For some unknown [likely masochistic] reason, I’ve decided to share some thoughts on the topic of the ‘reviewer,’ both as the capacity [and practice] pertains to the Arts in general, though more specifically to the craft of poetry, given the nature of this particular journal in which the article is currently appearing [if, indeed, it is appearing]. Of course, it goes without saying — though it must be said, yes? — that due to the fact you [the reader] are likely subscribed to this fine journal and are just now perusing this article, it must be considered that there exists a condition of “present company excepted” from the overall drift and tone of my following remarks. Moreover, I must also face the notion that I am, in all probability, “preaching to the converted” and/or “singing to the choir.” Fine. I’m good with that. Also chuffed that I’m finally able to employ these clichés in a manner that’s willful and to the point. And what is the point, you might well ask? Simply, to launch some random musings on a certain subject matter out into the ether, allow them to land where they may, and see if anyone responds, either yay or nay.
To begin, I’m old enough to remember when there were actual “critics” who were salaried employees in the media — mainly newspapers, magazines, though some radio. These were people who claimed some high level of expertise either through formal education and training or else via years of experience within their chosen field. The expectation was that these people, these “experts” would be able to offer varying degrees of overview or historical context, perhaps discuss a few finer points of craft, style, technique, and tools-of-the-trade; maybe provide some insight into the subject at hand based on their own knowledge and experience to say what worked or didn’t work, and give specific concrete examples as to the why and how of an artistic undertaking. In other words, share their expertise, not only in evaluating a particular piece or project, but also help to educate the public, so that said public may be able to make informed decisions as to where they might spend their valuable time and money most wisely and productively.
At some vague point in time and for whatever reason(s) [though I’m guessing financial, mainly] the axe fell. Someone decided that it was more “cost-effective” to contract out the work for cheap, knowing that there were/are a lot of starving artists out there looking to earn a few bucks and fully capable of stringing several hundred words together in a coherent package so as to fill the gap, unnoticed. Simultaneously, someone — the same someone, a different someone, several someones, who knows? — must have also decided that their audience base was not looking to be educated, they were looking to be entertained, and the word “critic” was considered a bit too esoteric and highfalutin for their needs [all of this without consulting said audience, of course, ‘cause, what did they know, cretins]. Easy enough to ship the obvious eggheads (Architecture, Art, et al) off to specialty magazines or back to the ivory towers of academia, but what to do with the more popular pursuits: music, movies, theatre, books? First, change the moniker to something less threatening, something softer, gentler, something like…what? Reviewer, for instance. Keep it light and simple, fer chrissakes; don’t bang your audience over the heads with needless theory, rhetoric, and gobbledy-gook bullshit erudition. Discuss the plot, the characters — if it’s theatre, maybe say something about the set and costumes; tread carefully around the subject of acting, stay clear of direction altogether as that’s strictly black-hole material — at most, compare the work to something else already considered popular and established (ergo, beyond refute) and that people would recognize, ie: If you enjoyed such-and-such by so-and-so, then you may also enjoy this latest offering by whomever. Or, While certainly not up to the high standard or as elegantly conceived as such-and-such by so-and-so, this work by whomever does cover similar territory in its own fashion.
Of course, as poetry is [and has generally been] an unpopular genre, with few [if any] well-known, established, and/or recognizable titles to call upon or refer to in the collective present-day consciousness [blamed, in part, perhaps, on 21st Century Disease: the [[further]] dumbing down of a nation and the slow entrancement of a society into corporate-made belief systems], AND as poetry reviews have been eliminated from many so-called literary magazines and gradually removed from the pages of most newspapers and relegated to small corners of the ethernet, AND as the Art and Craft of poetry itself has slipped further and further into a condition of flagrant autotherapy [or autoeroticism in many cases] at the hands of those who can only best be described as poetasters, AND as these same poetasters are writing a majority of the reviews — or so it appears to me, whether in popular media, or on blogs or in association newsletters or whatnot — AND since this breed of poet declares heartily that they refuse to read [never mind purchase books by] other poets fearing it will “affect” or “influence” or “interfere” with their own personal and unique “voice” — psst, hey… word of advice from a little bird: your voice is not all that unique, and you’d discover that harsh reality if you actually read a variety of other poetry, never mind that we are all influenced by outside forces all the time and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, just saying… — it’s easy to see why the caliber of reviewer has been reduced to that of opinionator, in my [humble] opinion.
