Thick Skin is an interview series featuring authors talking about negative reviews, from critics and (anonymous) readers alike

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Episode XXIII: “I was excitedly screenshotting until I got to the final few paragraphs when I was like ah. Delete, delete, delete.”

Published 9/30/21
In this installment, I speak with Virginia Feito. Topics include her most negative review, comparisons to other writers, her biggest bugaboo & more.

Today I'm talking to Virginia Feito. Her debut novel Mrs. March (Liveright) came out just a few weeks before this interview, and so all of what we discuss is guaranteed to be fresh—a blessing and a curse. The book got top marks from the New York Times Book Review, who said, quite alluringly, "readers may find themselves tempted to return to the beginning in order to understand just what Feito has so convincingly managed to achieve within her accomplished debut." Actress Elisabeth Moss, who will soon play the titular part in the film adaptation, said that she "read Virginia’s novel in one sitting."

So: congratulations! I'm impressed you said yes to this interview, given the reviews are still coming in. I'm curious how frequently you've been reading reviews and how you come across them? Are you the type to manically refresh Google, or do you set self-control guardrails?

I read ALL OF THE REVIEWS. Before the book came out, readers would review (in a torturously slow trickle) advance reading copies on Goodreads, NetGalley, etc., and I would check them compulsively. Once the book came out, I stopped reading those. I have, however, now learned to use the Twitter search bar. Compulsively.

I think it's less impressive of me to do this interview precisely because the reviews are still coming in; I'm still new at this and I'm so excited anyone is talking about me and my work at all I can't even stand myself.

Why did you stop reading the Goodreads etc. reviews once the book came out?

Who can say? Maybe because I got busier, maybe instinctively due to self preservation. I do tend to go about life replacing some obsessive compulsions with others.

Well, we'll get to Goodreads in a bit. But first: the professional stuff. I first came across the book from The Economist, of all places (I love their book coverage, actually). The review was positive overall, but I did find this line: “Occasionally the story flags and the language is sometimes overwrought (snow falls ‘thoughtfully’; an apartment is ‘salivating and alert in its stillness’).”

My hope is that you haven't actually read this review yourself, and we can get a first reaction. Is that so? Do you think the criticism is fair?

Of course I read that review! I went searching for this issue (to keep as a souvenir) at kiosks and train stations like a crazy person. Funnily, my dad, who has subscribed to The Economist for decades, warned me beforehand: "they will always throw a couple of more critical points towards the end.”

But I was thrilled with this review! And they are right—the pacing of the story isn't for everyone, and although I will die on this hill claiming snow does indeed fall thoughtfully, the language is overwrought. Sometimes it’s like chill it with the similes, Virginia. It’s the only way I know right now of communicating what’s in my head, though. And then I believe the New York Times review said the writing was economical and the descriptions spare, which goes to show how absolutely subjective this is.

You seem to be quite level headed then, though it was a small jab in a largely positive review. Let's talk about your most negative review, which I believe is from Publishers Weekly, and which ends: "Though the suspense remains high up to the horrific final surprise, much of this woman-pushed-to-the-brink-of-madness story feels familiar, and if not for some contemporary references, Mrs. March’s breakdown could be occurring in a Henry James drawing room. One looks forward to Feito training her clearly considerable talents on fresher material next time around." 

What was your first impression upon reading that?

​​Listen, if this is my most negative review, I can thank my lucky stars. It’s even wrapped in compliments! But I fear I’m starting to sound frighteningly sanguine, so I will say I felt a little disappointed with myself when I read that; I certainly don’t want to be churning out unoriginal, derivative work. Upon further thinking, however, I’ve come to the conclusion that I disagree. Although Mrs. March does feel somewhat familiar (it's meant to), I don’t think Henry James would combine the drawing room action with descriptions of a maggot-ridden vagina. 

I have to ask: Did you find a professional review more negative than that? 

What you wrote makes me curious about something I've seen in quite a few positive reviews, something that seems to happen with writers who lean more into style: the comparison to other writers. In your case, specifically: Shirley Jackson, Daphne du Maurier, Patricia Highsmith, and other dark, female, sinister, (sort-of-)gothic writers.

Do you welcome such comparisons? Were you influenced by any of the above?

Not sure if it was more negative or on par, but I recently came across a review in the Washington Post, which I was excitedly screenshotting until I got to the final few paragraphs when I was like ah. Delete, delete, delete.

I absolutely welcome comparisons to other writers (the egotistical dream being that one day an author might be compared to me). I think it’s especially useful for us debut authors, to give an approximate sense of our style, tone, etc. to potential readers. These writers I’ve been compared to have been huge, god-like influences on my writing and it’s an honor to be mentioned alongside them. Although, of course, readers might feel cheated once they read my book and realize it isn’t a classic masterpiece. But it will be too late by then! They will have spent their money on my book and I’ll have fled to Cuba.

Ah, you’re not the first writer I spoke to who found a blessing in a paywall. That review ended: “We don’t have to like or love protagonists, but we should care about their fate, good or bad. The second Mrs. de Winter also started out pathetic and weak, but we cheered for her by the time Manderley burned to the ground. Readers might feel less charitable about Mrs. March.”

This is in reference to Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, and this is the other side of the comparison coin. First of all, do you think that criticism is fair? Secondly, do you think these comparisons (many readers seem to have them in their head before they even start, potentially because of marketing) can detract from the reading experience?

