On the Thunder and Illumination

As I sit down to write a review, I want to second James Wolcott on the possibilities of the form. His comment comes in his review of a book about the travails of reviewing, Faint Praise by Gail Pool.

Where is the swashbuckling fun, the exploding scoreboard, the whisking pirouettes? So focused is Faint Praise on institutional woes, incremental change, and improvements in quality control that it scants the virtuoso individuality that makes book reviewing a more interesting activity than, say, raking leaves. Pool appears squeamish about too much personality being injected into the reviewing format, fearing a sloppy overdose of subjectivity and exhibitionism. But if critical deportment means pouring each phrase into a measuring cup, we might as well turn in our magic kits. You wouldn't divine from this landscape survey of the literary flatlands the thunder and illumination of which book reviews are capable when the right reviewer and the right book meet head-on.

I don’t expect to contribute much thunder or illumination—the book under my review certainly didn’t—but it is worth saying: I love reviewing. It strikes me as no less interesting and demanding than any other kind of writing.*

* Okay. That’s a lie. But still . . .