The Woman Who Gamed the NYT List
It seems it is essentially an online magazine that mostly
just shares content like an independent Facebook page. The website, right now,
seems to be down, which could be due to a surge in traffic after the
controversy of Lani Sarem and Handbook for Mortals, or an
embarrassed pull by the creators. Or it may just be my computer. In any case, I
can’t say for myself exactly the intent of the site or how many novels it had
set out to publish.
Slated for the week of September 3, Handbook for Mortals knocked
Angie Thomas’ The Hate U Give off the top of the charts. Not
too shocking in itself as the New York Times Best Sellers List is a fickle
beast. It has long been accused of cherry picking its sales, especially in
regards to the surge of ebooks. People before have bought their way onto the
list, and while the New York Times attempts to fix problems with gaming the
system, even people who legitimately make it to the top ten are soon after lost
to obscurity.
However,
it is a fantastic place for marketing, having, “New York Times Best Selling
Author” on your cover garners just a little more trust for your potential
readers, not to mention simply getting your name in a place where people might
actually see it.
So
how does one get on the best seller’s list? Well, that’s not so simple. They
intentionally keep the formula secret, and it’s not entirely based on sales.
The number cited commonly today is 5,000 copies, but the truth is it’s affected
by how well your competitors are doing. It also only counts sales from certain
places, at certain frequencies, and will consider bulk buys “corporate
purchases,” so often will only consider an order under 30 books.
How
did Sarem and GeekNation do it then? Pretty overtly.
At
one point, people on Twitter began to talk about how an unknown book from an
unknown publisher with an unknown author sold enough copies of a manuscript you
all bookstores had listed as out of stock. The question went viral and bookstore
clerks commented about how a simple phone call asked, “Is this a New York Times
reported bookstore?” Under 30 copies, please!
The
calls said the books were for “events” but when the clerks pointed out that
they had no idea when the book would be delivered—as it was out of stock—the
caller wasn’t concerned. And, as it turns out, Barnes and Noble has a policy
that a book order can be returned as long as it isn’t delivered, and the books
can’t be delivered because, low and behold, they’re out of stock.
What’s
more fascinating is the cover art was directly taken from an Australian artist,
Gill Del Mace, and that the author is being cited as the leading lady in the
upcoming film. Hearsay is that the actress needed to get buzz about her script
and so wrote it as a book series. The introduction by Skye Turner proves the
script came first.
But Pajiba tells the story better. I’m not
here to rehash the strange way that Sarem’s book got to the New York Times Best
Seller. Rather, my interest falls into the concept of subjectivity and the
humorously harsh review of the beginning of Sarem’s book by author Jenny Trout.
I
have a weird love for Trout. She is, ironically, one of the bloggers to make me
strongly question my negativity. I constantly read writers’ blogs to understand
what works for me and what doesn’t, to better know when to restrict my
emotional reactions (thus avoiding an obnoxious and mean post) and when to let
them fly. Both my best and worst posts are angry rants about something, and
while I am inclined to judgmental thrashing, many times I find it unsavory and
unappealing. Sarcasm and critical thinking are good. Being closed-minded and
insulting are bad. But sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference, especially
when seeing red. To be honest, people love me best when I’m not censoring
myself and social interaction flows more readily when I’m not too concerned.
But oh, how I can make an ass out of me.
Jenny
Trout is one of the key places I struggled with that difference. She is
hilarious and interesting, her blog a great place to distract or inform
yourself, yet she can also come off as bitter and insecure on occasion. She has
both been an advocate against bullying and criticized for bullying, and I can
honestly see both being true. She often directs her readers to “injustice” and
suddenly the victim of her criticism is faced with a surge of anger from the
populace. In some cases, it has done service to an underdog, such as drawing
attention to Laura Harner’s plagiarism of Becky McGraw’s (and many other’s)
novels. But it’s the quintessential issue of vigilantism, and the reason we
have a legal system to protect people from the biased and emotional public
court. Some cases are more complex than just outright playing for numbers or
plagiarism, and so keyboard warriors can be dangerous.
