Chapter Twelve

Can You Feel the Love?

As a first time author, you get to wondering how things are going out there—is the book selling, is anyone reviewing it, is anyone even commenting on it? The easiest way to find out what’s what is simply to Google your own name. So I did: “Prioleau Alexander,” then a space, then “book review.”

The reviews drifted out over time, and it was really exciting.

People who’d never met me loved my writing, and it was the “validation” that every writer dreams of as they strive for publication. Although some of the reviews have been hustled off into the purchase-from-the-archives vault…. And I certainly don’t expect anyone to actually read them anyway… I am including some links (still available) as proof that the content of my book is good.

And to me, that’s the only part of the process that matters. So, here you go:

http://www.metrospirit.com/index.php?cat=1993101070610360&ShowArticle_ID=11010704082918404

http://reviewparty.com/you-want-fries-with-that

http://gpbcovertocover.blogspot.com/2008/06/prioleau-alexanders-you-want-fries-with.html

http://necromancyneverpays.blogspot.com/search?q=Prioleau++

I did, however, receive one bad review.

The Title of the review? Supersize this, Bitch.

Huh? That doesn’t sound so good. But I read on.

And there, squeezed into a mere 1,000 words, was the angriest “book review” I’ve ever read. People, I’m talking venom-- venom the likes of I’ve not seen since Sean Penn published his “Open Letter” to the guys who wrote and directed Team America. (Great film, BTW). (They portray Sean Penn as the putz that he is).

Allow me to pass along some of the reviewers finer points, along with my response. Prior to beginning, please allow me to again plagiarize the trademark Dave Barry comment by saying I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP:

Reviewer: “…he manages only to skim the surface of the drudgery of minimum wage employment.”

Me: Gee, I wonder why. Delving deep into “drudgery” sounds like it would make for fun reading!

Reviewer: “…there is no discussion of the fact that somebody will always have to cook and serve the fast food or clean up the ER when people bleed all over the place, and those somebodies (sic) deserve a better quality of life.

Me: I didn’t feel the need. That topic is covered endlessly, day after whiny day, by tenured intellectuals, the media, and un-paid book reviewers.

Reviewer: “A good portion of each chapter is dedicated to the history of the product or service involved, but seriously, the question of who actually invented ice cream has nothing to do with the plight of the employee doing the scooping.”

Me: Good point—and advice I might well heed if I wrote a book entitled The Plight of the Minimum Wage Worker, which it so happens I did not.

Reviewer: “it’s a series of mildly amusing anecdotes and totally unfunny fat jokes…”

Me: The reviewer is fat.

Reviewer: “It’s like if Ted Nugent learned how to write and kept a journal detailing all the things he didn’t understand about real life.”

Me: I’d buy the hell out that book. Probably give it as Christmas gifts, too.

Reviewer: “Being bored and overpaid is a privilege, not a condition.”

Me: Actually, being bored and overpaid is a result; being whiney, passive-aggressive, and a more-compassionate-than-thou phony is a condition.

Her: “I want the first person who sees this guy to punch him in the face.”

Me: Aaaand, cut! This is a review comment I’m not familiar with. But good advice, nonetheless. I think it’s always wise for bookish, pear-shaped bloggers to punch former Marines in the face every now and then. Just to keep the pecking order straight.

“But wait! There’s more!”

So, that was fun.

And one would think that reading a blistering review of your book, inclusive of face punching, would be enough for one day.

But since this is the Internet age, readers get to comment. Comment, I might add, on a book they haven’t read by an author they know nothing about.

Below are some of the comments posted. These are straight copy-and-paste quotes, with only my responses added.

Julie- Hardy har har, he mocked the triviality of an English degree, how clever. I wonder how my unread copy of Ulysses would look wedged sideways between his buttcheeks?

Me: I wonder how you, Miss, would look, trying to put it there.

Rob- Only an over-priveledged (sic), over-paid asshole would even come up with that idea.

Me: Wipers! I have finished my morning constitution. Proceed.

Scorzi- New York is full of self-righteous people like this. Forget the face, let's give him a good punch in the taint.

Me: I’d recommend you start with the New Yorkers; at least you know they aren’t armed.

