Do-Your-Own Amazon Reviews: Don’t

Another author just got caught posting 5 star reviews of his own books and trashing the books of other writers on Amazon. He’s certainly not the first, and he won’t be the last, but it still stuns me every time.

There’s no way I could write a review of my own book like this guy did of his:

Shortlisted for the Barry Award for Best British Crime Fiction 2008, also shortlisted for the Quebec Booksellers’ Prize, the 813 Trophy, the Europeen Du Point, and then Winner of the Inaugural Prix Roman Noir Nouvel Observateur (up against James Lee Burke, Don Winslow, Carl Hiaasen and Dennis Lehane), this is a modern masterpiece.

I don’t need to really say anything about the plot of this book. All I will say is that there are paragraphs and chapters that just stopped me dead in my tracks. Some of it was chilling, some of it raced along, some of it was poetic and langorous and had to be read twice and three times to really appreciate the depth of the prose…it really is a magnificent book.

Ignore all dissentors and naysayers, this book is not trying to be anything other than a great story, brilliantly told. Just buy it, read it, and make up your own mind. Whatever else it might do, it will touch your soul.

Honest to god, you can write that about your own book? I think my books are great, but if I were reviewing them, I’d be forced to say things like, “Unfortunately, Faking It begins in the wrong place, giving us an entire unnecessary scene before the story starts,” or “The inclusion of the dog in Welcome to Temptation seems arbitrary, especially as Crusie appears to forget he exists for the last three-quarters of the book,” or “Maybe This Time might have been stronger had Crusie emphasized the romance more in the first half of the book,” or . . .

Well, you get the idea.

Maybe if I used his self-review as an example:

Shortlisted for the longest-past-deadline novel in the history of St. Martin’s Press, Lavender’s Blue is a modern miracle since nobody ever thought the author would finish, the author included.

I don’t need to really say anything about the plot of this book. All I will say is that there are paragraphs and chapters that just stopped the author dead in her tracks because she had no clue where to go from there. Some of it was funny, some of it raced along, some of it was so incoherent that it had to be read twice and three times for an even vague understanding of the prose…it really is a troubled book.

Ignore all defenders and apologists, this book is not trying to be anything other than a finished story, finally told. Just buy it, read it, and make up your own mind. Whatever else it might do, it will touch your wallet.

So another reason why I don’t write my Amazon reviews is that I’d be no good at it.

But if that wasn’t enough, I also wouldn’t do it because I couldn’t live with myself. I do have to sleep at night. Even if I didn’t get caught, the guilt would haunt me until I finally went back to Amazon and posted “You know that glowing review by Artemesia Smith? I wrote that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m a lousy lousy person, I’m really, really sorry.”

The sad thing is, his book already had hundreds of five star reviews. it’s evidently a great book. And yet he felt the need to add to the praise it had legitimately garnered while trashing those he saw as competitors. I always find it odd when people like that write good books. Shouldn’t their lack of values, of human empathy, make them awful writers? But evidently not, when you think how many of the great writers like Robert Frost and Ernest Hemingway were sons of bitches.

Even so, I feel secure in thinking that Bob and Ernie would never stoop this low.