One of the more fascinating aspects of online book websites is instant reader reaction. As a writer we so rarely get to hear what people really think about our books. Our relatives don’t give us the real deal. If we’re face to face with someone we seldom get the truth. (Okay, so my hairdresser gushed over Blackbird Fly last week. I’m sure she was being honest.) I’d be last to say I couldn’t learn anything new, be a better writer, and well, just write a better book. I’m so far from perfect it’s scary. Reader reviews are weird and wonderful to me.
Bravo to those readers who tell it like it is on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, the good, the bad, the typos. Sometimes of course, you wonder. Why did they pick that book to read? Was PMS involved in the writing of that review? What were their expectations? Every reader approaches a book with expectations — what the story will be like, what the reviewers said, what they read last, how the synopsis grabbed them, how their week went. Here’s a review I got recently for The Bluejay Shaman:
I enjoy Alix Thorssen, art dealer and amateur detective. I like it very much when she describes the local landscapes and makes smart observations about various characters. But-I hate the South American boyfriend, and the books have way too many crying women, all of whom need constant mothering. This whole “by a chick for chicks” plot, present in every book, is very tedious and makes me skim that part. Jack Reacher she isn’t. I would very much like to see more mysteries, but without all the clinging.
Written by man, as you may have guessed. I certainly hope men read my books. I know many who have. I’m scratching my head over this “whole ‘by a chick for chicks’ plot” though. If I, a woman, write a book about a woman it seems like there is an expectation that it would be, well, about chicks. The part about “too many crying women” made me laugh. Alix Thorssen is a stoic, not a cry-er, so I guess he means her sister, or maybe the entire women’s group, Manitou Matrix. Lots of chicks there.
Then he says: “In every book.” Does he mean he’s read all my books, or all books by chicks…? Because if he’s read all my books and still finds too many plots by and for chicks, well, he’s my hero! (And FYI: South American boyfriend doesn’t last.)
“Jack Reader she isn’t.” Talk about your expectations. If you want men’s action adventure don’t read amateur detective novels…
I have read very little Lee Child. You can read about one of my deconstruction projects of a Jack Reacher novel here. I have nothing against Jack, he just isn’t my thing. No surprise, then, that Alix Thorssen doesn’t resemble Jack. You want Jack Reacher, you read Lee Child. You want arty, landscape-loving amateur detectives, you read Lise McClendon.
The cool thing is reader reviews tell you something about the person writing them. Taste in novels is incredibly nuanced. If you’ve done your job as a writer and the review is glowing, you know you and the reviewer have similar tastes. (Because you’re not going to convince anybody to change their beliefs in a novel, especially a genre novel.) If they don’t like the book, find it “tedious” or “bland,” there’s not a whole lot you can learn about your writing but there may be something. I read all the reviews, good and bad, and try to glean something from them. Especially if several people mention the same problems. But reviewers bring their expectations. As a writer you can’t know what those are, you can only try to write the best book possible.
And don’t try to make your character Jack Reacher. Make them unique. You, minus the crying.
Tags: amateur detective, amazon, art dealer, Bluejay, book websites
one. John Haddaway McClendon, my father, would have been 91 today. I miss him, of course, and wanted to do a memory piece for him today, nearly eight years after his death. There are many things he missed these last years, college graduations, a wedding, the birth of his great-granddaughter. He would have enjoyed them all, in his quiet way. He was a shy man although life made its requirements on him and he adapted. His father was an academic and 40 when he was born. His mother died when he was 16, of cancer, which must have made a mark on him. He followed his father into university life (my grandfather, Jesse F. McClendon taught physiology to medical students at the University of Minnesota) and was above all else a student, a researcher. He graduated from high school as World War II broke out in Europe, and joined ROTC at Minnesota. After college he was in Army Intelligence (maybe that’s where I get my love of intrigue!) and spent six months learning Japanese in preparation for the invasion that never occurred. He had a lifelong love of Japan after 
spending a year there with his parents and older brother when he was 11. After the war ended he was sent to Japan for the Occupation, where he met my mother, a secretary from Texas who worked in his office. They knew each other for six months before tying the knot, and were married for 57 years.
many things, he never mentioned it. He ended up with four darling grandsons to make up for the lack of sons. They often remind me of John. They are tinkerers and thinkers, conjurers of brew, hands-on builders of stuff, outdoor adventurers, and computer whizzes — all things he loved.
My father named me Lise after a physicist he admired, Lise Meitner. An Austrian physicist, Meitner helped develop nuclear fission. The spelling is often a problem, people never know how to pronounce it (lee-za) but I will never change it. (Yes, I am still daddy’s girl.) He loved to sail, a consequence of growing up in Minnesota around all those lakes. He had a sixteen-foot sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay when we were young, and made us a little yellow bathtub sailboat with a polka dot sail to learn on. I’ll never forget sailing with him around the Bay, and the time the wind knocked the boom into him, he tumbled overboard, and lost his glasses! Fun times!
Lise McClendon
