Norma Beishir's Blog: Between the Lines

As an author, I pay attention to reviews—to an extent. A review in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, Booklist and other professional publications is one thing—but the customer reviews on Amazon and other sites are quite another. Which ones are valid and which should be ignored? I have a few suggestions.

Be wary of any book that gets only five-star reviews. They were likely all written by friends and/or relatives. Watch out for the “sock puppets”—reviews written under fake names, usually by authors attacking other authors. It's easier than one might think to set up bogus accounts just to take a shot at another author's work without, as one author suggested in her blog, the risk of retaliation. And definitely be on the lookout for reviews, positive or negative, that are poorly-written. These reviewers are not the best judge of a book's literary merit.

Here's an example of a rare review from a reviewer who appears to be barely able to write a grocery list. Would you buy a book on her recommendation? (I've omitted book titles and author and reviewer names in all examples except my own.)

"For a first novel that (author) wrote I think it was a great novel. It showed romance between two strangers that then learned to love each other deeply (main characters). To me (author) gave great description of each character and helped me get a perfect picture of how they looked. I enjoyed this novel very much because each chapter that I read was interesting and entertaining that helped me imagine everything that was happening like if i was there. The fact that it was double spaced made it easier for me to read and I liked that. Also even though it was short chapters it made me want to read more because (author) knows how to keep the reader hanging wanting to know what's going to happen next.I am now waiting for the second sequel of this amazing novel that I hope it is soon to come out. (Author) did an amazing job writing this book for a beginner. I hope she goes really far with her novel to show her fans the amazing author she is becoming as she goes on with her talent as a writer."

It was followed by this review. The reviewer in this instance was understandably unhappy that he'd been misled by the previous rave review....

"I have been trying to find out more about the author after receiving the book yesterday. Haven't had much luck...is this a young author?? Middle school, high school?? If a young girl wrote the book, then I understand the double spaced copy, numerous grammatical errors, misspellings, omissions, poor word usage. The dialogue and repetitive word choice leads me to believe a young person wrote the book, and if this is the case I would have had different expectations and perhaps my review would have a more positive tone. If this is the work of an adult, I am at a loss. The reviews listed were all very positive which is why I purchased the book. I can't bring myself to continue reading it and am quite disappointed. If you are looking for a mature novel, this isn't it. I have learned to be a little more skeptical of the reviews in the future when looking for my next great read."

The following review was written by someone claiming to be an English teacher. The review is for one of my all-time favorite novels, which was an international bestseller. It was so long-winded, I had to condense it to a few of the reviewer's more glaring mistakes....

"(The author) writes in a flat, unentertaining way... as though he expects his readers to be struggling with English, like an 8 year old forced to read this at school...characters are as flat, unlikeable and unbelievable as a 4 year old's superhero comic book, used as toilet paper and then unfolded to be read again. Imagine that twin daughters are *polite coughing* evil and good, in the extreme...yet their family is completely unaware of this, for decades. Imagine a wealthy playboy who goes around raping, beating, and sodomizing wealthy women... but goes unjailed, unnoticed, and undisciplined. Having difficulty imagining this? Blame (the author), who thinks you've got the intelligence of the average preschooler.

"(The author's) plots are as unbelievable as a 1950s cigarette ad claiming "not a cough in a carload". In this particular book (small spoiler alert), imagine how you'd feel after reading near the beginning that a white man and a black man in 1800s South Africa could be fairly good friends, without a hint of racism. Now break with reality again, and imagine that two people without tools could pick up enough diamonds on a beach (yep...diamons, lying around on a beach?!) in a few hours could collect enough wealth to compete against--and topple-- a millionaire who has 40 guys searching that SAME beach every day, all day, for years.

"Notice that above and below this book review are 11 pages of shills and clacquers, using !!!exclamation points!!!, CAPITAL LETTERS, catchy lines...and all giving this crappity book 10/10 stars. Clearly, Amazon has not done enough to keep out the marketing weenies who are posing as real, unbiased readers as they try to sell this steaming heap of rotting firewood to an unsuspecting audience."