I
joke that aspiring writers have to learn when to tell someone to “shut the hell
up” in a writers group because unvetted (bullying?) criticism tends to
escalate, and you don’t have to say something true to poison the minds of
others. Which doesn’t literally mean say shut up (necessarily), but that
contrary to popular belief, there are moments where you need to stand up for
yourself if you think that the person is indulging their anger, envy, or
insecurity into hyperbolic and unhelpful suggestions. If I wanted to screw over
another writer, all I would have to say is, regardless of the actual text,
“This is sexist,” and I guarantee at least one person would believe me,
tainting their view on your work.
Sarem’s
book listing is now diluted with negative reviews, most of which admitting
they’d never read it. I was curious about the actual content, given the weird
combination of both cutting corners but having the expertise to do it with precision.
The five stars all came across as pretty unreliable to me, vague and familiar,
against the “haters.” Mostly though, they really didn’t seem to tell me
anything about the book.
Those
one-stars claiming to have read the entire thing stated the writing was
atrocious, crafted like it was the first draft by a 12 year old.
I am
not remotely immune to being swayed by the opinions of my peers. Part of my
concern between being wishy-washy versus being closed-minded comes from my all
or nothing personality. Which is to say, I’m either very gullible or completely
cynical. It’s an exhausting way to live.
So
let’s be honest about the Halo Effect: an attractive cover that elicits an
emotional yearning or curiosity for more is going to be given the benefit of
the doubt. Hearing that she had conned the list but still naïve to the fact the
cover was stolen, a part of me wanted to like the book. Regardless that,
plagiarized or no, the art was not made by the author herself, when it
represented what the novel could be, Gill Del Mace’s image invoked a sense of
wonder. Plus, I like the title.
Upon
finding that Ryan Kincaid’s drawing was distinctly based off an Gill
Del Mace’s already existing painting, some of my curiosity turned
sour. This was no longer an image inspired by the book, it was another cover
created by a Google search and some Photoshop. (I mean, I do believe Kincaid
drew parts of it, and, let’s be honest, there’s been quite a few of good
artists being found out for cutting massive, plagiaristic corners. I myself
have cheated from time to time in fallible moments of frustration.)
Jenny
Trout’s criticism came in order of appearance, and initially, I found no
disagreement.
Handbook for Mortals begins with a
foreword by author Skye Turner (yeah, me neither), in which the pronunciation
of Lani Sarem’s impossibly confusing first name is cleared up.
“As an author myself,”
Holy shit, are you an author, Skye? I feel like you haven’t mentioned it yet in this forward to your friend’s book that you are supposed to be writing about your friend and her book.
Skye Turner’s introduction didn’t work for me. It did come across as a self-promotional plea in parts. On a quick search of t3h interwebz, I found that Turner was a highly trafficked (many ratings, pages likes), self-published erotica author, however, the introduction seemed more clunky and poorly written than the first few pages of the actual book. That comparison alone is worth noting because it says something about criticism, ratings, and numbers when Sarem is torn to shreds but Turner is, at least on paper, extremely successful.
When
it came to Trout’s mocking of the protagonist’s dismay at her inherent
uniqueness—“Woe is me, the object of everyone’s envy”—the blogger accurately
described the reason why characters who are written to be weird rubs me the
wrong way. Talking about something good as if it’s such a plight—including the
first person P.O.V. mentioning how beautiful the protagonist doesn’t realize
she is—doesn’t fool anyone. It’s the meta-motivation of the author eclipsing
the character’s actual inner dialogue.
Let
me tell you something about thinking you’re ugly; I recently read an
autobiographical essay by a friend of mine who describes in depth her weight
and perception of herself. She painted a picture as if she is a grotesque
monster, like Jabba the Hut, and it was incredibly painful for me to read. It
is not remotely close to how I perceive her, and we had a long discussion about
how, while that specific section is wonderful and should stay how it is, it is
also misleading to the audience and at some point in the memoir I still
strongly believe she needs to indicate that it is only her warped view of her
because it changes the story. Her portrait of herself is so convincing that the
reader would not think to question it. She is overweight, but beautiful,
bubbily, sexy, and just lures men in in a way that I don’t even think she
realizes is abnormal (and isn’t just because of her self-proclaimed
“easiness.”)
