Why I Really Should Never Ever Read Book Reviews

Have you ever noticed that there is always someone who is not happy? I could give everyone in the world free pancakes and then get hate mail the next day because one of the pancakes was burned and another one tasted like paprika. An angry group would probably threaten to shoot me, others would try to cast out pancake demons from me, and one guy would send me a picture of a bunny with a pancake on its head.

Media are similar to pancakes in this respect. I can read a fantastic book, then look it up on Amazon and catch a glimpse of a scathing review that completely disagrees with my perception of it. Then I feel like I’m a literary imbecile who would probably read any trash. I feel tempted to pore over the book searching for the terrible writing that the reviewer blathered on about. But I don’t really care.

One example is my current book, The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene, which I think is a fantastic book on physics, and quite accessible to the average reader, but upon reading reviews I discovered that apparently some people have completely different definitions of science and literature than I do (fortunately, most of the reviews were good, so I still love this book and highly recommend it).

A particularly embarrassing example is The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, which I read in nearly one sitting on my way back to school after Christmas break. It was an exhilarating read, but when I looked it up online I found that most of the reviews were not about its shoddy historical claims (seriously, people have written dozens of books “debunking” it when anyone who knows how to use a computer can, in less than a minute, find a host of factual errors from the book), but rather about how terrible the writing was. And upon further reflection, I could see why they would think that. I still kind of like it, but in a way, reading those reviews ruined the book for me.

No matter how much I personally enjoy a book, someone, somewhere, is going to vehemently disagree with me. So, I have resolved to never read a negative book review again. I might read a positive one, but only if I’m sure that the reviewer isn’t only being positive because the book is good for fuel. Because books are important to me, and I’m not going to let anyone else ruin them for me no matter how bad they think the writing is. Even if the literary world suffocates under the weight of bloated prose. So there.

I Do Beleive

I’m sure you’re probably hyperventilating right now, but don’t worry. That typo in the title was completely intentional. All shall be explained.

It is snowing today. But that is not what I am writing about. Neither does it have anything to do (as far as I can tell) with the typo in the title.

Today’s reading assignment for Western Heritage was selected pages from “The Freedom of a Christian” by Martin Luther. A simple reading assignment, however, led to an astoundingly pointless chain of events.

I had ordered a book online for a significantly lower price, but had not yet arrived in the mail. I went to the bookstore to see if I could find a used copy that was on sale, but the only copies they had were new, and almost twenty dollars. I then debated the pros and cons of buying a copy of a book that I already (sort of) owned just to use it for two days, after which I would no longer be able to return it to the bookstore, and would end up with two copies.

I decided to see if they had a copy in the library. What luck! I checked it out and read the required pages, but it was rather confusing, because the page numbers assigned didn’t delineate any logical sections of the book. I decided that it must simply be a different edition of the book.

Fortunately, I got to class ten minutes early. As soon as I walked into the sparsely populated classroom, I sensed that something was terribly wrong, and my backpack seemed to grow heavier. As my eyes fell upon the few other students who were early, I felt confusion, and then more confusion, and then pure frustration. I had read the wrong book. And I owned the correct book. I immediately turned around and headed for the dorm, which was about 10 minutes away at a comfortable pace. I passed both of my Western Heritage teachers while I was speed-walking back to my room. One of them commented with a grin that I was going the wrong way, and I said something about having forgotten my book. Little did he know (may he never read this post) that I had literally forgotten all about my book.

I only got to class a few minutes late, fortunately. Unfortunately, I came back to a quiz for which I was completely unprepared. I’m pretty sure that I didn’t get a single question right. However, one quiz will not hurt my grade too much, so I’m not terribly worried.

After class we got back a pile of our papers from last semester that had been graded. As I looked over them, I flickered between elation (Thank goodness I mentioned Plato’s rationalism!) and despair (How on earth could I write “beleive” instead of “believe”? How could I ignore my spell checker’s fervent warnings?). See, I told you I’d explain the title. Isn’t it clever how I tied it all together?

I did notice one mistake that my teacher made, however. That comma was correctly placed, thank you. I didn’t mention anything about it to him, though; somehow I get the feeling that nobody else really cares about commas.