I’m continuing to think about how I’m rating books and figured I’d try to hammer out what my system means. I’ll give what I think below, as well as a final sentence that describes how I fell about something I’ve placed in that tier that I borrowed from a Neal Stephenson book I read way back in the olden days where he compared IT professionals to Dwarves and computer scientists to Elves and so on and so forth. Whatever. It’s dumb and I’m at least somewhat aware that it’s a barely cogent thought, but I’m not quite energetic enough to go and clarify what I really mean. So read along and try to figure it out. If it doesn’t make sense, well, all you’ve lost is the time it took to read my review.
* One star books are things that I hate with such a firey hot passion that they make me believe there is a hell, and reading a one star book is what it’s like to be there. It deserves mockery, scorn, vomit and whatever else horrible you can think of to describe. This is the work of Trolls.
** Two star books also suck, but in a way that shows I found some enjoyment in it, even if it was through irony, or in a MST3K sort of way. I found I enjoyed mocking it, or how stupid it was, or how low-effort and lazy the final product ended up being. It’s bad, but you know, so is a lot of stuff, and it can sometimes be fun to revel in it. It may have love poured into it, but it’s an uncontrolled and wild kind. This is the work of Men.
*** Three star books are usually where most things I read probably fit into. It can be stuff I liked sincerely, but is severely flawed, like being beautifully written but boring, or horribly written but well plotted. I mean, mix and match all you want. Good characters, but plot hinges on people doing dumb things, or great premise, great plot, but paced badly…. Seriously, I lump most of what I read into this because that’s how most things are. I read because I enjoy reading, I enjoy reading about things. Most things people write are flawed, but I like them anyway. This the work of Dwarves.
**** Four star books are things I really, really like. Again, a lot of what I read goes here. This isn’t perfect things, but things that are well-thought out, well written, well plotted… basically, it’s like watching a modern day marvel movie. It’s going to be great, but something I may or may not feel much about a few months after it’s over. There are books I read years ago that are burned in my memory like it was seared with a cattle brand. At the time I didn’t think they were that much to think about, but I couldn’t shake them. Those aren’t four star books. I can read and read and read these, usually over and over, because I love them. But they aren’t the exemplar of human achievement. They’re simply great at what they are. This is the work of Elves.
***** Five star books are, or should be rare jewels that shine brighter than the world around them. Stuff that sticks with you. Stuff that shakes your worldview, or of your understanding of what’s possible. This is art. This is the work of Gods.
Look, I used to be a slush reader for one of those SF mags that won Hugo and Nebulas every single year. Or the stories they published did, or they both did, I don’t know. But trust me, even if you were nominally aware of the genre, you know who they are (and they were secretive about who their slush readers were, so, you know, I was sworn to secrecy, and even though I haven’t done any reading for them in a couple of years, I still won’t tell). Anyway, we were inundated with stories, month after month, they would come in, hundreds in a day sometimes. From authors with very big names, with tons of credits, and from people like me, who submitted stories there all the time (I found internal notes from one of my stories there, btw, the term “incomprehensible mess” was used to describe it. I wanted to frame that review).
What I learned, working there, is that something like 80% of what is submitted is actually good. Stuff I liked, stuff that I thought in another context could be a really good story. About 15% of stuff sucked, hard. It was political screeds or religious propaganda or murder fantasies about ex-wives. Trust me, there was messed up stuff in there. But some of it was just enthusiastic beginners with a lot of love and little craft.
But then there was this sliver of submissions that were something different altogether. Some 5% (if I’ve been keeping track of what I’ve written well enough) were things of beauty. I’d forward on to the editors and write notes like, “this is the best thing I’ve ever read” or “I’ve never seen anything like this, I can’t stand how amazing this is.”
Nothing I ever forwarded on was ever printed in the mag, by the way, but that does make me mention one other thing. Sometimes I’d get a note that said something like, “anyone that was previously attended this class, or knows this person, or mentions this topic can be forwarded on to the editors.”
That made me furious, often those were stories that fit into the 80% category I mentioned above, but they were getting shoved to the front of the line. Well, that happens with me sometimes too. I know people, and sometimes I owe them and I give them ratings I probably wouldn’t if they were strangers. What can I say. I have a flexible value system, based more of pragmatism than principal.
I do what I can so I can sleep at night, but just so you know. I also will tell a friend their ugly baby is beautiful because I know they love it, and want me to love it. I have no guilt about doing it. Sometimes I give a book praise it doesn’t deserve and I have no qualms about doing that whatsoever. So there’s that.
Oh, I don’t know the author of this book.
So, it’s, uh, good, a bit of wish fulfillment fantasy going on, if you can get past that (shlubby underachieving misunderstood bad-guy incel type gets goddess type to fall madly in love with him through his give-no-shits attitude and badass video game skills (I made that last part up) while he also saves the world), then you might genuinely love this.
Seriously, it’s got some good stuff in there. Just mixed in there with a lot of things I didn’t enjoy, or made me feel a little uneasy.