage found comfort in what they believed were like-minded people of a similar calibre, but was quick to judge and condemn when they did not live up to their expectations, seeing gaps in knowledge or understanding as flaws or signs of deception.

So I'm not well acquainted with Arabic literature. That doesn't invalidate whatever else I say about literature in general, or books, writing and editing. It just means I need to brush up on the subject.

For the likes of Personage, however, it's a deal-breaker.

If you're in pain, piling on more hurt on yourself - or lashing out at people - is counterintuitive. But I guess when you're so used to the torment you don't feel the added weight. Nor are you inclined to empathise with others or interrogate your disappointment in them when they "fail" you.

Are they not good enough for you, or have you set the bar too high?

Sometimes, people get caught up in the spirit of things, they forget that these are people too. They have other commitments, issues, and boundaries. That's why administrators of Facebook groups, for instance, lay down rules. Without limits, people will go out of line. I have stepped over boundaries on occasion and the repercussions weren't nice.

No community owes you anything for your participation. Your contributions, however stellar, do not entitle you to more than what the community is willing to offer.

When you're triggered by what someone says, instead of pouncing on a perceived slight, maybe take a step back and ask why you're bothered by it. Was it aimed at you, or a mere shot in the dark that found its mark anyway? As one saying goes, "if you didn't eat those chillies, you won't feel the burn".

Every community has its bad apples. Sussing them out is important, but not as vital as laying out what you expect when you join a community and the lines you - and others - must never cross in your interactions. And don't expect too much from people, no matter how awesome they seem to you.

Eventually, any community will change. The goals may shift, or they may stagnate or turn into cesspits. Maybe the people there have changed, or you have. Maybe the things they share don't interest you any more.

The need to belong is strong in humans. However, one should keep in mind not to sacrifice your individuality and ability to change just to fit in, no matter how much you identify with a certain group.

If you don't feel like you belong, walk away. And leave the bridges alone.