FOR REVIEW PURPOSES ONLY: Tangled in a Leash

(NOTE: Well if I feel tomorrow, like I feel today/I’m gonna pack my suitcase, and make my getaway/Lord I’m troubled, I’m all worried in mind/And I’m never vein’ satisfied, and I just can’t keep from cryin’)

Book publishing has a private vocabulary ready to confuse the neophyte and reprehensible non-reader. Typeface, gutter margin, price point, leading, co-op advertising, remainders, spine width, deckle-edged, laid finish, perfect binding, case bound, signature, and blad are tossed around editorial offices like so many Nerf footballs during Super Bowl season. One term welcomed by bookseller and book reviewer alike is “arc,” or advance review copy, also known as bound galleys or prepublication copy. Receiving an arc means you can effectively shill for the forthcoming book without demanding payment.

Before a book is printed, the manuscript goes through developmental editing (not a lot of fun), copyediting (writer embarrassment over simple grammatical and spelling errors makes this less than fun), and proofreading (what is fun?). This is given to the designer for his or her expertise in using the right typeface and page layout. An arc is made of the book just before the last, final, all-right-I’ve-had-it pass at proofreading.

ALLOWED ERRORS

Arcs usually appear within three months of the book’s planned release so booksellers have time to decide how many copies to order and the many kinds of media can reserve space for reviews. They arrive from the publisher’s marketing and publicity department or the tender, caring hands of the local sales representative, and are stacked tall at trade shows like Book Expo America. Ads on book-centered web sites also offer arcs to regular readers through contests. The index might be missing, the table of contents scattered with double zeros instead of appropriate page numbers, and anything else sure to be in the finished book but not quite ready is marked with “TK,” meaning “to come,” or, in the case of photographs and other graphics, marked “FPO,” or “for position only.” Even with the TK and FPO, the arc is very close to what a generous, kind, and altruistic book buyer can expect.

Early quotes from writers possessing high name recognition shout about the book’s virtues on the front and back cover, and the opening pages. These are by friends of the writer or editor, and based on an earlier version of the manuscript before becoming the bound pages ready to read. Some are sincere, others not so, much like the information about marketing and publicity. Yeah, right, a first-time writer on an eighteen-city tour? Tell me another bedtime story.

REVIEWING REVIEWS

Arcs are never for sale. They are free as nature intended, following the example of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’s dictum, “Property is theft.” Arcs are traded and argued over like regular books without having to bother with the original purchaser. The only arcs with value in the antiquarian trade are those graced with the writer’s signature. A bookstore selling unsigned arcs will soon go out of business, as it should.

Posting a review of an arc for any online site is a favor to the writer and publisher. Reviews are the reader taking dictation as the book speaks to him or her. Unless a book is wildly inaccurate and you have a professional’s knowledge of the subject, writing a review to tear down a book is the dumbest expenditure of time outside of alphabetizing your DVD collection by the key grip’s name.

SUBJECTIVE OBJECT

Reviews may try to be objective, but all reviews, especially book reviews, are subjective. What other readers want to know is how the book affected you so they can make an informed decision before buying. Read critically, praise where praise is due, and let the potential reader know of any problems you encountered with the book. Honesty and passion, including an articulate argument in favor or against, make for the best reviews. The finished review should be devoid of rancor and full of the joy coming from encountering a new book.

LOOK OVER HERE

Hershel Budwort, 65, was arrested early Tuesday morning for soliciting first-time writers to sit on their haunches and read The Dog Walked Down the Street: An Outspoken Guide for Writers Who Want to Publish (Cypress House, $13.95). Charged with operating a retail outlet without a license, bad skin, and failure to remit, Budwort claimed that he had collected state and city tax and was “keeping the money until the government came and got me.” Two city police officers brought Budwort into custody without the use of handcuffs or truncheons. “Heck,” said Officer Tentrick, “This is the best book for new writers to learn the dark secrets of writing and publishing. I mean, really, no one should break the law and buy a copy from a sleazy street dealer. Registered dispensaries known as independent bookstores are in every state of the union. I logged on to www.indiebound.com for my nearest store and met a good-looking clerk who is also a fan of the book. We have a coffee date next Thursday.” This could be you. A cheer makes a loud noise.

