The Critic

I have written previously of the Hints and Tips for writers that I hate so much. A reoccurring theme is that a writer must read, all things, good and bad. I spent my life reading, and now I’m writing. During my holidays which are sadly over, I entered a prestigious writing competition, wrote a 160 word piece of flash fiction, a story about my house, a 500 word story for another competition and a story for an Irish radio show. I also did some reading.

I finished The Black Cloud by Fred Hoyle, described by Richard Dawkins as the greatest science fiction ever written. It was OK. It begins like a science detective novel in that all problems are resolved with science, then it goes a bit soft, but the ending is impressive, it ends the only way it could and it makes rather profound statements, for example that in order to understand what I am saying you must first learn my language. Obvious yet powerful, how for example can my students understand what I am saying if they have limited vocabulary?

 I then read Old Country by Leonard Donofrio, not a book I would have chosen, but it was written by a friend and I felt obliged. I know how difficult it is to get people to read your stuff. I have family members who don’t read my blog, who are quite frankly uninterested and it seemed only right to read the works of a friend. This task was laden with obligation, what was I to do if I hated it? How insulting would it be to repeat what is done at reading groups “I liked the bit when ..”?

I read Old Country with an attitude not applied when I read Death and the Dolce Vita, The English Patient and Orlando. Why? Because they were published, they had quotes on the cover that made them good to read: recommended. All three are partly read.

Maybe I read Leonard’s book because I had to. I said I would. I didn’t have to read those that remain unread. I read Old Country in a different way: critically. Why am I not critical of published books? I saw my own mistakes in Leonard’s work, mistakes I will fix eventually if I ever manage a novel that is complete.

Everything Leonard wrote I turned back on myself, I do that, I wouldn’t do that and so on. I don’t apply these same rules to published writers and yet it is clear that I should. Reading can be an active occupation if you read as though you are giving advice.

Who am I to tell Stephen Gundle to get on with it, or Michael Ondaatje that his story appears to be going nowhere or Virginia Wolf that the poetry is pretty but the story is too ambling?

I am a writer. I'm a reader too. I may not have the sort of backing some writers have and neither does Leonard, over three evenings he took me to Italy and nearly made me cry. Yes there were faults but, there are faults everywhere.