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

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Episode XXV: “So vitriolic and pedantic that it gave me the creeps”

Published 2/15/22
In this installment, I speak with Mark Prins. Topics include his controversial ending (no spoilers), spoilers, Tartt comparisons, an odd use of “nonconsensual,” fact-checking readers, vitriol & more.

Today I’m talking with Mark Prins, whose debut The Latinist (W. W. Norton) came out in January. For the Washington Post, Maureen Corrigan called it "ingenious" and "a superb literary suspense novel" and "an inventive wedding of the elegant and the barbaric." Publishers Weekly also loved the book, noting, "Prins’s riveting tale of love, power, and possession matches deep characterization with an intriguing plot."

But alas, not all reviewers (and readers) agreed. Before we jump into the nitty gritty, I'd like to know if you're the sort to read every review—whether they're by professionals, or readers on sites like Goodreads and Amazon.

Thank you for that intro! I read all the pre-publication reviews that came through on Goodreads and Amazon, but I’ve been reading those less since publication. So far, I’ve read all the professional reviews. 

So let's start with what must be the first (or one of the first) reviews you received, in Kirkus. What starts as a generally positive review / summary ends with: "The novel’s subdued but pronounced feminist undertones suddenly morph into distasteful and implausible revenge porn that leaves a nasty aftertaste as the plot is hastily wrapped up. Ninety percent of a smart, twisty thriller, but the finale just doesn’t work."

How did you feel when you first read this? Was it in fact the first review you read?

I think this was the second one, after Publishers Weekly, so I was at least fortified by that positive review. The funny thing is, I remember this review saying so many nice things about the novel that its response to the ending didn't really sting. I mean, I always knew the end was going to be controversial and some readers were not going to like it, but I also knew I wanted my novel to shift towards classical myth and away from the quiet world of academia as it progressed.

I had a variety of motives for ending the book the way I did, but I mention the influence of classical myth because the ending is actually pretty tame, from a "revenge porn" perspective, if you've read even just sections of the Metamorphoses. Ovid is a storyteller I respect deeply, and because the novel is interested in revenge stories like those of Actaeon, Philomela, and Medea—which I imagine this reviewer would also consider distasteful revenge porn—the criticism felt more like a revelation of aesthetic differences than a negative value judgment. 

That said, while I wasn't trying to write a direct feminist recasting of the Apollo and Daphne myth, it did sadden me a bit that the feminist undertones seemed to have been working for the reader up until that moment. Overall, though, I mainly just appreciated that the reviewer had clearly read the book carefully and in good faith.

Oh, how I'd love to put the Metamorphoses through today's review cycle.

Were there any readers (editors, friends) who agreed with this reviewer?

The ending is different from how I originally wrote it—but not substantially.

There were earlier readers who had a similar—though not as strong—reaction to the original version. But there was an equal if not greater number who thought the ending was the best part of the book, and that fascinates me to this day. 

So much of the novel is about the reception of literature, and at the heart of that field seems to be the question: what is happening when different people read the same words and have different reactions? In this case: what about smart people from the same era having polar opposite ones? And then I wonder, is the like/dislike binary even the most valuable prism through which to think about reader reaction? I guess it is for reviews. 

Ultimately, though, my editor and I believed strongly in Chris and Tessa's motives as well as the aesthetic choices the novel makes at the end. I think it's important to remember, also, that Tessa doesn't yet know as much about Chris as the reader does. He shows a very different face to the world. 

I do think most reviewers have to align with a like/dislike spectrum, though, of course, many of the best engage with the work without giving superlative judgments either way.

Speaking of the end, I'm curious what you thought about what the the Star Tribune wrote. Your reviewer there, Sharmila Mukherjee, had less of a moral opposition to it as much as a technical one: "But then he stretches further the chase into a finale that, unfortunately, falls flat ... Inexplicably, the ending collapses into contempt for the characters. Tessa now engages in kinky sex with Chris. Perhaps Prins' intention is to capture the murky area of consent and choice, but it comes off as farcical. By a bizarre turn of events, Chris ends up in a vegetative state akin to Daphne's fate in the myth."

I also wonder if you think this was a bit of a ... spoiler?

Of course I disagree that there's "contempt for the characters." So much of the second half of the book is about Tessa understanding what power and ambition mean to her, and she's not the type to hold back in that exploration. I found the term "inexplicable" a bit surprising because the "kinky sex" was meant to be an exploration of the central themes of power and control in the novel, as well as Chris's mistaken notion of love, and I personally think the term "kinky" is subjective. But again the criticism was tempered by my pleasure that a stranger had said my fiction was "engrossing" and "absorbing." 