Three-Nineteen- I used to wish that I was born wealthy, but then I realized that I would have missed out on all of the experiences in life that cause me to not be an asshole. My minimum wage jobs gave me a healthy respect for my money and a complete hatred of people -- two characteristics that have served me well.

Me: That phrase you use… “not be an asshole.” I do not think it means what you think it means.

Samantha-- What an absolute douchebag. And fat jokes? Talk about a cheap shot.

Me: Another three hundred pounder.

Lindzee- I hate this guy with such a passion and I'd never even heard of him or his book before reading this review.

Me: Describe this passion. Is on par with the passion you feel for Barrack Obama, whom you know even less about?

Skittimus Maximus- I've got a cousin who didn't have a job until she was twenty-one. Sh'e (sic) consistently rude to people in the service industry, and has never had a day of actual, physical labor. She probably thinks this book is HI-LARIOUS! At her college graduation party, I drunkenly peed half a squirt in her red cup... Just kidding. I didn't do that... or did I?

Me: Time to call for the Sherpas and bottled oxygen. The level of intellect has reached a dangerous altitude.

Vivian- Somebody punch him in the balls and murder him in the face.

Me: Against such a rapier wit, I stand defenseless.

Listen: You thinking I’m making this up. You don’t believe there are people this pathetic roaming the streets and canceling out your vote. And you want to jump in and say something, right?

Well, I didn’t.

I kept out of the fray, and posted only one time-- I figured this digital book burning (and face-punching?) would peter out. Then, a few visitors to the blog began to disagree with the statements being made… and as we all know, the mentally-deficient are all for free speech, as long as they are the only ones enjoying it.

Before reading this section, however, please know it has some pretty colorful language in it. Apparently, anonymous-intellectuals feel called to express themselves with words not allowed on publicly-owned airwaves, perhaps because those words are needed to properly convey the depth and breadth of their ideas. So…

Begin Bad Language Alert:

John- Wow, Let me guess. You feel that "Animal House" was a gross misrepresentation of man's right of passage through college? Have any of you pseudo-intellectual wannabes even read the book? Here is a lesson. Read the book without the "I'm better than the author" angry attitude. I bet you think it's funny.

Gus- I have the uncomfortable feeling that many in this thread, including our reviewer, often have fries with that. Lots of fries.

Insertclevernamehere: I bet you're the kind of guys who read Tucker Max and high-five each other over Coors Light in sports bars with big ass marlins on the walls. Die in a tire fire, you trolling unclefuckers.

Socalledonlycousins: Hey, Gus. Fuck you and your sad, tired response. Like every other shithead troll with nothing substantive to say, except your nonsensical resort to a fat joke doesn't even work in a tired stereotype sort of way. It's just stupid and sad. Roll off your sister and pay attention.

Mara: Aw.. seems like Mr. Muffinpants didn't like the review of the book. I'm sure as hell not going to read it now. Asshat. And whoever suggested punching him in the taint is my new soulmate. (Note: As soon as detractors began posting, the group leaped to the assumption that it was me, writing under another name).

Paleolithchick: Holy crap, the author went to Auburn? Y'all, this explains EVERYTHING. I don't know if there are any SEC football fans in the house, but if there are -- have any of you ever had to deal with an Auburn fan? They are largely teh (sic) suck. And majoring in English at Auburn? Not that impressive.

Dakaron: And for being "Marines"? Yeah...fuck you. I'm former military myself. (Note: Let me translate for you-- what this fellow means is he was in the Air Force, but wasn’t a pilot. Most likely, he was in something like landscape maintenance) Marine? Give me a break. What's the matter, failed out of high school and couldn't get accepted into the smarter branches?

Prioleau Alexander: Hi, guys! This is my first, last, and only post on this site. Not a word up to this point has been written by me, but it's sure been fun reading all your insights and remarks. I'd like to spend a few hours doing Q&A, but I'm working on my next book. Ya'll take care, and keep looking at the bright side of life.

Ted Boynton: Yes, I'm sure. Don't let the door hit you in the ass, genius, and say hello to your little butt buddies who go around posting positive reviews for you and defending you from well-deserved shit grenades. And you probably should get started on that next book, given that you're currently the 26,325th bestseller among books on Amazon.