This person was an English teacher?

And then there's my very own sock puppet! In spite of the reviewer's unimaginative alias, it wasn't too hard to figure out who had written it. From the nonexistent profile to the lack of any other reviews to the brilliant writing (double commas, inappropriate caps and lack of analytical observations), it has “bogus” stamped all over it!

And for the record, the photographer is not a hippie.

"Self-made billionaire meets hippie photographer in Earthquake; falls ridiculously in love, never gets the guts to tell his wife,, etc.. Oh, and the Earth is going to be destroyed by a returning asteroid,,etc..A little lame.."

Don't get me wrong. I believe every reader has the right to express his or her opinion of any book, movie, etc. But.... My question to you is this: have you ever received bad reviews written by someone who seems barely literate? Have you ever bought a book based on customer reviews? If so, do you give any credence to reviews that are full of spelling and grammatical errors?

I saw Kate walking along the shoulder of the road as I was driving to her place one afternoon. I slowed to a stop next to her. “What are you doing out here?” I called out to her.

“SUV crapped out again,” she said, turning to face me.

“Get in. I’ll take you back to get it.”

She looked at me with a little smile. “My mother told me to never get into cars with strangers--and I don’t know anybody any stranger than you,” she told me.

“Are you going to get in, or do I get out and put you in the damn vehicle?” I wanted to know.

“Try it,” she challenged playfully.

I put the car in park and started to get out. “You wouldn’t,” she laughed. She started to run.

“You leave me no choice.” I got out and caught her, scooped her up, then carried her around to the passenger side of my Land Rover. She laughed even harder as I deposited her in the vehicle.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” She continued to laugh as I pulled the seatbelt across her chest, lingering for a moment before fastening it.

Neither did I, until that moment. I’d never been the kind of man who engaged in such juvenile behavior. But now I found myself enjoying the way Kate and I played with each other. We teased, taunted, everything but what I really wanted.

The one thing I couldn’t have. Not yet, anyway.

“I told you that damn thing wasn’t going to hold up,” I said as I turned around and headed back to retrieve her SUV. “While I’m here, I’ll take you car shopping.”

She sighed heavily. “Jamie--”

“Don’t argue with me. What if this had happened late at night?” I asked.

“I can take care of myself,” she said stubbornly.

“Really?” I didn’t have any trouble overpowering you,” I reminded her.

“You didn’t overpower me,” she insisted. “I let you pick me up.”

“Oh?” I looked sideways at her, trying to keep my focus on the road ahead. “And what else would you let me do to you? Should I park here and drag you into the back seat?”

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, laughing again.

She didn’t realize I was serious.

***

After checking out the SUV, I determined that I’d need some items from an auto repair store before I could get it running well enough to take it back to her house. We drove to the nearest town to get the parts, and ended up making a stop at a local fast food restaurant.

“I’ll bet you’ve never done this before,” Kate chided me as we waited in line.

“Fast food? Actually, I have,” I said. “I take my sons out for fast food from time to time.” Liz didn’t approve. She wanted the boys to only have healthy food, but I knew what it was like to be a small boy. A guy just had to have his burger and fries from time to time.

“Hey, Katie,” the young woman behind the counter greeted her. “Who’s the hunk? New boyfriend?”

Kate laughed. “Friend, not boyfriend.”

I was flattered that a teenage girl thought I was a hunk. Most girls her age consider a man of thirty-three ancient.

“What’s wrong with you? He’s a hottie. And you two look so great together.”

I liked that even more than being called a hunk. Buoyed by the flattery, I grabbed Kate’s bottom playfully. She swatted it away. “Yeah, Katie, what’s wrong with you?” I winked at the girl behind the counter.

“If you want to keep that hand, keep it to yourself,” Kate warned in a low voice. “You may be a catch, but you’ve already been the catch of the day, remember?”

“I prefer the bait on your hook, honey.”

“Behave yourself,” she scolded.

