Superlatives in Reviews

             Reef is a novel by Romesh Gunesekera. It’s a good book — in my review at the Jack London site I wrote about the strong and not-so-strong points in the characterizations and the plot, and I deemed it “an intriguing read.”

            Others were far more lavish in their praise.

            On the front cover of the paperback edition are one-word excerpts from publications; my favorites (for the purposes of this essay) are “Incandescent,” “Epic,” “Sublime.” On the inside, for two pages, we get longer excerpts (two of which use those old standbys “luminous” and “a revelation”). The novel is about a relationship; but it has, as side issues, the preparing of food and the erosion of coral reefs. The reviewers latched onto these two aspects to exercise their powers of literary invention. Some examples:

            “To enter the world of Reef is like diving underwater into shoals of glittering fish, among sculptures of living coral. Beauty is everywhere and time vanishes as you read.”

            “Gunesekera writes with a salivating irony and lip-numbing spiciness.”

            “. . . lyrically sensuous as the tropics themselves. We recline upon the littoral of the story drinking in the cocktail of metaphors and meanings, and bask in the humid sunshine of Gunesekera’s words. He has prepared a feast of language and meaning, which becomes richer and more nourishing with each mouthful.”

            Since I don’t consume mouthfuls of a novel (I’ve never actually eaten a book) I didn’t salivate at its aroma, my lips didn’t become numb at its spiciness. At no point did I lose track of time. I did not have to apply sun screen while reading Reef. Nor did I get out my scuba gear.

            Of course, the publisher wants to sell books, so such nonsense is bandied in front of the potential purchaser.

            I wonder how an author feels about such overly extravagant praise. Do they cringe in embarrassment? They should.

            We won’t find the opposite of superlatives in reviews. No novel will be deemed “nauseating” or “tedious claptrap” in The New York Times or The New Yorker. Why? — for novels that deserve a thrashing are being published all the time. Some even by Nobel Prize winners. When Toni Morrison was in her eighties she wrote God Help the Child. It was a huge mistake (it should have been called God Help the Reader). Why didn’t someone deter her — family, friends, editors? Most reviewers expressed respectful reservations, though Michiko Kakutani, arguably the nation’s top critic (winner of a Pulitzer Prize for Criticism), writing in The New York Times, called it “Powerful . . . A tale that is as forceful as it is affecting, as fierce as it is resonant.” In my review I let the book’s story line and situations speak for themselves, and the result could be considered cruel.

            The reason for the reluctance to condemn sacred cows is mainly about dollars and cents. For authors who get reviewed in prestigious venues have reputations — and are published by the top houses — so a sizable investment is involved in their success; this factor insulates them from such attacks. The rule today is: Don’t make enemies with powerful entities. And, if another author is writing a review, beware: it’s most often just an exchange of favors.

            In the beginning of this essay I wrote that Reef was a “good” book. In this age of superlatives that may seem to be weak praise. But have you had a good night’s sleep — one that was deep and refreshing, with only pleasant dreams?