Ameriqfool: Marines... love 'em or hate 'em, you gotta admit they are really good at killing bad guys.

Dakaron: I read these comments, and I feel like I'm going to go blind with rage, and just want to go hit something. But I stop myself. I think...hey, I could have been a Marine! But not a good one, since I did practice restraint. Sorry buddy, there's a reason I went into a smarter branch...just couldn't stop using my brain to think rather than my trigger finger. So you can keep your musclehead (sic) testosterone-driven homoerotic tendencies. There's always a place for Marines...it's called cannon fodder. Why do you think they're discouraged from free thought?

The brilliance outlined here took a couple days to unfold, and with each passing post my jaw dropped further towards the floor.

Who… are… these… people?

What happened to them to make them so angry?

There are refugees from the killing fields of Cambodia who harbor less resentment towards the Khmer Rouge than these people do towards those who simply speak up against them. And WHO? I say, who would be so stupid as to insult the entire United States Marine Corps just to jab back at someone who disagrees with you?

Next stop, The Twilight Zone

I thought the entire tirade was over, and foolishly went back to check. It was then I discovered another post by the original book reviewer, now having reverted back to her own blog.
It read as follows:

An Open Letter to an Asshat
Dear Mr. Prioleau Alexander,
I am hereby publicly requesting that you and/or your friends, family, neighbours (sic) and associates cease and desist calling my private, unpublished cell phone. Since 5:45 am CST today, I have received 34 phone calls from people who are angry that I reviewed your book and expressed my honest opinion. I have been told that I will be, among other things:
• run over by a Humvee
• strangled
• sodomised with a shotgun
• "dropped in Iraq"

While I am thrilled for you that you have such a seemingly vast network of acquaintances who share your particular levels of taste, charm, and decorum, your attentions and the attentions of your supporters are unwanted and I would like for them to stop. If these actions are being taken without your knowledge or consent, I would like to request that you please ask your friends, family, neighbours and associates to refrain from contacting me further. While you're at it, I'd like for you to get the HELL over yourself, you narcissistic, unprofessional, Napoleonic jackhole.

Did I just read that right?

Allow me to parry, my Dear:

How did my Legion of Zombie Followers get your unlisted cell phone number? Did your cell phone fail to identify any of the 34 zombies’ phone numbers?

If it was Marines, as you insinuate in your list of threats, why didn’t they reference any of the kill techniques Marines are trained in? (Welcome to individual combat exercises, Marines. Today you are going to be trained in how to run over the enemy in your Humvee. What’s that, Private? No, no… we will not be training in knife fighting, the use of a garrote, long-range marksmanship, crew-served weapons, individual infantry tactics, ambush planning, Claymore mine deployment, pistol marksmanship, or hand-to-hand death blows. Our new secret weapon is running over the enemy in your Humvee.)

Oh, and did you just ask me to stop being unprofessional?

I got to tell you, this is getting hard to take without fighting back.


Tomorrow’s another day…

My day started with an email from my publisher.

“Prioleau,” he wrote, “I’ve received an email from some woman who says you and your friends are threatening to kill and rape her because she wrote a bad review of your book. What is this all about? This is a very serious matter.”

“No worries,” I responded. “My zombies will have that bitch in a shallow grave before nightfall. This will go away quite soon.”

Okay, I didn’t email that.

What I did do was email the lunatic behind the mess, apologize for her predicament, and assure her I had nothing to do with it. I wanted this crazy woman and her crazy friends out of my life as quickly as possible.

Later that day, another post went up on her website:

The Storm Is Passing-- I received an email from Mr. Alexander which contained a sincere, albeit somewhat patronizing (sic), apology for the unpleasant circumstances in which I find myself. He said he has nothing to do with the phone harassment to which I've been subjected, and I do believe he's telling the truth. For his sake I hope that I'm right, because the authorities have gotten involved, and because death threats were made they have begun taking action against the perpetrators. The phone calls slowed considerably last night, and stopped late this morning, hopefully for good. Now I can get back to my regular rotation of crazy. My parents are still in the middle of a divorce, my cat's learning to pee in the toilet, my sister turned 21 yesterday, and I gotta go to a First Communion on Sunday, which means I better dress appropriately so the holy water won't burn me. Where does one procure a Teflon burka?

