When Best-selling Authors Mail It In
Now that I've reviewed a dozen new titles for the New York Journal of Books, with more to come, I've had a chance to cover a range of mystery and suspense authors, from relative unknowns such as Samanta Schweblin and Terry Shames to best-sellers such as Thomas Perry, Val McDermid and Greg Hurwitz. Later this month, my review of Jonathan Kellerman's newest Alex Delaware novel, Heartbreak Hotel, will be published.
When selecting a new book for review, I begin by looking for one I think I'm going to like. Yes, it's obviously preferable to read a book you like rather than one you're going to hate, but I'm also thinking that I don't want to select a book I'm going to have to trash. I don't like writing negative reviews. I'd rather not review a book at all than criticize the product of a fellow author's blood, sweat and tears.
Which has created a dilemma I should have anticipated at the beginning, I suppose. Inevitably I selected books by well-known best-selling authors based on blurbs that sounded intriguing but just didn't pan out. I'd selected them for review and was obligated to produce something, but I've promised myself to be frank in my opinions and never to write a puff piece. So I explained what I didn't like about them.
The question that comes to mind, inevitably, is something I wrestle with not only as a reviewer but also as a reader:
Is a best-selling author obligated to put out his/her best effort every time? Or, after 30 or so novels in a series is it enough to bring out his/her beloved characters and run them through a new plot, however uninspired?
While I can imagine how difficult it must be to produce scintillating new insight after 30 novels, many "New York Times best-selling authors" are now just mailing it in. Perhaps by now they're even allowing their novels to be ghost-written. They're franchises, and their loyal readers consume their products like fast food, for the momentary pleasure they bring.
But an additional question crops up: should these best-selling authors and their publishers make any attempt at all to appeal to new readers? To grow their audiences?
If you were reading Jonathan Kellerman for the first time, for example, you wouldn't be inspired by Heartbreak Hotel to stock up on the rest of the series. It's flat and predictable, it assumes too much, and all the back story on his characters was covered at least a dozen novels ago, if not much earlier. No one wants to plod through the same old material all over again in a new book, for crying out loud. As a result, Kellerman seems to be writing in shorthand for an audience of insiders without paying much attention to the reaction of new readers.
In the end, however, who cares? The publishers pre-sell a zillion copies of these novels even before they run off the presses. The authors get their cheques, and the fan base gets another Alex Delaware or Jack Reacher or Alex Cross or Karen Pirie. That's what matters in this business.
Cynical? Realistic? Should we be satisfied with fandom, or should we expect more for our money?
What do you think?
When selecting a new book for review, I begin by looking for one I think I'm going to like. Yes, it's obviously preferable to read a book you like rather than one you're going to hate, but I'm also thinking that I don't want to select a book I'm going to have to trash. I don't like writing negative reviews. I'd rather not review a book at all than criticize the product of a fellow author's blood, sweat and tears.
Which has created a dilemma I should have anticipated at the beginning, I suppose. Inevitably I selected books by well-known best-selling authors based on blurbs that sounded intriguing but just didn't pan out. I'd selected them for review and was obligated to produce something, but I've promised myself to be frank in my opinions and never to write a puff piece. So I explained what I didn't like about them.
The question that comes to mind, inevitably, is something I wrestle with not only as a reviewer but also as a reader:
Is a best-selling author obligated to put out his/her best effort every time? Or, after 30 or so novels in a series is it enough to bring out his/her beloved characters and run them through a new plot, however uninspired?
While I can imagine how difficult it must be to produce scintillating new insight after 30 novels, many "New York Times best-selling authors" are now just mailing it in. Perhaps by now they're even allowing their novels to be ghost-written. They're franchises, and their loyal readers consume their products like fast food, for the momentary pleasure they bring.
But an additional question crops up: should these best-selling authors and their publishers make any attempt at all to appeal to new readers? To grow their audiences?
If you were reading Jonathan Kellerman for the first time, for example, you wouldn't be inspired by Heartbreak Hotel to stock up on the rest of the series. It's flat and predictable, it assumes too much, and all the back story on his characters was covered at least a dozen novels ago, if not much earlier. No one wants to plod through the same old material all over again in a new book, for crying out loud. As a result, Kellerman seems to be writing in shorthand for an audience of insiders without paying much attention to the reaction of new readers.
In the end, however, who cares? The publishers pre-sell a zillion copies of these novels even before they run off the presses. The authors get their cheques, and the fan base gets another Alex Delaware or Jack Reacher or Alex Cross or Karen Pirie. That's what matters in this business.
Cynical? Realistic? Should we be satisfied with fandom, or should we expect more for our money?
What do you think?
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Open Investigations
A blog that explores crime fiction writing and other topics of interest to both readers and authors.
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