Don't Ask Alice
By now, everyone in Lit-Land has heard about the unhappy affair of Alice Hoffman.
Hoffman, a popular and prolific novelist, was unhappy with the review she received in the Boston Globe, her hometown paper, and took to Twitter to complain, calling reviewer Roberta Silman a "moron" and an "idiot," excoriating her for giving away plot twists, posting Silman's email address and phone numbers and exhorting her followers to "tell her what u think of snarky critics." Like raw sewage, the mess bubbled up from Twitter to Gawker, to the Times and Page Six, with everyone rolling their eyes at the spectacle of a novelist losing it so spectacularly.
Bad reviews, as any writer will tell you, are the price of doing business. Put your work out there in the world, and you can be sure that someone will rise up and declare "UR BOOK SUX!"
But if a run-of-the-mill pan is an expected bump in the road, the hometown diss is sinkhole straight to hell. As Anne Lamott put it in her invaluable book Bird By Bird, it's one thing to know that strangers somewhere are reading a bad review, but it's another to know that your friends and family -- the people in your neighborhood, the people that you meet each day -- are sitting down with their coffee and cornflakes to read that you're a no-talent fraud.
I winced when I read Hoffman's tweets, in part because I knew they'd likely blow up in her face, but also because I could feel her pain.
When my last book came out, the paper where I used to work hired a big-name, big-deal, Pulitzer Prize-winning, Oprah-anointed lady novelist to review it. I'd grown up reading the her work, and to me, having her weigh in was kind of like hearing from God himself on my book's -- and, let's be honest, on my -- merits.
Three days before publication, the review came out. It was not the rave I might have wished... and its sting was sharpened when it ran the day of my newborn daughter's baby naming, a day when I had to stand in front of my family, my in-laws, my friends and colleagues, my entire congregation with all of them knowing that Esteemed Lady Novelist had decreed that I was squandering my talent on foolish, girlish things.
I went through the steps that Lamott prescribed, gathering my nearest and dearest -- all of whom, luckily, were in town for the blessed event -- then going off like an uncapped fire hydrant, casting aspersions on the reviewer's questionable motives, the paper's declining fortunes, the editor's receding hairline... you get the picture.
After a few days of weeping and moaning, I tried my best to forget about it, went back to the book I was writing, and moved on. True, I took an inordinate amount of pleasure when the Times trashed ELN's most recent book, and I still wince when I see her name... but I imagine that, too, will fade with time.
So what makes me different from Alice Hoffman? When I get eviscerated in my hometown paper, I bitch in real time, to my intimates... but, I imagine that, in the midst of her Twit-fit, Hoffman felt like she was doing much the same thing.
Twitter and Facebook are seductive that way. Not only do Twitter's 140-character bursts lend themselves perfectly to the kind of breathless spluttering that's all you can manage in the wake of a bad review, the set-up and the language the sites employ -- the "friends" and "followers" with cute avatars, who post cheery birthday wishes, or pictures of their toddlers -- all of it lulls you into a sense that when you're talking, you're talking to intimates, instead of to the whole World Wide Web.
In this atmosphere, in which a novelist can Tweet an eyebrow threading (you're a braver woman than I am, @juliebux!) and a New Yorker staffer can complain about the high price of a pet chicken's cremation (sorry for your loss, @susanorlean!) and a magazine columnist can allude to his fondness for breast milk (bottoms up, @thejoelstein!), it's easy to forget that you're not chatting over coffee, and that the things you do in the heat of the moment -- posting, for example, a critic's email address and phone number -- will live forever online.
There's no doubt that Hoffman behaved badly... but she's been thoroughly demonized, which is a shame. Earlier this spring, I joined a group of other authors in Cambridge and participated in an annual event to raise money for the Mount Auburn Hospital's Hoffman Breast Center -- named in honor of the Hoffman family and Alice Hoffman herself, who donated an entire book's advance to found it. It was a wonderful, inspiring evening... and all night long, doctors and nurses and breast cancer survivors and women in all stages of their fight paid tribute to Hoffman's years of hard work and generosity.
Even good people can have bad days... and I wonder, too, how much the media's love of girl-on-girl violence affected the way the story's played out. When Norman Mailer grumps about Michiko Kakutani's gender and ethnicity, or Richard Ford hocks a loogie at Colson Whitehead, it's just a fight, without the demeaning prefix "cat" tacked in front. There's still more tolerance for men behaving badly -- or, as they'd see it, airing legitimate grievances -- than there is for ladies who complain.
Which isn't to say that Twitter and Facebook should give writers open season on their critics. Better for us to suffer -- at least publicly -- in stoic silence, instead of complaining, and looking petulant, and drawing more attention to a review you'd rather were ignored. But if you don't have anything nice to say, come (virtually) sit next to me. Eyebrows stinging? Chicken failing? Stupid critic gave away your book's big twist? Fellow novelists, I'm here for you at @jenniferweiner.com.