The only thing that bothered me was, as you mentioned, the spoilers. The people who love the ending often cite the element of surprise. I made a number of painstaking decisions that preserved that element. The reviewer even wrote earlier "I won't give away how Prins ..." so it felt like the spoilers were made in bad faith.

The reason spoiler warnings exist is because many people don't like having key plot elements revealed to them without their permission. She could easily have referred to the ending obliquely. It felt like the reviewer was exploring the murky area of consent and choice for readers of both The Latinist and the Star Tribune. 

Perhaps the reviewer was going meta all along...

One other piece noted a confusion of motive. From the Washington Independent Review of Books:

"The greatest weakness in the book is the inconsistent portrayals of the main characters. Tessa and Chris are given backstories designed to help readers understand them and sympathize with some of their behavior. Still, their motivations often remain unclear. Tessa is an especially confusing mix of extreme timidity and extreme aggression. Although sure she is deserving of a top place in her field, she nonetheless cowers in closets before major presentations, only to come out swinging in ways that are sometimes inappropriate. At other times, she inexplicably continues to trust Chris and give him the benefit of the doubt, even after he confesses to atrocious behavior."

I have a feeling how you reacted to this—and I myself balk at such easy psychology—but I have to ask: What do you think?

In my experience, high achieving people vacillate constantly between self-confidence and self-doubt—to an extreme in both. This duality is related to impostor syndrome, and both are very real. I personally give my best presentations when I'm totally overcome with nerves beforehand—like cowering on the floor—so the criticism about the A/V closet was kind of baffling. That said, I do think there's a fair criticism in there of Tessa's continued trust of Chris. That was a very tough needle to thread, and are there moments the book didn't pull it off as well as I wanted it to? Yes, definitely. 

Yes, hard agree on the point of vacillations between self-confidence and self-doubt.

Before we move on to reader reviews, I want to ask about something that appeared in many of the positive reviews—and even in the marketing material for the book: comparisons to Donna Tartt's The Secret History. For a book featuring academia, the classics, power, and sadism (and one called, of course, The Latinist) it's unavoidable. But I wonder how you feel about the reference, both when you were writing it (Are you a fan? Did it come to mind?) and now.

I realized at some point during the draft that the comparison would probably happen, for the reasons you mention. I think people were already asking if my book was like The Secret History when I described it to them. I'm a fan of Donna Tartt's and would probably kill for the amount of talent she has in her left pinkie, plus I quite like that book, so it's a comparison I welcome. I do think The Latinist is probably a closer cousin to A.S. Byatt's Possession, and that book did influence me to some extent, more so than The Secret History.

Well, on that note, let's dive into the Goodreads reviews, the first of which brings up Tartt, but ... in a different way: "This book is the nonconsensual love child of Dan Brown and Donna Tartt."

How do you feel about this? Do you see any semblance between your writing and Brown's?

I remember reading this one because it was one of the first Goodreads reviews. To be honest I laughed out loud. I used to write one sentence plot summaries of every short story I read, things like "Daredevils sell out & die," "Young failure loves a waitress, wins a feral cat," "Bereaved man seeks handjobs." The brevity and rhythm kind of amused me.

As for the content of the review, I really have no idea what it means. Like, what is "nonconsensual" in this context? And also, aside from that opaque descriptor, doesn't the review sound like a compliment? It definitely doesn't strike me as a one-star, given how beloved both of those writers are.

I will say, though, that I personally haven't read more than 10 pages of Dan Brown (The Da Vinci Code), because stylistically his writing is just not for me. Maybe the reviewer shares that aversion? I've been told that the archeological sequences in The Latinist resemble some of the swashbuckling, puzzle-solving adventures of a Dan Brown novel, but other than that I don't see the likeness. 

Yes, the term "nonconsensual" here took me to another dimension. One in which, I guess, each work of art exists as an autonomous being. Sounds nice.

Anyway, onwards. I wonder if this struck a nerve: "On offence to Classical scholars, to Oxford, and to good writing in general. Let's ask people who know nothing about a topic to stop writing about that topic, shall we?"

She's making you out to be a bit of a dilettante, no? Was that ever a fear of yours?

