I remain unconvinced by your blurb
I'll judge all I want.
…if it contains the phrase “compulsively readable.”
Working at the used-book counter of a major independent bookseller, I see more mass-market paperback mysteries and thrillers than your grandparents’ garage sale, and every other one has a blurb proclaiming the book “compulsively readable.” Don’t feel superior yet: A lot of so-called literary fiction has the same endorsement. Even putting aside the basic absurdity of this description (“readable”? why not “legible”? or “in English”?), it should also be obvious that when this many people use the same phrase in the same way, it doesn’t mean that the phrase is apt. It means it’s pre-fab and lazy.
…if your name is Stephen King or Richard Russo.
I don’t necessarily think either of them has bad taste, but they are both blurb whores. Check the next “serious” literary powerhouse that debuts in the top 10; one of their names will be on the back of the jacket. You know that friend who likes every movie? If you don’t, it’s you, and your recommendations are meaningless.
…if it appears verbatim on several books.
I’m thinking specifically of all the Clive Barker books I read in high school, every one of which had this blurb on the front cover: “I have seen the future of horror, and his name is Clive Barker.” Stephen King again. But you can’t blame him: Whatever context this was said/written in, it clearly wasn’t meant as a ringing endorsement of every book Barker published until the end of time.
…if you are not affiliated with the literary world in any way.
Is this snotty? Elitist? I don’t really care. What PR person thought potential readers of Holiday Reinhorn’s collection Big Cats would be swayed by a blurb from Siegfried and Roy?
Big cats we know about. We also know about big imagination, big talent, and the ability to entertain. Holiday Reinhorn has all these things, plus a really big heart.
I do love that it’s attributed to “Siegfried and Roy,” as if they said it in heavily-accented unison.
…if it’s way too clever.
They already have a pun in mind, and mold their opinions to fit it. The blurb ends up telling you nothing about the book, and everything about the reviewer’s narcissism. The Boston Globe on Alice Munro’s Runaway: “She outjoices Joyce and checkmates Chekhov.” What in the name of hell does this mean? “Outjoices” isn’t even a fucking word.
…if it’s just a summary.
On the front cover of Steven Johnson’s Everything Bad Is Good for You, a book so poorly-argued that I had my comp students read it as an example of how not to write, there appears this quote from Malcolm Gladwell in The New Yorker:
Wonderfully entertaining. Steven Johnson proposes that what is making us smarter is precisely what we thought was making us dumber: popular culture.
“Wonderfully entertaining” is strange praise for a piece of argumentation, since it doesn’t address the argument at all. And the second sentence isn’t an endorsement, because it’s not even an opinion. It’s just a one-sentence summary of what the book says, with no judgment either way. You see this on novels with blurbs proclaiming “[Character's name] is back!” Can’t argue with that.
…if the opinion therein has nothing to do with quality.
From Slate: “The Girl Who Played with Fire will likely confirm Larsson’s position as the most successful crime novelist in the world.” Well, thanks for the sales-figure prediction. Do you have anything to add about the book itself? Books by people like Dick Francis always have blurbs like this, too: “Sure to please fans!” Should everyone else just not bother?
…if I can’t even tell what the praise is supposed to be.
My favorite blurb of all time is one I saw attributed to the New York Times on an old copy of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead:
This is the only novel of ideas written by an American woman that I can recall.
There you have it: As far as this particular vague categorization goes, and as far as the reviewer can remember, this is the only example written by an American woman.
But is it compulsively readable?
Tags: blurbs, siegfried and roy
Breathtaking.
The pages seem to turn themselves.
Do they do that on a kindle?
Superlative.
Incomparable.
I always appreciate blurbless books, because then you know that no one was even willing to attach their name and cliche to the project.
When did “clever” become pejorative?
“TOO clever” is the pejorative. Too anything is a pejorative.
On top of which, I would contend that “checkmates Chekhov” isn’t clever so much as trying sooo hard to be clever.
I’ve always hated that Munro blurb too.
I like Roy Blount’s blurb for Paris Trout: I put it down once to wipe off the sweat.