NEXT: Ear Cropping for Smaller Breeds

POINTING AT VIEWS: Another Flea Means More Ointment

(NOTE: Drill your holes and stand in line/‘till the shift boss comes to tell you/You must drill her out on top/Can’t you feel the rock dust in your lungs?/It’ll cut down a miner when he is still young/Two years and the silicosis takes hold/And I feel like I’m dying from mining for gold)

Any perspective besides your own is suspect. What seems rational to one person can infuriate or confuse another, like when the Nobel Peace Prize committee sticks a bare-chested, former KGB agent on its short list of contenders just days before he decides to pull a Czechoslovakia on the Ukraine. From the perspective of those above the age of three with a vague knowledge of international politics, their choice is stupid. From the committee’s perspective, he appears to be a likely candidate. Who is right depends on whether invasion is seen as a hindrance or a sparkling addition to the resume.

Call it what you will—point of view, perspective, voice—every story is told by a central narrator, identified by how he or she sees the characters move through events and conflicts. The narrator is there to help the reader navigate the rocks and rills of a story to its end. Without the narrator, the story blunders lost through the fog to the cliff’s edge and jumps.

FIRST IN LINE

First person tells a story through the use of the personal pronoun, “I.” The reader assumes the role of the narrator, taking possession of the story. They are invited to feel and react as the storyteller. Though nothing beats the immediacy of the first person, it also has drawbacks. The narrator only knows what is in front of him or her, and nothing about the underlying motivations of the other characters. “I” can also be annoying when overused. Too many personal pronouns come off as self-conscious when confidence is necessary to move the story along. Writing in first person is harder than it appears, but this point of view is used in genre fiction (especially detective and thrillers) and some of the best in literary fiction, like Oracle Night by Paul Auster (Henry Holt, 2003).

SECOND FOR A MOMENT

Second person only works in short doses, and if you think the novel you are working on should be in the second person, best of luck. The second person knows nothing except action and reaction. Readers are left out. You sit in a chair and open a book. In the first paragraph on the first page, the reader is addressed as “you,” like you are expected to mimic the actions to come. You really don’t want to on account of the main character being nothing like you and you are not responsible for his or her problems. You see where this is going? Jay McInerney used the second person in his Bright Lights, Big City (Random House, 1984), and you know how well his career has gone since then, Bolivian Marching Powder or not. You have reached the end of this paragraph with the hope the next one will be better.

THIRD PLUS

The third-person omniscient narrator knows all, sees all, has access to the hidden parts of a character, and can flip between characters without confusion or apology. This narrator knows everything in the context of the story, and the reader is free to pick the character they most identify with. Still, the third person keeps a distance from the reader, never taking a stand on the ensuing conflicts. This is where “free indirect discourse,” also known as style indirect libre, comes into play. The narrator is allowed the occasional entrance to the story in a synthesis of first and third person. One of the best examples of free indirect discourse is Stendahl’s The Red and the Black. Yes, it’s an old nineteenth century novel and he used discourse to get out of a couple of censorship problems, but there are many lessons to be learned in its pages about how to break down the division between reader and story.

Whatever point of view a writer decides to use, make sure it is appropriate to the story. John Irving was ready to hand in his manuscript for Until I Find You (Random House, 2005) to his publisher when one last reading showed the first-person voice as wrong, and he had only weeks to rewrite the novel in the third person. Be warned.

TRUCKLOADS OF FUN

Big eighteen-wheelers are double-parked on your favorite streets and thoroughfares, packed to the ceiling with The Dog Walked Down the Street: An Outspoken Guide for Writers Who Want to Publish (Cypress House, $13.95). The only book you will ever need about writing and publishing is such a resounding success that only heavy freight can keep up with the demand. Meet famous tri-state truckers outside your local independent bookstore by logging on www.indiebound.com for the nearest one. Clerks wearing back support belts in spring colors will sell you a copy fresh out of the box. Weary travelers nap separately.

NEXT: Tangled in a Leash