As
for someone who has heard through the walls how “beautiful” I am, that too
affects me in an non-ignorable way. I still can look in the mirror and sometimes
not like what I see, but I think, “Eh, I’m in a bad mood. I’ll be prettier
tomorrow.” Again, I’m susceptible to suggestion and highly gullible, but the
point is that Sarem describes the protagonist in attempts to paint her in the
best light, not reflect on how people actually see themselves. It is just as
Trout says, obvious and unappealing.
Jenny
Trout’s insights rang true to me at first, and accurately stated what I
normally felt about those sorts of decisions. On the other hand, something
about Trout’s mockery started to feel a little unfair too. I didn’t feel
sympathy for Lani Sarem, but I felt the criticism was exaggerating the ‘horror’
and incompetence of the painful writing.
Take,
for example, protagonist Zade’s announcement of where she’s going to start the
story…
“Instead, I’ll start on the day I
left home. It marked a turning point–a fork in the road, if you will.”
Somebody bought Lani Sarem the Trite Metaphor A Day calendar. I’m not saying it was Skye Turner, but it was probably Skye Turner. But the bold choice to tell the reader when the story starts instead of just starting the story there is probably all Sarem’s work.
It is obnoxious when framed in Trout’s view, but when I read the sample chapters later, I don’t think I would have noticed the meta-element of announcing where the story will be started. Despite that I tend to notice that sort of thing, in this case, it seems to make sense with the flow of the story. It’s a slow beginning, but not as slow as Trout implies, and there is an air of wistfulness that the writer was clearly going for, even if it is over the top.
Or
when the author explains what memory is…
“People say some memories will stick with you forever. They
burn brightly in your mind and each detail is as clear as the day it happened.
Each color, each smell, the way things felt, the way you felt–it
all pierces your mind each time you think about it. You can practically place
yourself there at that moment, as if it were happening all over again. Close
your eyes and breathe in deep and all of a sudden you are back in that time and
that place.”
Trout’s
mocking—“If you’re unfamiliar with the concept of memory, don’t
worry. The author will explain it for you. Four. Times.”—was true. However, I have
previously criticized people’s tendency to be looking for literal information
instead of allowing the emotional effect of the passage to be its intent. Which
is to say, I don’t think Sarem wrote this as a way to intellectually remind
people of what memory actually is (obviously), but to give us the sensation
that comes with reminiscing. To put us in the mood, if you will.
Does
it work? I mean, it’s a little too obvious and not enough meat for my taste—a
good passage has both ambiance and information—but this was a major point where
it felt like neither Trout and I were giving her any credit. If I had met Sarem
in a writers group and someone had talked to her the way that Trout did, I
don’t think I’d be siding with the critic.
I
don’t meant that Sarem was aware of her actions or had a masterful control over
her mood, just that every writer does something for a reason, and it would be
insane to think that Sarem even subconsciously needed to explain memory to
people. It is possible that she believed she needed to frame how her P.O.V.
character ‘could possibly remember those details specifically,’ (because there
are idiots who make criticisms like that) but I think it’s far more likely she
was trying to convey a feeling. This is important because I have often seen the
ramifications of prioritizing literal meaning over atmosphere by pedantic and
unimpressed critics. When I cut down a larger manuscript by getting rid
of “excess words,” I realized just how much of an effect that had on tone and
ambiance. I believe vehemently that anytime you’ve done something so obviously
mockable, it’s because it served another purpose. Often successfully so. It
might not be important or useful in the context, but not acknowledging it is
doing a disservice to learning.
Another
interesting example is the word “regardless.” Or rather, “irregardless.”
The
handbook says…
“That might be the worst part, knowing they actually
believe in [magic] as well but they are all just afraid to admit it. Though if they
really knew what we actually were they’d probably end up reopening the old
“burning people at the stake” idea. Something our family is quite familiar
with. Regardless, it’s been hard for me because of it.”
Wait, regardless of the fact that the townsfolk would burn
you at the stake, it’s been hard for you? Getting potentially burned at the
stake is the easy part, and regardless of that, things are still hard? Words
mean things. You can’t just go, “This sounds like a smart transition,” and slap
it on there, fully ignoring the context of the last paragraph.
Despite
the hate it gets, ‘irregardless’ is actually a colloquial term typically from
the south that does not mean regardless. It means, “I’m done
talking about this.”
