Bitter Book Bloggers Are Just Jealous Aspiring Authors
…and other arguments so dumb, they hurt.
**Warning: Angry rant ahead**
So we recently had a comment on the blog that reflected ones we’ve seen time and time again directed at us and at many other bloggers. Only usually people aren’t quite so unbelievably rude as to say it in our own space. And since we like to educate as well as entertain here on Cuddlebuggery, I wanted to take some time to discuss this issue so that people can stop embarrassing themselves in public.
Now, there are a number of aspiring authors who blog and who write book reviews. Simple facts: even just statistically speaking, almost none of us will ever get published.
And sometimes reviews get written, things get said, people get angry and a common accusation to come out is that, “You hated that book because… well, you’re just jealous that you haven’t been published yet!”
This is almost entirely as baffling and stupid as the concept of penis envy and it completely detracts from the point (and not a penis point either. I mean, first of all, penises? C’mon guys…)
Look, I’m not going to begrudge someone their coping methods, alright? If you can only sleep at night with the knowledge that I’m a bitter wannabe author disparaging great novels out of insane bouts of jealousy, then go right ahead. Cuddle up to your cock-shaped pillow (to supplement the penis envy we apparently all have) and sleep easy. There, there. It’s alright. Don’t ever leave that safe space, my friend.
However, for the sake of the rest of us, I have to point out that this accusation is just balls-to-the-wall, batshit idiocy on a level that has been known to cause critical population declines. Not unlike ignoring the safety warnings on chainsaws – you’re only really hurting yourself, but it pains the rest of us to watch you.
Even just on a logical level it fails so hard that you run this risk of Fox News becoming resentful that they’re being outclassed. After all, if we’re so jealous of books that we’re driven to near apoplectic frenzy from resentment, then wouldn’t we hate all books? Especially the really great ones? I mean, if that were the case I would be trying to punch Laini Taylor in the face. The very mention of Leigh Bardugo would put me in a self-inflicted hate coma. Jay Kristoff would likely already be dead, the poor bastard! I would not be trying to marry Veronica Rossi (I mean, I try to marry a lot of people every day – but I REALLY want to marry Veronica Rossi.)
If I was truly just taking out my impotent rage on the world because I’m not published, then nothing would be good. I wouldn’t rave about my favourites, I wouldn’t befriend awesome authors, I wouldn’t work my butt off getting out the word about amazing books that made me cry. I wouldn’t do it all for free. I wouldn’t spend five hours a day on a blog if it wasn’t out of love.
We don’t hate books because we’re jealous. I hated THAT book because, to me, it represented a lot of things wrong with the Young Adult genre. A genre that I love, that I spend a significant amount of my time promoting, reading and participating in.
Hey, it’s hard when people hate your favourite books. Man, I’ve been there. I’ve so, so, been there. But that doesn’t give you a free pass to be a dipshit. Nothing does unless you can be really funny about it, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try because my magnanimity and willingness to indulge you doesn’t go quite that far.
But, I get it. Thinking is hard for you. It hurts. Instead of leaving you to draw the obvious conclusions because, for starters, I don’t have that much faith in you, I’m going lay out the truth for you. Why, and the only reason why, I write critical reviews with lots of snark.
I do it because I am a massive, massive fan. Particularly of Young Adult literature. Authors are my rock stars. Bloggers are my best friends. I couldn’t think of anything else in the world I’d rather do. And when I hate something, more often than not, I hated it because I was just so disappointed. I want all Young Adult books to be amazing, and when they’re not, I get sad, I get frustrated, I get angry, and then I start expressing that sadness, frustration and anger on my blog. I want every YA book out there to rock my fucking socks off. I want everyone to read these amazing books and I want to be a part of spreading them around the world so that everyone can experience the awesome.
When I read a bad book, I want to talk about why I hated it – to better help people find books they’re going to love. I don’t review the way I do to hurt people. Whether I loved or hated a book – it gets my passion, my honesty and my form of expression. I think readers deserve to hear the good and bad about books, and they deserve to be treated like equals capable of making their own decisions on what to read – not sheep who must be led always in one direction, and that is toward a sale.
Speaking generally, to all people who say dumb things like this, the suggestion that a blogger’s review about a book is a direct result of, or influenced by author-envy is just as ridiculous as my suggestion that your disgust at my reviewing style is due to an abnormally large case of reviewer-jealousy. I mean, who knows? Maybe you are just jelly that you can’t review as well as me. I hope that sounds, to you, as moronic as I felt when I typed it.
And, most importantly, if that doesn’t explain things for you, then I cheerfully invite you to piss off because your opinion means exactly three fifths of sweet bugger all here unless you start paying hosting fees, motherfucker.