I don’t agree the second Mrs. de Winter is an unlikeable character. She’s gauche and vulnerable, but inherently good, and humble, and I think most of us cheer for her from the beginning. And I definitely don’t agree we don’t care about the fate of unlikeable characters—exhibit a: Succession—but I kind of love the suggestion that Mrs. March is just too unlikeable. Like it would be in bad taste to care about her. It makes me feel badass. As a reader, I would certainly be intrigued after that review. 

As for detracting from the reading experience: ultimately, I think readers make up their own mind about what they’re reading, marketing or preconceived notions notwithstanding. So many factors can affect a reader’s particular experience of a book, many of them external, there is no way to know how they’ll react. It’s actually fascinating. I’m rambling now.

So you seem to be virtually impervious. Is that so, or are you just good at brushing things off? I read that you used to work in advertising. Having gone through that grind myself, I know how quickly you have to adapt to taking feedback. Do you think that has anything to do with it?

I’m actually crying in a fetal position on my bathroom floor as I type this. No, but seriously, I’m generally extremely sensitive, but getting upset over a couple of slightly critical sentences when my debut novel has had such an amazing reception overall just feels bratty.

Advertising was one crushing feedback after another, that’s true, but ultimately it wasn’t my baby that was being judged. I didn’t care as much. 

I did learn from a very early age that if you criticize yourself first, and harshly, nobody else will. And if they do, it won’t hurt as much. Self-deprecating humor as a defense mechanism is what comes from growing up with two older brothers. 

That said, if all I read all day were negative reviews I would probably set myself on fire.

I see your point. You're right, your book has received largely positive reviews, and you can't really ask for much more.

Let's switch gears and talk about reader reviews. You said you really only read them before the book came out. A slightly odd request, but: Based on the ones you read, what would you say are the most common gripes about Mrs. March? 

The most recurrent complaints have to be the character of Mrs. March being too unlikeable, the pace of the book being too slow, the fact that it’s hard to categorize it in terms of genre. And many readers seemed very upset about the hazy time period.

Or maybe I’m subconsciously selecting the ones I find more palatable, because honestly these sound like the best reasons ever for my book to be disliked. Of course there is always a slap in the face like “the writing is terrible”, but many seem to be about how the book is just too weird. 

Yes, I did read quite a few comments that were confused about the time period. Are you able to clarify? I have my own assumptions, but am curious to hear it straight from you.

Although there are some intentional hints throughout—microwaves and Rubik’s cubes and references to contemporary restaurants—the time period is definitely meant to be blurry, like a fairy tale of sorts. Mrs. March herself seems to be living in the past, and the old-fashioned tone and style of the novel is almost like a mocking reflection of her preoccupations and mannerisms. At the same time I wanted readers to question which of these themes or worries are passé, because a lot of them (questions of identity, of reputation, of appearances) still feel relevant today. 

This is all just a very elaborate way of saying I’m not going to reveal when the book is set because I’m a sociopath. 

I have a theory that there's a word or two that every writer hates to see connected to their book. "Unlikable" and "slow" and "confusing" are obviously not your bugaboos; I wonder what is? Perhaps "boring"? (One reader: "It got to be so boring, I didn't finish it which is extremely rare for me". Another: "I found this book so boring, and I did not care about any of the characters." A third, who also said "Virginia Feito's can definitely write.": "Tedious and boring.")

Admittedly, “boring” isn’t great (although unsurprising, I suppose, coming from those who found it slow). I’m definitely not a fan of “unoriginal.” I’d rather my work be boring and original than fun and unoriginal. I also read a reader’s review once that said the book lacked depth. That stung. So maybe my triggering adjectives include “vacuous”, “superficial”, etc.

Do you think your reaction to those specific criticisms comes from the fact the book is quite stylistic? (And the old saw pitting it against substance?) Or is it because you've found inspiration in many of the writers you have (rightly) been compared to? 

Yeah, probably both of these things. And also the fear of just being a dilettante who, just because she read Dickens at a precocious age, thinks she’s super deep and original with her little stylistic devices but is in fact only a cardboard cutout of a writer. Great hair, though. 

Ha, OK. You've been a good sport in every way, and I'll let you go soon. But first I want to know about the type of criticism that does turn you on your head. How much has the feedback of friends, your agent, and editors impacted the development of Mrs. March?

I refused to tell friends and family anything about the book until the very end, because I find that talking a lot about an idea will make me less excited to then write it. Like the magic is gone, or something. I especially avoided sharing anything with my partner, because he's so brilliant and creative I didn't want to end up feeling like all the good ideas were his. My wonderful agent very respectfully, very politely (probably gently gauging my reaction to feedback) taught me to make a sentence the best it can possibly be. It's a habit now, where I'll be reading a book and modifying sentences in my head to see if they could sound better. I was afraid (still am) he would realize I was untalented and fire me, so reading his feedback was terrifying. He gave me some excellent notes, as did my editors. My Liveright editor, for example, suggested the sex scene.

At the beginning I'd feel like I HAD to take every single suggestion, until I realized they were just that—suggestions. So when I felt confident I could just say NO, I felt so safe and comfortable I was probably way more receptive to feedback than I would ordinarily be. Jesus, I've had such a supportive, reassuring team, I'm getting a little teary-eyed at present. I feel like I should now make a very inappropriate joke to balance it out. Something scatological.

Just the thing to close us out. Thank you for your candor, Virginia.

Thank YOU. This was surprisingly profound (maybe I do lack depth).