I’ll
wager Sarem, from the south, went to use ‘irregardless’ as what her long
linguistic socialization told her was natural, knew the complaints of
‘irregardless,’ and quickly changed it to ‘regardless.’ Yes, this was a
mistake, and it’s not on Trout to second guess why. Should someone have caught
this in editing? Of course. The point isn’t that Sarem didn’t make a mistake,
but that this is a key problem to just dismissing people’s errors as being
their own pure stupidity and not more complex (and interesting) than that. And,
in many cases, the writer might be right and the overly literal, proverbial
witch-hunter is just wrong in her oversimplification of things. I say this
because I have had people give me similar criticism: “YOU’RE TELLING A STORY.
YOU’RE NOT JUST TALKING ABOUT STUFF!” in reference to an important albeit
boring scene and my response was, “You’re right. I’m not.” It’s easy to dismiss
being dismissive, and when you’re a young writer, having someone wrongfully
attribute why you did something loses them credibility and doesn’t help solve
the problem. Knowing why an author did something can help you come to better
solution.
Now,
Trout is being a critic here, not a constructive partner, and it is not her job
to teach Sarem, nor even the audience technically. But I bring this up because
the sensation I found as I went along through Trout’s review tied into how
constructive criticisms, even those I merely watched, go wrong… and I strongly
felt that had the book come across Trout’s awareness in another context, her
opinion and tactics might be different.
The
fact is, people perceive books differently based on what they want to see.
They
can’t deny everything. It’s not as if I’m defending Sarem’s book as unfairly
judged. But I’ve seen worse writing, and the condemnation on her has everything
to do with her actions outside of literary merit. Hell, the seemingly
successfully Skye Turner’s introduction actually had the sentence, “Soon, I
decided to take the plunge from editing other author’s [sic] books…” and she
still doesn’t have any complaints about her poor typos on Amazon in the same
way Sarem does. Are Turner’s reviews and likes gamed? Did she try the same
thing and just get more successful at it? Do her books have something so
wonderful it compensates for redundant word choice and punctuation errors?
People
who know Lani Sarem stand by her, regarding her as a genuine and fun person. I
believe she’s friendly, charming when you meet her face to face, and just
happened to be one of the people who got caught for common crimes against
literature. I feel no remorse for her, but it’s interesting to see how online
reviews and criticism are effected (or not?) by external factors.
When
I read her book, I find the isolated quotes of Trout’s insights to be less
true. Trout claimed that enjoying a storm for its ‘magical’ components was a
contradiction to the character’s normal life, but when reading it, she was
really saying she liked the rain and loud thunder. Not exactly unreasonable for
someone who feels like an outcast. Its clear simple explanations were ambiance
inspired, and while I still find the character obnoxious and nothing to phone
home about, there is a difference when hearing about a story through the lens
of someone else’s interpretation.
It’s
really not about Sarem though. I won’t lose any sleep over Trout’s review and
got a good laugh. But what if it was someone else? I can’t stand reading
negative reviews of books I adored. I doubt that I would be so amused if it
were me. This situation with Sarem’s one-stars spoke to me about the writing
world as a whole, how fickle we can all be, and how assure someone can be
defending something they want to believe.
I
don’t think Trout’s reaction to this book would have been the same had it not
the negative narrative behind it. I don’t think she would have liked it
exactly—in fact, in the most objective opinion I can get, I bet that its cover
wouldn’t have kept my interest passed the first chapter had the circumstances
been different. But I don’t think her writing is as horrible as people state,
having seen much worse in my travels, and would probably rate it no less than
three-stars for the prose and editing in the sample chapters. I know there are
other people who have messed with the system and many who would argue it’s fine
because the system is screwy. Some people believe that focusing on a beautiful
cover is trickery in itself, or fixing it for typos ruins your voice. I
adamantly believe that many of the marketing ploys aren’t inherently immoral
and anyone who fights the business side of thing is trying to shoot themselves
in the foot. Getting your name out there and learning to show the best side of
yourself is important in life, and is a totally different skillset than writing
a good book.
However,
I will say this; marketing is only one side of the coin. You can have a good
book that will die in obscurity if you don’t get the word out there, but you
can’t get the word out there and expect people to think it’s a good book.
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