The Case of the Robotic Reviewer, or, Four Missing Words

Occasionally one encounters, either as reader, or in one's own person, the sense that there is no point in simply saying to a published author, whether of the self-published, amateur class or otherwise, that one has enjoyed the author's works — that this is a valueless thing, because either it cannot mean anything to such a lofty and exalted being, the praise of an anonymous stranger, or it would only be a trivial feeding of the ego to receive such a thank-you note. If one cannot offer more than a simple thanks, if one cannot make deep and significant and erudite commentary, the public sentiment often goes, would it not be better to say nothing at all?

I can assure you, from personal experience, from simply having gathered up the courage to address two Hugo award winners, in person and via e-mail — the Big Name Authors and Artists also are no end thrilled to be told that their works have affected readers and viewers,  that they have in fact accomplished what they were trying to achieve, and it doesn't matter that it's some anonymous fan among the milling herd at a vast convention or posting from the far end of nowhere whom they will likely never meet. In fact, I rather got the impression that it meant more to Stephen Hickman and C. J. Cherryh that someone not of their own close circle of friends nor the established cognoscenti of sf was discovering new ideas and joys through their works. (Of course, one must always be polite and follow norms of courtesy and prudence and practicality, when dealing with icons of the field in person, especially at large and stressful situations like cons, but this is merely common sense.)

And I can also assure you (from more personal experience) that one does not need to be a professional in the field of fantasy to derive similar satisfaction from being informed that one has in fact succeeded in one's artistic aims. After all, without a response, how is one to know if one's efforts are successful, if communication has in fact been attained? It ends up being rather like the SETI project otherwise, trusting that the signal is reaching someone, and not being received in garbled form, without anything but faith to go on.

But that is ultimately peripheral to the problem I wish to bring to public attention, and that is the case of the reader who neither offers comment nor is silent. How can such a paradoxical creature be, you ask? (or not, perhaps.)  I can, alas, describe the species from field observation.

If, after reading some ten or more pages of opinion, argument, narrative or characterization, premise and prosody, a reader has no other comment to make than this, "The second 'e' in Middle-earth isn't supposed to be capitalized,"* — one may not be entirely irrational in assuming that the reader of one's work is not a sentient being, but some form of self-directing spell-checker set loose upon the internet, travelling through links, scanning each subsequent page for errors, and then reporting them back to the author of the page when an email link is provided? For surely a real reader would express at least some modicum of an opinion,  whether positive, negative, mixed, or confused?

I must admit I find it extremely frustrating to receive nothing from someone who has apparently read an essay in its entirety but the correction that Ungoliant was a vastly higher-class of demon than the Balrogs and thus presumably did not need to receive her corporeal form from Morgoth** — a real correction, which I may or may not have gotten around to fixing by the time you have read this, but nevertheless still puzzling to get out of the blue, with no other word of approbation or condemnation — particularly from such a deliberately-incendiary piece as "To The Halls Of Mandos With Them!" And there have been other instances, though none quite so dramatically non sequitur as these — which cause me to envision HAL diligently reading fanfiction and editorials on fanfiction, and quietly annotating them along the way. —Though I am doing an injustice to HAL, who displayed far more personality than the authors of said posts have done. (Perhaps the Robot of the original Lost in Space series, responding with a "That does not compute," as the grammar checker in Word does to subjunctive mode…)

—Aha! All you really want is a free plaudit, right?

—No, actually, rather not. A good long list of points, preferably interspersed with questions, of things liked is best, of course, —but equally good is a long meaty discussion of what didn't work for the reader, leading to all kinds of examinations of the effects of words and memes and different aspects of the writing craft. And no true author is not grateful for a genuine correction.

Therefore — the next time the siren song of the Rufous or Dusky Nitpick (aka Obvious or Obscure) lures you from the thickets of HTML to click the "mailto" link (either at Odd Lots, or anywhere else on the internet), before hitting "send," consider well the addition of any of these short, simple phrases:

        "I hated this, and…"[x/y/z is wrong]

        "I loved this, and…"[x/y/z is wrong]

        "This was weird, and…"[x/y/z is wrong]

        "Could be better, and…"[x/y/z is wrong]

For those for whom even this is too much human interaction, by all means please do feel free to copy-paste command whichever is most appropriate. I do recommend, however, that you select one, even at random, as the use of all four phrases simultaneously will create far more mystery than a mere dispassionate Nitpick alighting without remark.


*The infamous "second 'e' in Middle-earth" comment was lost when the series to which the review was attached was summarily deleted, but rest assured it did exist.

**This too is genuine, though I have amplified a bit from the original e-mail to what I believe the "reviewer" was trying to say.

The author occasionally writes brief thank-you notes, as well as comprehensive reviews both positive and negative — but never fails to give her own opinions, whether accompanied by the combat Nitpick or not.
 
 
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