Loading comments…
Want to reply to a comment? Hint: Click "Reply" at the bottom of the comment; after being approved your comment will appear directly underneath the comment you replied to
Ten years ago when my first book came out, I traveled to the small town where I grew up. The closest big paper was the Philadelphia Inquirer and Jen was writing for them at the time. I didn't know her, but we went out to lunch to talk about my book. It was the chummiest of lunches-- I mean, it was an *enthusiastic* encounter, which Jen followed up with an *enthusiastic* email sayingt she was writing a great piece about the book. Nothing appeared in the paper for awhile and when I checked in, she told me her computer had eaten the original piece and she'd have to write another. The piece that appeared was hardly positive. It was less of a bad review and more of a gossipy spew about my at-the-time marriage. The negativity and cattiness were bad enough, but what really chapped me at the time was that she led me to believe that this marvelous article was coming out. I felt highly deceived and, as Jen still winces at the name of her negative critic, I still wince at her name, and forever think, when I see it, "Here's one you can't trust."
Nice post, Jennifer. My friend Alexa Young has been collecting interviews of authors who received "the worst review ever." http://theworstreviewever.blogspot.com/t.com/ Her site provides a safe haven for authors who feel like they were trashed.
Best,
Irene
Excellent stuff, Jennifer. You make a great point about the false intimacy of twitter, etc., but ultimately I have to disagree. Like apparently every other writer out there, I also blogged about this story, but only after Alice Hoffman issued what has been described as her apology. The statement was at best an apology to her readers, not to the woman whose number was tweeted. As for the gender issue, you wonder whether "Al" Hoffman would get such a bad rap, but I wonder whether the same review from a "Rob" Silman would have triggered such a cocky response.
As I wrote in my own comments about this, Hoffman's tweets smacked of a (far more talented) B-list celebrity excoriating a club doorman: "Do you realize who I am?" From a darker perspective, they reminded me of the non-physical but nonetheless abusive power plays I saw as a prosecutor in domestic violence cases, intended to belittle, debase, and intimidate. (See my full comments at www.alafairburke.com/blog)
"There's still more tolerance for men behaving badly -- or, as they'd see it, airing legitimate grievances -- than there is for ladies who complain."
One of the most accurate statements I've ever heard. Thanks for putting it out there!
See Jane Devin's Profile
Excellent article, Jennifer, and I agree. The temptation to vent on Twitter and Facebook, or even our own websites, is so strong, particularly when we feel we've been unfairly criticized or in some cases attacked outright. Even in my meager position, there have been times I've had to sit on my hands to prevent myself from responding in a way that would only fuel controversy -- even though I know it would make me feel better, at least in the short term. Hoffman's recent experience should be a lesson that our passion is best saved for our work.
I'm not an Alice Hoffman fan--I think I tried reading one of her novels and put it down. So I wasn't too sympathetic to her and at first agreed that she should have endured the review in silence. Out of curiosity, however, I read the review. It was a poor review--in the sense that the reviewer told the entire story, including the ending, and removed all the mystery from the novel. So I do feel for Hoffman. It was an unfair review. That doesn't justify her petulant actions, but I do think someone should have vetted that review first.
See, I don't think it's so much what she said about the reviewer/review. She's welcome to voice her opinion, etc. I think people got so crazy about it because she posted the reviewer's phone number and email address, which is just... wrong. If she hadn't crossed that line, it might not have blown up as big as it had.
I've written about this, too.
I’m scared for today’s authors.
Our access to the internet and immediate gratification is dangerous.
We should be monitored.
(Read the rest at http://kristentsetsi.wordpress.com/2009/06/29/authors-taking-issue-with-reviews-have-my-condolences/)
This whole Hoffman debacle (and my blog, thank you very much, Irene) is just one more indicator that we will never grow tired of Gladiator-style entertainment--and who better than moderately successful authors (well, really, any creative types regardless of their level of success) to step into the ring? We adore/despise ourselves. We love/hate the attention. We crave/fear the reviews. We are mostly bipolar freaks. For all those reasons and so many more, social networking/media/blogs/internet caches will screw us every bit as much as we screw ourselves...
One thing I can't figure out is how you, Jennifer Weiner, always seem to hit the right notes. I followed your blog for years--before blogging became so very du jour. I've read your books and now this and, frankly, I just wish I could be you. As ever, your heart and honesty, wit and wisdom shine through and bring some semblance of intelligence to a seriously stupid situation.
Alexa Young
www.alexayoung.com
www.worstreviewever.com
www.alexajoysherman.com
Thank you, Jennifer, for addressing this topic with your customary wit and insight. You know you are reading a talented writer when all you can do is nod your head in agreement and say, "thank you for your words; they say what I want to say, too."
As others have said, writing exposes so much. Alice H may regret having exposed as much as she did. And yet . . . isn't that exactly the power of words? Whether in print or by tweet, doesn't language move us to explore something we hadn't thought of before? Did Alice H unintentionally do with real-life twitter what she has always done with fictional stories in her books: force us to a new realization of how we lead our lives?
That said, I must say I loath the stream of consciousness that is twitter. Good writing, in my opinion, takes time. The impulsive tweets are quick utterances without foresight or proper context.
