First, in the Green Fairy review, there are several paragraphs that discuss some of the problems of mixed species society, pointing out the fact that the main characters all have two parents of the same species, yet seem to regard members of other species as potential romantic interests. Also mentioned is the mix of carnivores, herbivores, and so forth, as well as the question of where does meat come from.
At one point I wanted to write a response to that review and couldn’t really formulate what I wanted to say, but it was around these topics. I think it is true that there are some “unwritten rules,” but I also think the reviewer may have been overthinking the issues a bit. We don’t see a stigma attached to gay interspecies dating, but there’s nothing in the work that definitively suggests heterosexual pairings don’t have a different set of expectations, for instance. As for anthropomorphic wolves eating non-anthro cows, that just requires the characters understand “anthropomorphic wolf” is “person” and “non-anthro cow” is “animal,” doesn’t it?
It’s fair to ask how non-furry readers will react to that sort of world, of course, but furries are the ones who want to deconstruct the world-building to figure out how food production and sexual politics work. When you tell tell a non-furry, “It’s kind of like The Wind in the Willows,” they’re going to nod their heads and move on to the rest of the work. (This is not entirely conjecture on my part, even with this specific world.)
Mwalimu, thanks for the comment and the kind words. I tend to agree with you about the history that informs the Green Fairy universe. My intent wasn’t to criticise Gold’s writing - I think he does a terrific job of giving the right amount of information. His world is vivid, and he avoids going down those rabbit holes.
My point is that the premise of furries-insted-of-humans-in-the-real-world is fundamentally flawed, and that is an inherent limitation with such books. Keep in mind that I’m coming at this as largely a reader of non-furry fiction, so it stood out to me. Gold does about as well as I could imagine anyone doing in Green Fairy.
Chipotle comment that I might be “overthinking it” is (very!) valid and fair. Should a reader of Green Fairy just accept these limitations of the universe and move on with the story? I don’t think so, and that’s one of the main thrusts of my Hooded Utilitarian piece, but Chipotle’s criticism is one I have heard before, and in fact was commonly uttered when I started talking about Green Fairy with local furs who had read it.
I admit I only skimmed your review when it was first posted, so I’m probably glossing over a lot of nuance, but it sounded like you were comparing furry fiction with literary fiction, and I’d be curious to see more of an assessment of furry fiction compared to or viewed through the lens of genre fiction (particularly science fiction and fantasy), since that’s more of the family I feel furry fiction belongs to. (I also think, in terms of the types of criticisms you’ve made, furry short fiction tends to succeed in those areas more often than novels, but that may be colored by my personal experience that it’s been much easier to make furriness matter in short stories than in longer works.)
In light of Phil’s recent review of the Furry Future, and with the large amount of anthologies in the fandom, I’m intrigued to know people’s thoughts on critical reviews of anthologies. It seems the template is to comment on the anthology as a whole and then pick out your favourite stories. Should it be mentioned those that perhaps didn’t work? or should everything that wasn’t a gem, be they fine, filler or bad, just not be mentioned?
I suspect this is probably the heart of my (hopefully respectful) objection. A re-read of your review crystallized my feeling that you started with the premise above. “My point is that fantasy is fundamentally unreal, and that is an inherent limitation with such books.” “My point is that comics are an inherently juvenile art form, and that is an inherent limitation with such books.” If you come to a work with that attitude, then there is no way the work can ever rise above the level of “pretty good for X.”
I think that if someone goes out to review an anthology then they need to review it as a whole, focusing not on criticism of individual stories, but how all the working parts fit to make the anthology work. One bit of criticism I have regarding anthologies in fandom publishing (or in larger genre/literary publishing - I have not explored these, so I cannot comment) is the general lack of an editor’s introduction, which is indispensable within academic work for guiding both criticism and readers to a greater understanding of what the work is and how the editor envisioned the pieces fitting together (even if they don’t).
I agree that “anthropomorphic characters instead of humans in the real world” is fundamentally flawed. Dealing with biology, ecology, history, sociology, anthropology, and many other factors impact the realism of representing a reality crafted by humans, but without them. While I have not personally read Green Fairy, what I have heard from friends who read it and the sequel were focused on the issues the work explored not the level of realism or contradictions of replacing humans with anthropomorphic animals. This is where I disagree with the conclusion that these flaws indicate a larger limitation in fandom writing. I agree with Chipotle’s observation that antho=person non-anthro=animal, while it is a simple concept, our brains are so trained to recognize objects based on our experiences that an object that speaks a language, that thinks, that feels, that has emotions, and shares similar experiences then that is a (human)person. When I write a story subbing in anthro. characters for humans I am writing a story I want to write, that I believe will be more appreciated within our community than outside - particularly dealing in issues of personal identity and experience. Queerness is not readily acceptable outside of small press and I feel our community will benefit more from such work.
