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

See all of the Thick Skin installments.

Episode XXVIII: “All this vitriol over something not satisfying your desires”

Published 3/6/23
In this installment, I speak with Ray Nayler about his Times review, genre pidgeonholing, editing books based on reviews, why readers spew vitriol & more.

In this installment I'm talking with Ray Nayler, the author of the wonderful and wonderfully weird The Mountain in the Sea (MCD / FSG). A blisteringly imaginative book about humankind, consciousness, and octopuses, it was called "as entertaining as it is intellectually rigorous," by Publishers Weekly in a starred review.

You earned a lot of fans with this book—and, naturally, some haters. We'll jump into that in a minute, but first, I’d like to know: Do you read reviews? What about those on sites like Goodreads and Amazon?

I think we often categorize two rather unlike things under one word when we talk about reviews: there are reviews in which someone is paid or solicited by a magazine or website to write a professional review of a book, and then there are general readers' opinions about the book, collected on Amazon and Goodreads and other places, which are a pretty new and different thing, but we talk about with the same word. It can be a bit of a fuzzy line sometimes (where, for example, does someone's personal blog fit in?) but I sort of separate these out into two loose categories: reviews for the former and opinions for the latter. I'm not denigrating readers' opinions—just separating them out and treating them differently in my mind, giving them a different category to sit in than, say, a New York Times or Washington Post review.

That's the long set-up to a short answer: yes, I do read both reviews and opinions. I wanted The Mountain in the Sea to be a book that generates conversations about its themes, and I have engaged with a number of readers on the book who have written to me about it. I'm truly interested in what people have to say. But I don't read every review or opinion, and I check in on Amazon and Goodreads a lot less than I did in the early days, just after the book was published, when I was really interested in seeing whether this little boat would stay afloat or sink. 

Well, speaking of the Times, let's jump into it. In their review, Nicole Flattery notes, "The problems that afflict ‘The Mountain in the Sea’ are a consequence not of its premise, but of its scope and magnitude: information dumping, the occasional explanatory monologue, story lines that are only tangentially connected to the main arc, and lack the same level of interest."

What did you feel when you read this, and how do you feel about it now?

I liked the Times review overall, and I thought her line later in the review, "Nayler’s charm lies in his belief in the very human qualities of attentiveness and self-doubt. The result is a novel that is alert, intelligent, open. At a time when we are oversaturated with dystopian narratives, Nayler’s distinguishes itself by being almost devoid of cynicism." encapsulated a lot of what I feel is important to me as a writer: attentiveness, self-doubt (I would say, a high level of comfort with doubt in general), and a lack of cynicism. 

I disagree with the idea that the two other storylines in Mountain are only tangentially connected to the main story arc of the novel—part of what I think is happening there is that, when speculative fiction novels are reviewed, they seem to be reviewed more on their plot than on their themes. The thematic connection is clear from early on—the plot connection is only clear later. I would wager that if this were an entirely "mainstream" novel, the three storylines would not be read as disconnected in this way. But because it straddles a kind of border between a few genres, the book opens itself up to criticisms like this. But she's not at all alone in feeling this way: it's a common enough criticism. Some readers really do not like multiple points of view, and the connection between these three arcs only becomes apparent toward the end of the book, which I absolutely knew would frustrate some readers. But I felt it was the way the story I was trying to tell needed to be shaped. I still feel that way. 

I'll take the "information dumping" one on the chin. This is a novel in which the main character is a scientist, often talking to her colleagues about the complexities of the issues she is dealing with. I think it's rare these days for this to happen in a book, but I'm unapologetic here: this is a book about the hard science difficulties of attempting to communicate with another sapient species that has achieved symbolic communication. The protagonist is a marine biologist specialized in cephalopod communications. The book deals with dense problems—problems of embodiment, umwelt, culture, etc.—directly, rather than just hand-waving them away. Scientists talk science when they are problem solving, and that happens a good deal here. Inevitably, some people will feel those conversations are information dumping. I think they look that way, but are consistent with how science is actually done in a team setting. 

What I was really grateful for in the Times review was the level of real engagement with the book. Nicole Flattery came away with a clear understanding of the book's themes, which she articulated very well. It was an incisive review. 

You seem to have achieved some nirvana-like state. I wonder if you are always this calm when it comes to negative criticism. When you initially read the Times review, how did you feel physically and emotionally? Did you not need some time to digest it? 

I'm being very honest when I say that, when it comes to the Times review, I was very happy with it. I thought the criticisms were balanced and respectful—they fall under the category, for me, of a legitimate difference of opinion about how a book should do what it does. I was happy to even be reviewed in the Times at all—to get a largely positive review, with some legitimate criticism, made me very happy. I've been writing short stories for a long time, as well as poetry and other genres: you throw those out into a void. You're lucky if you hear anything at all about what people get from reading them. The wonderful thing about Mountain has been that it is actually getting noticed, getting read. 