We got our food and found a booth. Kate had chosen a rather large chicken sandwich. “If these things get any bigger, we’ll have to adapt genetically,” she predicted as she unwrapped it.

“Adapt genetically?” I didn’t get it.

“Yeah--have our genes spliced with snake genes so we can unhinge our jaws to eat.”

I was always surprised by her appetite. She was so slim, yet she put away that entire sandwich easily. “I’d weigh three hundred pounds if I weren’t so active,” she said, as if reading my mind.

I wondered if she had such a voracious appetite for all things.

I thought of Liz at dinner, eating only small, very small, portions and worrying that she’d gained an ounce and might not fit into her latest designer purchase.

Kate finished her sandwich and licked mayonnaise from her fingertips. She was driving me crazy, unaware of how erotic I found the sight of her licking her fingers. “You have a little on your face,” I told her.

“Where?” She dabbed her chin with a napkin.

“Here.” I took the napkin and gently wiped the corner of her mouth.

“Careful,” she warned with a little smile, “people will talk.”

“Let them,” I said in a low voice. “We’re in a public place, and we’re not doing anything wrong.”

Unless thinking about it counts. I’d been thinking about it a great deal.

***

I drove Kate’s old SUV back to the house, in case it broke down again. She took my black Land Rover. In spite of her insistence that she had no need for a new vehicle, she clearly enjoyed driving mine. She raced off down the highway, her arm extended through the window, waving to me.

I called her cell. “Hey, there, hot stuff. Wanna drag?” I challenged her.

“Sure. Got a chain?”

“Funny.” I hesitated, but only for a moment. “Tell you what, beautiful. Winner is the loser’s slave for, say, a weekend.”

“Hope you like the taste of dust,” she laughed.

Now, if I could only have made her old wreck go fast enough to beat my new Rover. Why hadn’t I made that bet before we switched vehicles?

I looked down and saw a CD lying on the passenger seat, then back at the road--just in time to see her swerve wildly. “Hey, what was that all about?”

“Just dodging a raccoon,” she said. “I like your ride, Randall.”

“It could be yours,” I suggested.

“Yeah, for how much?”

“I’ll give it to you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You want to buy it?”

“If the price is right.”

“I’m sure we can work something out.” She could have the Rover in the driveway if I could have her in the bed. Trouble was, I wanted her in and out of bed. I wanted all of her. But I couldn’t give her all of me. Not yet.

“See you back at the house.” She took off, disappearing on the horizon.

I picked up the CD and put it in the player, hoping that, at least, still worked. It did, and the music came on almost immediately. Natasha Bedingfield. Unwritten.

Kate and I had been together--been friends--for almost a year now, and every time I was with her, it was harder for me to leave. I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to hear her say she loved me. I wanted to make love with her. I wanted to plan a future with her and my kids. I wanted to have more kids, with Kate. I pictured a little girl with red pigtails, a tomboy who’d give her older brothers fits.

A little girl who would look like Kate, I thought. We’ll call her Kitty.

I repeat...another blog? I already have seven, including individual blogs for four of my novels--so in the interest of saving time and sanity (the latter already being in question), some of my posts here will be imported from those blogs.

It's that, or I stop writing novels and become a full-time, unpaid blogger.

I exaggerate. But it isn't easy to keep up with seven blogs--eight, with this one, and nine, including the blog I share with my collaborator and partner in crime, William Kendall (we write together as Scarlett Martin and James Morgan). I've been known to post to the wrong blog from time to time.  

I opted to self-publish my fifteenth novel, Chasing the Wind with some reluctance when I realized it was the only way I would be able to tell the story I wanted to tell. Now, I'm not only glad I did it, I wouldn't do it any other way.

You’ll notice that I’ve rated my own books. Sure, I’m biased…but please not that I did not give them all five stars! Hey, I wasn’t really satisfied with the finished product in all cases. But with conventionally-published books, the author doesn’t always have the final word, so….

This year, I'll be releasing two new novels and re-issuing my entire backlist as e-books. I hope you'll enjoy them...and my blogs!