In terms of criticism of fandom produced work, that is absolutely necessary, but I do not believe focusing on the problematic logic of furry worlds is helpful. Certainly such criticism is acceptable, but it does not add anything that is not already a concern within the community. As a writer, I choose to ignore what problematic details I can when and where I can because I feel the reader will be imaginative enough to also ignore those finer details that do not matter in the story I am telling. Besides, I am too busy trying to make sure I am communicating what I intend to communicate. What a character is eating or procreating is less important to me than making sure I am not endorsing reprehensible behavior, or unintentionally shaming this or that. So, I do not believe a review of how the world in my story has problems with logic will help me as a writer of furry fiction. Similarly, I do not think it would help me as a reader decide what story to read.
Lastly, I would like to say that I do not feel a critical review/criticism should actively engage with literary criticism. Those are separate with different uses. A critical review should go into detail reviewing a work whereas literary criticism is not a review, but an academic consideration of a work and the context of the work, but is not evaluative. Reviews deal with personal taste and opinions, while personal opinions only hinder literary criticism as they reveal personal bias. I say this as someone who has written and read far more criticism and theory in the last ten years than written or read work by fandom authors.
These are my thoughts on the discussion and the role of criticism in fandom. Ended up here with my theory writing hat on rather than the creative one I intended to wear for the last hour.
I’ll just mention in passing that this template long predates furry-- so far as I know, it’s pretty much the standard approach for anthologies everywhere. I don’t read a lot of reviews, however, and this was if I recall correctly the first formal one I ever wrote. So I’m hardly an expert on the subject, and would welcome enlightenment.
I think your review was fine. And I’m not saying that because I was mentioned in it.
More my question comes from rumbling I’ve heard from others. That if their story was not mentioned in a review, they feel disappointed or slighted. That perhaps just being rejected from the anthology would have been less hurtful.
Now granted, Furry Future has 19 (I believe?) stories in it, so it’s quite easily too many to individually review and so this template works well. I can’t imagine someone going to the hassle to review the upcoming Roar 6 which I believe has something like 27-28 stories in it. Some have said though with anthologies with fewer stories, that the reviewer should take the time to review each one. But it does raise a point I’ve seen that, in this fandom are the reviews critique for the writers just as much as it’s buying advice for readers?
I don’t think there’s a “one true way” to handle anthology reviews. I’ve reviewed What Happens Next and Abandoned Places for Claw & Quill and the Ursa Major Award Anthology and Already Among Us for Flayrah, and in each case I wrote at least a sentence or two about each story. Sometimes it was little more than a description, but if the story was particularly noteworthy I mentioned that – and if the story didn’t work for me, I mentioned that, too. The trick with those is just being tactful about it. (I will confess there’s a story in What Happens Next I was sharper than usual about.) In addition to that, I try to spend a little time writing about the anthology as a whole: not just to give an overview, but to engage with the theme (assuming there is one.)
For something with two dozen stories in it, I don’t know if I’d be able to pull off the “one sentence rule,” but I’d try to make sure I covered the highlights as well as any stories from “big name” authors who might be selling points in and of themselves. I don’t honestly know if I’d talk about lowlights if I wasn’t making a point to talk about every story, although if one seemed significantly lower than the median – or if it were an otherwise good story that did something so eye-punchingly aggravating it ruined itself – I’d likely call it out.
This is a complete non sequitur in regard to anything that anyone has said on this thread, but I think that it’s worth calling attention to; as an example of a type of problem with writing a review that hasn’t been mentioned here, and as an example of how writing reviews can become an important fictional plot device.
This is in regard to mystery author Susan Conant’s “Scratch the Surface; A Cat Lover’s Mystery” (Berkley Prime Crime, June 2005). Felicity Pride, a leading author of a “cat-cozy” mystery series, becomes aware that the missing author of a rival series has been secretly murdered. She decides to solve the crime herself, and discovers that the murderer must be a member of the small group of cat-cozy authors – someone whom she knows.
