Okay, having been the recipient of a review that was a little short of stellar, well, let’s face it, a hatchet job, we are always told never to respond in kind. Since I have no intention of responding to her in public, I am venting here. It’s my blog, I can say what I want. I would drown my sorrows in chocolate, but I’ve been dieting, I’ve lost fifteen pounds since the beginning of the year, and I don’t want to blow it for one stinking review. (Two, maybe…)
I thought you must have been a boy-Kerry rather than a girl-Kerry, because no girl I know writes like you do, even when we were printing our stories on lined paper with a turquoise crayon clutched in our stubby little fingers. Thank you for taking the time from your day job on the garbage truck with Red and Shorty. Are you still training to be a suicide bomber? It must have been hard squeezing in the time to read my book.
It seems no matter how qualified I have to be to write one of the damn things, your qualifications to criticize a book appear to be the education of a frog and the IQ of a rock. I thought it might have been a little cooler if you criticized the book I actually wrote, but then you can’t have everything, can you. I loved the way your review went 72 words straight without capitalization, punctuation, or coherent thought before you remembered why periods were invented. If you were trying for the ee cummings style, you missed it. He had wit. Unfortunately you’re only halfway there.
Thank you for pointing out that the heroine was a total idiot. I thought that a girl who worked her way out of a damaged childhood, found a wealthy man to love and marry, and buzzed from Nieman Marcus to the country club in a new Porsche was doing quite well for herself, better than I am anyway. But taste is in the eye of the beholder, and yours is largely in your mouth. I realize subtlety is not a virtue you value, but you might try indulging in it when you read. You can read, can’t you?
I could tell you that you missed the point, that the book reflects real life, and that love does win out in the end, that my heroine did live happily ever after, that men, whether we like it or not, do talk with “other sexy women” as you so delicately put it, about their wives, but why bother. Mother raised me never to enter a battle of wits with an unarmed person.
While it would certainly be satisfying to enjoy the tactile sensation of my thumbs on your jugular vein, we must obey the prime directive, which is to allow any lifeform, no matter how humble, to exist in its own preferred environment. It trust you’re happy in your little dung heap. Bon Appetit.
With love and a few other emotions,