What I have noticed of late, reading poetry “reviews,” is that they [the majority] fall into three categories: i) we are given an explanation [or theme] of five or six poems in the collection — which I can figure out on my own, by the way, thankyouverymuch, as the poems are not all that complex, often [even] explained by the title, so — along with a personal comment, such as: it’s a poem about a mother’s death, and who amongst us hasn’t suffered the loss of a loved one, so that we identify with, and share the loss of, said personage, along with the poet. What? Sez who? I didn’t even know the woman. Or else there’s a comment about the poet delving into a political or philosophical issue that goes about as deep as a sheet of single-ply toilet paper and about as useful. And then there’s the obligatory example of a “heartfelt” line that the reviewer considers poetic and is [instead] recognizably trite or clichéd, ie: “a sound as soothing as birdsong” [as if birdsong is always soothing… I mean, I could tell you stories… besides the plain boiled potato fact that if I encounter the word ‘birdsong’ in one more goddamn poem I may either vomit or slash my wrists…] ii) reviews of lacklustre, cliché-riddled poetry that the reviewer intends to raise to a higher literary degree by applying the poet’s personal life or beliefs or political stance to the work, so that just because the poet has suffered hardship or has an axe or an ex to grind or a flag to wave or whatever, we the readers, are supposed to forgive and/or praise the result, ignoring the shoddy craftmanship. Oh, by the way, in these instances, I blame the publishers/editors as much as the poets, for allowing the work to enter into the world in this unschooled condition in the first place. iii) [and what I believe to be the most egregious] the reviewer who attacks a collection of poems [and the poet, personally] for what ISN’T in the work. In other words, the review is used as a platform for the reviewer to talk about their own personal beliefs and attitudes, and says little, if anything, about the work itself.
You’ll notice that in each of these loose categories the bulk of discussion focuses on the content and/or themes of the poems, while very little attention is given to the actual craft of how the poems are assembled, what techniques are used, and the way words and phrases are constructed and employed to promote, enhance and bring to life said content and/or themes. The same lack occurs, of course, in most reviews these days. In fact, funnily, an example just crossed my desk, printed in The Toronto Star: “…that [earlier] prize-winning novel fit comfortably within the Canadian literary canon. At a glance it evoked books by Margaret Laurence, Alice Munro and Madeleine Thien…” Proceeding with the latest book: “[These] stories invite readers into out-of-left-field portraits — of marriage, childhood, grief, and our glum zeitgeist — that delight, provoke and entertain.” The reviewer goes on to give a short synopsis of several stories, go figure. Nowhere is there any mention of craft or calibre of writing employed to create these “thoughtful, inventive, and clever” — [what do these abstract(ed) terms even mean? as compared to what? on whose say-so?] — stories, though there are a few lines quoted meant, I suppose, to elucidate the variously plucked themes.
So it goes.
The dictionary defines “review” as: a critical appraisal of a book, play, movie, exhibition, etc., published in a newspaper or magazine. See also “critique, assessment, evaluation, judgment.” Basically, what I’m seeing is lazy, uninformed writing. As my dear old mother used to say: If I wanted your opinion, I’d’ve asked for it. As my good pal Conrad was fond of saying [cruder, I admit, though more to the point [[you remember the point, yes, as mentioned earlier in this article?]]: If you don’t have anything interesting or intelligent to say, shut the fuck up.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t expect brilliance each time in a review [from a reviewer], though I am hoping for something that resembles a modicum of thoughtful, critical analysis/appraisal, rather than something more akin to a play-by-play or an emoji.
Still, as they say, any press is good press, right? And we should [must] be pleased that anyone is writing reviews at all, given the sad state of the world.
And yet...