In an important subplot, the cat-cozy authors are always being asked by each other and their publishers to write glowing mini-reviews (really blurbs) for each other’s forthcoming books’ dust jackets. Felicity is asked by a new author to write one for her first book. Felicity, who is busy at the time, hastily agrees and then forgets about it. A few months later, she is reminded of her promise and that the new book is just about to go to press. She makes time to read the advance copy that she was sent.
To her horror, she recognizes that the book is a blatant plagiarism of a mystery best-seller. Obviously, none of the other authors who wrote a paragraph praising it had bothered to read it. If Felicity doesn’t say anything and allows the book to be published, it will result in maximum embarrassment for everyone who endorsed it, and a probable lawsuit that could bankrupt the publisher. But if she says anything, it will still be embarrassing for all her colleagues who wrote those jacket-reviews, and potentially for the whole cat-cozy sub-genre.
This is probably Conant’s jab at any literary sub-group whose authors write jacket blurbs for each other’s books without bothering to read them. That’s one situation that the furry specialty press mostly manages to avoid.
Yes, the sheer number of stories was a factor-- who reads a ten-page review? But…
The fact of the matter is that I did mention at least some of the other stories, in the most constructive manner possible. I did this when I expressed the opinion-- and what is a review but an opinion?-- that some furry authors still need to work on basic literary craftsmanship issues.
Even long before I made the attempt myself, I felt that reviewing the work of other authors requires an unusually delicate touch. On the one hand, the reviewer owes his readers the truth. After all, his words are going to guide buying decisions that involve real people spending real money, often low-wage types who maybe require weeks to save up for something so expensive as a book. A reviewer who “whitewashes” his subject matter is as guilty of fraud as used-car salesman who rolls back odometers. On the other, not only do reviewers have hearts too, but in my case (as with most other reviewers of furry fiction) we’re discussing the work of either friends (or would-be friends) and peers. Therefore, a degree of diplomacy is understandable as well.
Sadly, I fear that in making even as gentle and constructive a criticism as I just did above, and in a relatively private setting at that, I consider it likely that I’m about to prove once again that the keystone of diplomacy is silence. I fully expect at the very least to be upbraided behind my back if not to my face, and that I’ve probably just lost at least a few potential friends. This is the furry world as it is today, and in my opinion it’s a large part of why reviews and critiques-- especially honest ones, which are the only ones of any value-- are so terribly hard to come by. It’s also the main reason why I wrote my piece thanking Fred Patten that in turn seems to have inspired JM’s most excellent column. We have a problem here as an artistic community, a severe one. I only wish I had one or more potential solutions to offer.
That said…
If you guys want to see how the bigger, larger world treats authors, go check out the one-star reviews of my own “Ship’s Boy” at:
You’ll find that Joe Reader is much harder on the average writer than fellow-fan reviewers who are least trying not to injure the feelings of those they attend cons and enjoy spending time with. My personal favorite is the one about how my alcoholic parents must’ve locked me into a closet for hours at a time with nothing but a stuffed bunny for company.
Eventually, we all will have to face the warts in our works-- it’s inevitable. The more stuff we sell and the more readers we attract, the more of a target we become and the more our shortcomings will be pointed out. Thus, I’ve learned not only to cherish criticism for the self-improvement opportunities it offers, but to see it as a sign of success as well.
Whoops! I just learned that the “stuffed bunny” one-star review has been removed from “Ship’s Boy” at some point. (Obviously, it wasn’t by my doing.) But… It was once there, and I consider the ones remaining adequate to make my point. Sorry!
Hmm… You’re comparing dismissal of a whole medium or genre to dismissal of a specific trope within the furry genre, though. The “mixed species in the same world for no reason” concept annoys me because it’s an obvious bit of unrealism in a story that doesn’t get the free pass that fairy tales have. I’m not going to fault a writer too much for it, because it’s so common, but it’s still worth mentioning. The genre can do interesting things by paying more attention to plausible world-building, so it’s a missed opportunity when there are wolves and rabbits in the same room for no reason.
Where you stand on this point probably comes down to that earlier question about whether a reviewer should try to be objective or to comment based on their own likes and dislikes.
You're comparing dismissal of a whole medium or genre to dismissal of a specific trope within the furry genre, though.