That doesn't mean that bad reviews don't hurt: certainly the ones that are shaped by their authors to be hurtful or insulting do their work. We all know how to hurt another person, and I would guess I'm about as vulnerable to that kind of thing as anyone else.

It does occur to me, though, that I might have a thicker skin than some because of my background. I was a Peace Corps volunteer in Turkmenistan, and afterwards lived in Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Vietnam, Azerbaijan, and Kosovo. I spent twenty years living outside of the United States most of the time. I've learned a number of languages, and speak Russian with decent fluency—well enough, anyway, to have read War and Peace in the original, and to do some Russian to English translation. My wife is a Russian speaker, and our daughter is bilingual, so I use the language every day. 

One thing I got used to, learning other languages and living in other cultures, is the feeling of embarrassment. You can't be perfect in a new language. You make continuous mistakes, and while most people are very kind about them, not all are. I had a taxi driver in Turkmenistan tell me I speak Russian like a dog. I used to hate going to a certain convenience store in Kazakhstan because the women who worked there would laugh at me when I spoke Russian—just laugh right in my face. 

No negative criticism can quite compete with some of those visceral low points in human communication I reached as a foreigner, a stranger with no friends in a new and sometimes hostile place. I'll always remember my cheeks burning (I really didn't know this dead metaphor was a real thing until that moment) with shame, tears in my eyes, shuffling home on the icy Almaty sidewalk after having been mocked while trying to buy a bit of food.

Let's cut to your review in 4Columns, which was mixed, like the Times review, with the good alongside the bad. A bit of the latter: "It is a difficult thing, though, to take the filmy, incidental feeling of faddy interest and make of it something rich and colored-in, deep and dimensional, more lasting and compelling than a viral video. I’m not convinced that Nayler’s attempt fully achieves that. Just like the 'point-fives,' who inevitably give up their verisimilitude if you try to engage too deeply with them in conversation, the hologram of his writing starts to glitch if you read too closely. The same figures of speech are repeated ad nauseam: the ocean’s waves ceaselessly 'sibilate.' Metaphors are forever getting mixed: 'spiderwebs' of cables 'snake' across buildings. Violent imagery (of which there is no short supply) is expressed in terms so curious as to become funny: a night sky lit up by deadly explosions is a bizarrely anodyne 'pumpkin' color."

What did you feel when you read this? Do you think she brings up valid points?

I agreed with this one less, and one big problem I had with it was that I felt like the writer was trying so very hard to write in some kind of slick, sinuous style that she gave up a good deal of accuracy. I also disagreed with—first of all—the insinuation that I was trying to attach myself to some kind of commercial fad, which was absolutely not the case—and second, with the idea that the book lacked thematic depth, or came to an easy solution. It does not, it did not. 

There were some dehumanizing things done here, like comparing me to an algorithm, etc. (in a different part of the review), and I found the way she spoke about me to be dismissive and insulting.

But in fact, this review was helpful: I tightened up a few things for the paperback edition based on this (she was right about that one mixed metaphor, for example), so I think in the end, she did me a favor, and some of the criticism was legitimate. 

So, the short answer is—yes, where the review was insulting, I felt insulted. I doubt there are many people who don't feel insulted when someone is directly insulting them. But I also took a few useful things from the review, which I think made the book better (though on balance perhaps no one would notice but me.)

I also think 4Columns is a cool concept. I didn't know they existed before, and after this review I started to read some more of their stuff.

Interesting! I haven't heard of many writers changing their books because of reviews. I have a hunch that you’re especially receptive to feedback from editors, agents, et al. Do you think that's true?

I think I am receptive to feedback in general. I am always looking to improve my writing. I have an enormous amount of respect for the professional opinions of editors and agents. When it comes from my editors, and my agent, I've probably taken about 95% of the feedback I was given—in general, I've worked with really excellent editors, and my agent is fantastic, and their suggestions have been very helpful. When we have disagreed, which is rarely, they have always acquiesced to my opinion—in the end, as they will say, it's my book. 

Beyond that, I have a great respect for readers. My writing, after all, is for them. Reading is a communicative act between two people: the writer and the reader, and I take that concept seriously. If I see a review or an opinion in which someone did not understand something in the way I intended, I'll go back and look at the text and try to determine whether I was sufficiently clear—whether there was something I could have done differently, or better. Sometimes there is. Sometimes there isn't—it can also be that the story was not read in good faith, or the reader brought something of their own into the story that disrupted the process of communication. Those things happen. 

But in general, I'll take anything I think can improve the end result: the well-expressed story on the page. Even if it's delivered in a bad-faith, hurtful, or adversarial way, it can turn out to be useful to me, and make me a better writer. 

