The Death of the Author
Conversation over chocolates and champagne last night turned, as such things do, to Roland Barthes. brisingamen was saying that the notion of the death of the author was still a relevant idea, and I realised it was something I'd actually experienced.
This is going to be old hat to everyone who's had books published before, but I recognised that now What It Is We Do When We Read Science Fiction is out there, I as the author am in a sense dead to the book.
It's difficult to explain. All the reviews the book has attracted so far have been good, positive reviews. I've been pleased at the praise it has attracted. Yet every single one of the reviews has said at least one thing about the book that I do not recognise, that was not the book as I remember it. It's different in every review, I am not saying that they have all picked up on something that slipped my attention; no, they are interpreting things I say in ways that make perfect sense but aren't exactly what I believed I was saying. And then some other reviewer comes along and interprets the same thing exactly the way I intended, but misinterprets something else.
The thing is, no matter how carefully you say something the English language is a remarkably imprecise tool. You will always leave yourself open to interpretation. And that's what the book is for. I can do nothing further. I must simply step back and let the book carry on its conversation with the readers.
Which is, I suppose, why authors should never respond to their reviews. The author of What It Is We Do When We Read Science Fiction is dead.
This is going to be old hat to everyone who's had books published before, but I recognised that now What It Is We Do When We Read Science Fiction is out there, I as the author am in a sense dead to the book.
It's difficult to explain. All the reviews the book has attracted so far have been good, positive reviews. I've been pleased at the praise it has attracted. Yet every single one of the reviews has said at least one thing about the book that I do not recognise, that was not the book as I remember it. It's different in every review, I am not saying that they have all picked up on something that slipped my attention; no, they are interpreting things I say in ways that make perfect sense but aren't exactly what I believed I was saying. And then some other reviewer comes along and interprets the same thing exactly the way I intended, but misinterprets something else.
The thing is, no matter how carefully you say something the English language is a remarkably imprecise tool. You will always leave yourself open to interpretation. And that's what the book is for. I can do nothing further. I must simply step back and let the book carry on its conversation with the readers.
Which is, I suppose, why authors should never respond to their reviews. The author of What It Is We Do When We Read Science Fiction is dead.