Bill, it has been a pleasure reading these posts. I've had five different kinds of review myself, in the following categories :<br>
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1. Enjoyed the book (Amazon. I like these ones. I must write more of them.)<br>
2. Enjoyed the book, but it was wrong in certain key aspects. (Amazon. Don't mind these.)<br>
3. The author should be burned for his disregard...etc.<br>
(Amazon.) These are the most interesting, in a way. Sometimes, they are a blatant attempt to show what the reviewer knows about the subject. Some are so vicious it beggars belief. I have written reviews of books I liked, but never about books I hated. What, exactly, is the point? I do not believe reviewers in this category really feel such a brotherhood that they are compelled to warn unsuspecting potential buyers of the evils of a book. The level of vitriol undermines the case, at least for me.<br>
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4. One completely unique review that satirized my writing style with agonising skill and still managed to be funny. Whoever wrote it was clever enough to be forgiven all. I reproduce it here from Amazon:<br>
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"Reviewer: Nigri Libri from Sparta<br>
(an excerpt from the last book in the series)<br>
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Julius stabbed an iron hard, but wry, glance at the glowering heavens as he paused a moment on the very marble steps that climbed stiffly towards the tumultuously bronze doors of the senate house. Around him the crowd stood in awed chattering as they beheld the man who was almost a god to them.<br>
‘Lo!’ Said one wizened crone, who wore the years on her back like old rags. ‘A king is come amongst us. Lo!’<br>
The tossing tumult all but drowned out her frail voice. But Julius, with his perfectly tuned, and turned, ear picked out the thin cry and turned sternly towards her. He nodded. ‘Hullo to you too, old mother.’<br>
At his side Brutus forced a grin at his childhood friend’s bon mot. ‘Nice one, Julius. Wish I’d said it.’<br>
‘You will Brutus, you will.’<br>
His friend clapped him on the shoulder and propelled Julius up the steps. The dictator frowned loftily at his friend’s alacrity. ‘What’s up? We’re not late.’<br>
‘No.’ Brutus smiled, and continued under his breath, ‘but you will be…’<br>
Senators, clad in the whitest raiment, clustered round in apparent worshipping supplication and Julius waved at the airily as he strode, manfully, inside the senate house. Suddenly, and without warning, a small party of ferocious faced foemen stood in the dictator’s path, mouths twisted into expressions of feral rage and shifty envy. Julius felt a spike of fear poke through his stomach, pierce his spine, and zip back round to take him painfully in the rear.<br>
‘What’s this?’ He said with icy pose. ‘A welcoming committee?’<br>
‘Get him!’ Snarled Casca, a curmudgeonly, conceited, constipated coward of a man. The small mob lurched forward, brandishing daggers. For an instant Julius felt a tremor of fear before the long years of training under Renius – the toughest gladiator in the world – kicked in and he crouched in a fighting posture, toes curled up, their wickedly sharpened nails ready to make terrible rents in his the soft, over-indulged flesh of his enemies.<br>
‘Ave at you!’ He bellowed in wry, ironic, sardonic and allegoric greeting. The two sides flew at each other, the air between them torn by war-cries. Then, with a deafening clash of Titans, they came together and the air was filled with the terrible flicker of well-honed blades and carefully sharpened toenails. Julius had the better of them, and the thick atmosphere was filled with a thunderstorm of blood-drops that rained down on them like, well, rain. Soon it flowed round the ankles of the epic struggle. One by one the senators fell, to be trampled into the sea of gore by the dwindling ranks of their companions until, at last, Julius stood, panting, facing his last enemy.<br>
‘Et tu Brute?’<br>
Brutus glanced at the vision of vengeance, and turned to run. There was a flicker as Julius snatched up a dagger, flipped it neatly and hurled the blade after his enemy. It was cast perfectly and struck his erstwhile friend, now revealed as a twisted, treacherous turn-coat of a traitor, in the back of the head. He collapsed like a punctured wineskin.<br>
Julius sniffed with contempt and shaking the creases out of his crimson splattered toga virilis he stepped over the bodies of the senatores and planted his caligae on the steps towards the throne. It had been a bad day, but had turned out nicely and now he would, he realised with a smug grin, become a god.<br>
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Author's Historical Note: Julius was an amazing chap and all round good egg. It’s a scandal that his brilliant career was cut short by a bunch of sour mortals. So, in the interests of a publisher friendly tale, I’ve changed history completely and come up with, well, whatever I thought would sound good. Saved me having to do a lot of background reading, I can tell you!"<br>
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Ouch! But, my god, at least he'd read the book!<br>
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5. Lastly, those on this site who were frankly, a damn sight better informed, with less to prove. I think on the whole, that I prefer to be ripped up here than on Amazon.<br>
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Best wishes Bill. Slings and arrows etc.<br>
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Conn <p></p><i></i>
