May 18, 2016 
Miriam 
So, our next office book club book is a bestselling first novel that a publisher paid a lot of money for and that has gotten the kind of publicity most authors can only dream about (and wake up weeping once reality sets in). I’m not going to mention what it is because (a) we haven’t discussed it yet, and (b) I don’t want to prejudice you if you’re currently reading or about to read it (I know, I know, that’s never stopped me before, but I’m trying to turn over a new leaf).
Anyway, the issue I have with this book is that it’s…fine. It’s okay. It’s readable. It’s pleasant. It’s 20 pages of interesting and I can stop and not pick it up again for days. What it isn’t is unforgettable and unputdownable. There’s nothing objectionable about this novel—the writing is nice, descriptive, clean, the characters are fleshed out, believable, the premise is a good one….Zzzzzz. I just don’t find myself thinking about any of it five minutes after I’ve put it down. And, honestly, I routinely forget to pick it back up.
When this kind of thing happens with a book as massively hyped as this one, I always wonder what’s wrong with me as a reader and then, because I’m judgy and have the power of my convictions, what’s wrong with all the other readers. And therein lies the biggest issue we have as agents—we’re first and foremost readers. And, as anyone who considers him/herself a reader knows, you can objectively see the good in a published work, but you can’t make yourself love it or even care about it if you just don’t.
Which accounts for how a DGLM agent (whose identity I will not reveal so as not to expose him to public shaming—we’ve all already shamed him in-house) passed on a first novel that went on to sell for a cool half million dollars with movie rights following for seven figures. Turns out, he didn’t think it was all that. And we’ve all been there.
All of this is by way of saying, yet again, that when you get a rejection letter from an agent or publisher with the cliched “I didn’t fall in love,” trust that they’re actually telling you the truth. You should not take that as a sign that you must give up your dreams of literary success. It just means that you need to find that one person who does fall in love or at least in enough like to get you a big honking advance and a Netflix series deal.
What are you reading and feeling “meh” about?
I must admit, The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend did not grab me, even though it was a NYT bestseller. It was very nice and sweet, but it just didn’t stick with me. Too frothy, I think.
A close friend hit the big time like that and I feel pretty meh about his book, which makes me feel quite disloyal. I’ve looked hard at it to make sure it wasn’t jealousy and it’s definitely not (the pressure he’s now under is something I never, ever want to face!). That said, I always seem to love the books other people think are just “pretty good” or 3 stars and am 3 stars about the ones people love. This is reassuring when people don’t love my books because I’m able to keep it all in perspective.
I agree, Lynn, I think “stickiness” is a big factor. If something stays with you after you’ve put it down, it’s done its job–even if there are problems.
And, yes, one of the best and worst things about our business is how subjective it is. Our arguments about books here are legendary and there’s a lot of shade throwing at our colleagues’ taste when it doesn’t mesh with our own.
James Ellroy. I jus\’t don\’t see what it is that keeps his readers coming back. I bought Perfidia when it came out, got it in an exclusive hardback and settled down to read. 100 pages in, I was baffled. The book itself just didn\’t work for me, and his clunky style was totally jarring. I bought The Black Dahlia, thinking that if I tried an older novel of his, the experience might be more positive. It wasn\’t. I am sure there are people out there who consider him an absolute genius. I, on the other hand, find him unreadable. But his books have millions of fans, and he\’s very successful.The bugger.Tony
Most recently, Attwood\\’s The Heart Goes Last. I feel like a heretic.
Hey Miriam,
So here’s a question…..
Speaking for anyone who’s suffered similar hangups and worries: If a rejection does say “I didn’t fall in love with it”, can we take this as shorthand for “Hey, look, it’s OK, you know. I’m not picking out errors every third paragraph, and I ain’t strained an eyeball through exasperation, or tutted myself hoarse. Maybe hold off 6 month open-page surgery until you’ve got a coupla hundred rejections? Cos, you know, you’re likely to kill the patient…”?
And more importantly, is there shorthand for “Dude, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see this. Go. Clean. Now!”?
Reason being I think there’s a deep dark fear (Especially for people of a certain psychological make-up) that “I didn’t fall in love with it” can mean both “Almost” and “Thank, no thanks. And two of those words I didn’t really mean” – like a truthful filling in polite sandwich…..and holding that duality of meaning can be toxic.
So do you differentiate between the two, even subtly, in your replies depending on how far from “Oooo” your “Meh…” is??
That’s a really good point, Hillsy. In fact, it can be both, but you can parse clues from the letter you get back. If an agent took the time to send something other than a quick form letter, that means they actually spent a bit more time with your work. If they offer even a kernel of feedback as to why it didn’t work for them, that means they probably wanted it to work for them. And, if they tell you they’d like to see either a revised version of what you sent them or something new, that means that they like your work, but this particular one just didn’t do it for them. Does this help?
Miriam,
Thanks for replying. I suppose that does help a little – and I guess if writers were to get organised (HA!) they could post form letters for the various agents somewhere so they could decipher which “I just didn’t love it” it is….
…..Is that a typical agent procedure where (time permitting) should the work require immediate editorial evisceration, it’s a form letter, and a matter of taste/style gets something a little more bespoke?
You know it’d be a lot easier if you slipped in a keyword, like ‘badger’ or something, to let the author know “it’s not you, it’s me”. So to speak. Like…
…”It made me as rageful as a Dire Badger Barbarian that I couldn’t love this work, so I’ll regretably have to pass.”
…see. Simples…hehe
I will endeavor to use Badger in all the “you almost had me” rejections from now on.
Awesome – I sooooo wanna see that first badger rejection. In black and white of course……
…..I’ll get me coat….
Always use this test, old lad: Does it entertain Me; Would I spend money to read this? And don’t forget Miriam just told us about one of her customs officials who kicked a chest of padparascha sapphires and thumb-sized emeralds off the end of the pier because he didn’t like the silk they were wrapped in, and the merchant who offered them didn’t weep, worry, bargain or offer to revise anything; he just hoisted the John B. sail for another port and history was made. (And his stuff might not be a whole better than yours) May God reward the Faithful by his example….
This whole thread makes me smile – the cheesy kind with too many teeth. Hillsy, if your voice is half as entertaining as your responses, I would buy your work.Also, The Heart Goes Last was ruined for me by the chicken scene in the prison. No big girl pants big enough.