That’s true, and it’s something I should have been more careful to unpack. I understand that it’s the specific approach of “look, the characters are furry, just go with it” that comes in for the most criticism; it’s a critique I used to have myself, and I’ve done a fair amount of work where there’s an in-story rationale for the anthros, whether it’s because they’re separate fantasy races or genetically modified humans or whatever.
But I’ve come to believe that while why are your characters furry is a question an author should have an answer for, that answer may have to do with symbology, metaphor, emotional effect, and yes, even aesthetics. A perfectly valid reason for the wolf and the rabbit to be in the room together is because the reader will bring subtext about wolves and rabbits to that scene. It’s a missed opportunity if the author isn’t utilizing that subtext – but the linchpin isn’t in the world-building, it’s in the story construction. Does that make sense?
Sure, some furry stories limit their audience to furry readers, and that’s a valid criticism – but “this book would have found a wider audience if it had been made with human characters” is a different claim than “this book would have been objectively better with human characters.” That leads to odd thought experiments, like “would The Forever War have had a lesser audience if it had been made with furry characters” and “would it have been objectively worse with them”; I seem to be asserting the answers are most likely to be yes and no, respectively. I think I’m okay with that.
Phil, I was really pleased to see your review appear so soon after my [adjective][species] piece was eventually published. I found reviewing Green Fairy—part of my preparation for the article, as you know—to be a really interesting experience. Yet one I’m not going to be in a rush to repeat, for all the reasons you (and others) mention. It sounds like you’re also unlikely to start publishing regular reviews.
(I had a great time reading through your one-star reviews, and I’m ashamed I wasn’t able to find a place to incorporate them into my piece. I do recall reading the “stuffed bunny” review in the past… what a pity it has been lost to the ether. Still, the memory lives on. Vale Stuffed Bunny Review.)
Chipotle (and Camio), I can honestly sat that I came to Green Fairy with an open mind. I had little idea, as someone who has only read a handful of furry books, what to expect.
That said, my review isn’t just a brain-dump: I thought about my structure and themes and the prospective reader. That’s why it ended up at Hooded Utilitarian rather than [adjective][species]: it made more sense for it to be directed to a literary audience (albeit one with a strong interest in genre). Comparisons with literary fiction, and a discussion of how genre can be self-limiting, were just my most obvious approach to the subject material. That probably says more about me than Green Fairy and furry fiction in general, but hey, it’s my review.
So the fandom wants reviews, but then it only wants reviews in a certain way? Be it every story has to be mentioned or they have to write it as to not hurt someone’s feelings? Maybe I’m seeing this very, very differently, and this will probably sound like a crude way to put it, but after seeing comments on twitter related to things expressed in this article and the comments in this thread, that’s almost exactly how it comes across. And this is exactly why no one wants to review anything in the fandom.
The reviewer is taking his own time to do a job, time that could be used doing anything else. Certainly something a lot more rewarding than hearing writers and editors complain about how the reviewer didn’t write a review they felt was acceptable to them. A review is an opinion. The reviewer isn’t obligated to write it in a specific way. Certainly he or she doesn’t have the right to be a complete asshole or be completely false or biased in his opinion, but he certainly isn’t beholden to the writers. And the writers and editors shouldn’t expect specific things from the review, but it also seems that people here are almost demanding that reviews be conducted in a very specific way, and that isn’t right. And being that this is a small community, and a lot of the reviews are writers as well, you’re discouraging anyone from writing a review at all.
If the writer is looking for critique, a review is not the place to get it, and it certainly isn’t the reviewers job to provide it. That’s what beta readers and writing groups are for, before anything is sent out to publication. The review is for the consumer. The writer can learn from the reviewer, but at the end of the day, it is nothing more than an opinion.
I don’t see anyone calling for reviewers to just be gosh-darn nicer and never say anything negative. I just see people pre-emptively worried about that.
This is what I keep seeing. That writer’s feel (dare I say) entitled to having their work read and critiqued so that they can learn from it. I argued this the other day in our writing group. The point of the review is for the readers, not the writer. The writer gets an acceptance letter and publication. If they’re looking for feedback, find a beta reader.
Isn’t that to be expected? Not everyone is going to like everything somebody writes. We can’t knock it out of the park every time and people have things they enjoy and don’t enjoy. I’ve had my share of negative reviews but I don’t get irritated with the reviewer for voicing their opinion. Sometimes, it seems like the fandom comes across as review shaming. And you can’t shame the reviewers and want reviews at the same time.