I writer's work is like their child, their baby, criticism must be very difficult, but as Jennifer writes, it is part of the business of writing a novel and putting your work out there. Our world has become incredibly small, and many believe that those following and twittering around them are close friends, when in truth many are there just to witness the crash and burn, or the emotional tirade, sadly.
Jennifer, I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to read that review, and sure you wanted to lash out, but thankfully you had the foresight to do it on a private level.
Lessons to be learned about handling a bad situation, and doing it in a less public way. These are now lessons we must teach our youth, as my daughters look for colleges and scholarships I warn them about online content, and who they friend...............as anything can come back to you.........it's out there.
Good post Jennifer, thank you!
Alice Hoffman is one of the great writers of our time - she write rings around almost anyone alive. If the Boston Globe reviewers had any sense, they would preface any review good or bad with a shout-out to her genius. Of course, if the reviewers had sense and talent, they'd be writing the bestseller books themselves - instead they indulge in the simple pleasures of sniping at Alice H-
I'm reading "Here on Earth" - but I'm having trouble reading it, Alice - I cry every time I read a chapter - then it's back to stupid Clive Cussler books for me: fast cars, women with big endowments and megalomaniac bad guys. I know, Alice, they're total dreck... which is why I keep coming back to your incredible work. You make the language sing! Thank you thank you thank you...
As a news reporter, having my writing published is oftentimes scary. The fear is far, far outweighed by the amazing ego boost of knowing that someone likes my writing enough to publish it, but still there. The potential that someone will write a letter to the editor to say that not only does my writing suck, but that I'm tragically misinformed and potentially stupid is always there, haunting me every time I hit the "send" button to submit an article. There's a reason Catholics make their confessions in a closed off little booth, just them and their priest. Part of my job has been in developing a thick skin. Still a work in progress, that ... Unlike Alice Hoffman or Jennifer Weiner (two whose successes I dream of someday matching), I haven't had the pleasure of having a book published and then brutally torn to pieces by some stranger with alleged literary cred. But someday there I'll be, sobbing drunkenly into my husband's shoulder about the cruelty of small-minded reviewers, while he holds me back from my Facebook and Twitter accounts. And In the meantime, the joy of knowing that there are millions of other people out there, reading and enjoying my work, will - as it always does, even here in small-town Concord, California - make it all worth the risk, and more.
As a publisher, I have held authors' hands at the unfair slings and arrows heaved at their mind-children. I have only written the purveyers of the bad review twice - both times to correct factual errors only. And I do not contest the slights posted on Amazon by poltroons who cannot spell - let alone know what the book is about. Why bother giving the mouth-breathers the satisfaction?
Criticism can sting terribly, but it should be a learning experience. I wonder was Alice Hoffman not just reacting to a hometown slur, but maybe the remarks hit a little too close to home - that this wasn't her best work, and Ms. Hoffman knew it?
Jennifer Weiner makes an important point that all authors should keep in mind: not only did Alice Hoffman make a temporary fool of herself on Twitter; her comments - and the discussion of it - will live on for years on the Internet. Every time someone does a search of her, it'll be there.
Authors must remember that a) publishing is a business, and one should behave in a business-like manner and b) in a manner unlike anything previously seen in history, bad behavior has a half-life. Ware to the short-tempered and fast to press "SEND"!
Putting something you create, which is part of "you", out into the world and having it panned or scoffed at must be like someone looking at your baby/child and saying "oh my, how ugly...what made you think you could be a parent?" Wanting to "lash out" is such a human response but your point about keeping it to your intimates is a one well taken. We lose sight of the fact that social networking sites are not private or intimate, no matter how we feel about them. One of the things I've learned in this life is to take criticism in my stride...I question "who" said it, I question how valuable is that person in my life, I question how much value others will put in that person's opinion and to make myself feel better, I remember what I used to say to myself as a child, "I've been called worse things by better people". It might be childish, but it gets me through the night!
I agree.
Clearly, criticism of non-fiction writing does not seem to carry the same emotional weight as a fictional narrative, which in many ways exhibits traces, subtle and otherwise, into the deeper recesses of the author's personality.
Naturally, my own college degree included an obligatory course in creative fiction, and admittedly each and every ounce of criticism I received felt like a perpetual stab wound, as if gradually eviscorating certain components of my personality one at a time. Needless to say, moments of particularly harsh criticism bred insatiable feelings of hostility, which I vented on one occasion by modifying the original review of one of my critic's works into a less cordial variation which seemed to reflect the hostile literary tone that I myself had received. Naturally, I threw it out once the anger had subsided and a certain feeling of satisfaction had settled in.
While we're all only human, the prospect of becoming a celebrity or respected professional in a chosen field includes the additional "responsibility" of selecting each and every word carefully.
In some ways, the excessibility of the internet increases the likelihood of discovering certain gaffe's or impulsive "rantings", and, like JCSImonds said, one absent-minded click of the "Send" button is all that is needed to project a spectacle which a once authorative figure will come to regret for the rest of his/her life.
You must be logged in to comment. Log in or connect with