I mean, compared to her I probably do know very little about real Classical scholars at Oxford. I spent a year there as an undergrad and I don't have an advanced degree in Classics. I'm a writer of fiction. She seemed very perturbed that I'd made up names for the exams—"none of this crap exists!" True, it's fiction. 

The thread did point out some copy mistakes that will be fixed in the next edition, and I can see how those would irk someone who (I think) is in the Classics at Oxford. But at the same time, the thread's tone was so vitriolic and pedantic that it gave me the creeps. To give you an idea, this reviewer's "peak" was reached with the novel's placement of a certain codex of Metamorphoses in Florence, which, she says, a simple Google search would have shown me is in Venice. The funny thing is, she was actually wrong about this. I was reading the thread like, am I crazy? The Codex Marcianus Florentinus 225 actually IS in Florence ... but do we really need to go down this path? Honestly I felt kind of bad because I'd like the book to be palatable to Oxford classicists, and I've heard from numerous classicists in the US who've loved it. I did a fair amount of research to bring the archeology and poetry and landscapes alive, and I tried, when I could, to make those elements plausible.

Ultimately The Latinist is a work of fiction, and whether it succeeds or fails as a novel depends (thank god) on factors beyond its raw verisimilitude quotient. The thread's outrage felt a little out of proportion—over some details that were fair game, but many others that were purposefully fictionalized or Americanized or just innocent copy mistakes. Hopefully we can all be friends.

I don't want to linger on this one reaction to the book—it seems you have had time enough with it already—but I am curious about something. I myself have had people react in, as you say, a vitriolic and pedantic manner to errors they perceive in my book's verisimilitude. I have my own theories but I wonder why you think this is? Why is it that we desperately need fiction to align seamlessly with its source material—and when that doesn't happen, it provokes such a passionate response?

I imagine we could discuss this for hours if only because there are so many different ways fiction—even realist fiction—can deviate productively or unproductively from source material. But I think the response happens because people don't like to feel exploited. They don't like facets of their identity to be exploited (which can include a landscape they love or a vocation they've chosen). And sometimes, they also want to flaunt their own knowledge in the process. These are all things I empathize with and experience myself. 

I think the vitriol, though, mainly comes from the internet. I think the internet enables rage by abstracting, and thus dehumanizing, its object. But that's also a bigger conversation.

You've somehow summed up all of online vitriol so articulately I want to make this my Twitter bio.

And speaking of vitriol, this, from Amazon: “ ‘He often sprinkled his speech with Americanisms in her presence.’ I dunno, man. guy went to oxford, has a degree from Iowa grad and he doesn't realize the syntax of this is all f'ed up? ‘In her presence he often sprinkled his speech with Americanisms,’ it MUST read. I've spotted a few other freshmany kinds of gaffs; and after ten or so pages, a number of the sentences sound wooden and forced. you may say it's quibbling, me pointing out the one syntactical faux pas; I say he needed a better editor. at bloody Norton, no less. couple more of THESE sorts of solecisms, and I PUNT. am rooting for any old(ish) oxonian whose novel's set in college, no less, but I have little patience for suchlike contortions. snargeily yours, rosemarie."

You mentioned the editing a moment ago, that perhaps there will be updates in the next edition. I wonder if this was particularly painful and/or annoying?

You're getting all the early ones when I was most raw and vulnerable. I hope this means they've cooled off since I stopped reading. 

Is it really MUST? I think this is so strict it ignores the realities of style. But maybe I need to revisit my whole approach to the English language—I am still learning rules of syntax that I didn't know I didn't know. I do recall looking at this reviewer's profile and noticing that she'd switched her brand from all 5 star to all 1 star reviews at some point about a year ago. A bit of a provocateur. I think she was just looking for material. Also I can't tell, does she call me "old" at the end? I may have bad knees but I'm not that old!

Yes, actually, I think she's calling you old. I'm sorry, I don't know your age but you look perfectly in the prime of your life.

So you've handled this interview with aplomb, honesty and good humor, and I'll let you off here. But as my last question, I want to know if you think you're generally good at receiving criticism and/or feedback—as in, in the other areas of your life.

Oxford old is old indeed. Thank you!

I hope I can give an objective opinion. I'm definitely not great at receiving crit from other drivers when I'm on the road, but I think I'm reasonable in my professional and personal relationships. Overall, I do try to see things from the other perspective, but I'm also kind of stubborn, which I share with my characters Tessa and Chris.