You’re coming to this with a lot of reverence for the reader, and I'm curious how you react (emotionally, physically) when you see something like the following, from Goodreads:

How to make a book about homicidal octopuses suck (sorry):
1. Recap every available octopus video (have you seen that one of the octopus walking across tidepools? changing color as it dreams? So has Ray Nayler!) and recent octopus book.
2. Make all your characters vehicles for plot, synopses of aforementioned octopus facts, or philosophizing about sentience and semiotics.
3. Write like a stuffed shirt: ponderously, humorlessly, and with an inflated sense of your own profundity.

Well, it goes back to what I was saying before: it's insulting, and so of course I feel insulted. Emotionally? I don't know—what emotions does feeling insulted break down into? Anger, maybe? Some sadness? I know that my main concern, when I see something like this, is that it will taint someone else's opinion before they have the ability to decide on the book for themselves. That it will poison other people against the book, which is exactly what it is designed to do. 

Reading this, I also feel a bit sorry for this person. For whatever reason, this book completely bounced off this reader's atmosphere, which is fine. But honestly, it seems like a really strange reaction to have—to not like something so much that you feel compelled to insult and belittle its creator in a public venue. The book was clearly so offensive to them, somehow, that they felt entitled to an ad hominem attack, to calling me names, to doing that purposefully irritating teacherly thing where someone refers to you by your first and last name, etc. All this vitriol over something not satisfying your desires.

But isn't that how our society, or at least a certain part of it, is structured? This kind of review is so common on Goodreads—people rolling grenades into the tents of every author whose work they don't like. If I see something like this, I go and read a one-star review of Shakespeare's Macbeth or Homer's Odyssey. It's restorative. There's someone out there who hates you waiting for absolutely everyone. They'll even drag you when you've been dead for centuries.

Actually, you're not the first author who's said that when they read a bad review of their book they look at one-star reviews of classics.

Given it's such a universal response, this has to say something quite substantive about humanity, doesn't it? My knee-jerk reflex is to think that this is like the brutal opinions we unleash on celebrities, which we justify with the fact that they choose to put themselves out there. Likewise, doesn't publishing a book, in some way, assert superiority, and therefore a willingness for criticism and attack?

Maybe I don't fit into the projected "we" here. I don't think celebrities are deserving of ridicule in general. I'm not sure what's meant by celebrity, but let's take an actor—someone of substance and talent, like Woody Harrelson (he's just someone who comes to mind). I don't think because they are an actor they are deserving of ridicule. And I'm not so sure publishing a book is an assertion of superiority over anyone. I don't feel superior to other people. Not at all. This seems like a very adversarial view of the world, and I don't think I share it. 

But maybe the key is that by "putting themselves out there" celebrities become a kind of token in cultural exchange, a non-person who can be attacked because they are now abstract and can be used to represent other things or concepts. You become "public" in a way—a character in someone's own personal narrative. Or if you are very famous, maybe you become a character in a larger narrative, like Albert Einstein, or JFK. A complex symbol to which many things adhere.

I think there is a general public hunger—perhaps you disagree?—to take down those at the top. Similarly, I think authors, by being public creators, welcome criticism. If not this, what could be the impetus behind such seething negative reviews?

I would imagine that some of it has to do with the format of these sites, and social media in general: you are given the ability not just to dislike something, but to actually do it damage—and to do so both publicly and anonymously, which makes it very rewarding, and removes the consequences. I imagine it feels very empowering for the people who engage in it, otherwise they would not invest the time in it. Personally, if I say something cruel about a person, I am afflicted by a deep sense of guilt and remorse. 

I don't know about this desire to take down people at the top. It's not something I feel—I don't feel a sense of glee when another person is damaged or destroyed. I don't like watching other people's lives fall apart. But it does seem to be a strong undercurrent in society, yes. Or at least in the popular culture we are fed for profit. 

No, perhaps you don't go around giving nasty reviews on Goodreads, but some people do. Actually, I've found that the less nasty reviews can be even more devastating, as there’s no intent to do harm. What is your reaction to this review? 

I'm not sure what it was but I really didn't enjoy this

It kinda felt like it was trying to be to clever for the sake of clever. I understand the 5 stars but for me it was only a 2 stars very sadly 

I love that one! It's so honest. The book is so "high concept", and I totally understand how it could come off this way.

You've been a great sport, Ray, and I'll let you off here, but I do have one last question. Up until now, we've been discussing the criticism of strangers, and I'm curious: What is your experience in getting feedback from people you know, whether it's family, friends, or other writers?

Thank you, Andrew. This was fun. 

I think feedback from family and friends is always touchy. I've tried to firewall my family off from my work, and I never talk about my writing with them. I don't really invite them to read anything, but they sometimes do. I have no idea what most of them think of it. 

My wife, on the other hand, is my main beta reader, and I have real faith in her judgment. She's an ideal reader for me—if she likes it, I feel like it's on the right track. If she says something is wrong, it definitely is. 

My dad is the most laconic person I know. I asked him what he thought of The Mountain in the Sea. He said, "It's good." I was happy.