Is it just me?

Or did this woman get over 34 threats of rape, mutilation, and death a little easier than most?

I reached out to my agent, seeking some words of wisdom, knowing he would be able to help me come to grips with my brush with a dark-dark world I didn’t even know existed. He is my rock, and I knew he would steady my walk as I tread on this new, unholy ground. And his words were, like usual, the foundation on which I rebuilt my trust in humanity:

“You did what? Of course they went crazy. That’s what crazy people do, you dumb Southern stump-jumper.”

I felt much better.

But will it happen to you with your book?

It seemed to me there was a lot of venom inspired by the title of my book. I say the title, because none of the aforementioned intellectuals even read my book, save for the face-punching reviewer. Clearly, the topic alone cut too close to the knuckle for lots of folks, but perhaps it was just me— perhaps my view of the world is too mean-spirited, and out of touch with the world. Minimum wage must be a sensitive topic, and that is what drew the brain trust from out under their rocks.

As an experiment, I went to Amazon, and researched the work of non-fiction humorists who’ve achieved what I have not, namely financial and commercial success—P.J. O’Roarke, David Sedaris, Eric Weiner, A. J. Jacobs, Dave Barry.

I figured one of these famous writers would be immune from these shrieking toads, either because they were:

• David Sedaris, to the left
• PJ O’Roarke, to the right
• Or just having fun, like Weiner, Jacobs, and Dave Barry.

I mean, hell, all a humorist is trying to do is entertain their audience, maybe make them think a little, right? I may have virtually nothing politically in common with Mr. Sedaris, but that doesn’t mean he’s not funny as hell, right?

Apparently wrong. Humorists inspire great passion amongst their critics, the harshest of which take mastodonic pains to use sesquipedalian words in order to simply pronounce the writer’s work un-funny. (You would be amazed at all the creatively huffy ways a critic can proclaim a harmless joke to be offensive.)

Amazon critics, in addition, love to give examples of why these incredibly successful authors aren’t funny.

Let me offer an example of their “zingers” based on, say, the movie Caddy Shack: In addition to a predictable and unrealistic plot, the protagonists in this tripe include an 18th Century stereotype of a gopher, a mentally challenged greens keeper (since when is mental illness a joke?), and an insensitive, millionaire blowhard who garners laughs at the expense of those less fortunate than he-- not the least of which is a man of Asian descent, saddled with the platitudinous single-lens reflex camera and eager-to-please smile. I was deeply offended by the way the movie used class warfare to separate the “have’s” from the “have-not’s,” as if having money somehow entitles you to things others cannot acquire. There is not a single group the writers and producers did not offend-- from lumber yard workers seeking to earn an honest dollar, to middle-class families toiling to put a child through college, to unfortunate individuals addicted to booger consumption—If it were possible to give a movie zero stars, I would do so.

What, I wondered, would be a book so “good” that all the world would gather around it, hold it aloft and, uh, at least not bitch about it?

Could something intellectual achieve such praise? Something idealistic? Something artistic? Something that resonated with truth and insight? Perhaps something brutal and blunt? Is this even possible?

Every writer wants every reader to be pleased with their work, regardless of their level of success or fame.

No one wants to inspire readers to “drunkenly pee a squirt in their cup.” No, writers don’t expect every reader to agree with their ideas, but they do hope to craft their ideas in such a way that the readers will think, “He/She does make an interesting point, there.” Is this even possible?

I glanced over my library, and took note of some of my more treasured hardcover titles. As an English major I recognize that some of the books I own are over my head, and would require an academic coach for me to truly understand, but I’ve read them all with the belief they hold some of life’s truths and beauty and pain and ugliness.

I may not get the nuanced layers of insight, but I can push myself to understand the ideas the writer is exploring. I can enjoy their approach to wordsmithing. I can seek to find what readers smarter than I have discovered.

With this in mind, I decided to test a few of the titles against the Amazon critics, and see how they fared. I chose them not on them being my personal favorites, but the ones I would be hardest pressed to challenge standing in front of the English professors at my alma mater. And thus the experiment began:


Breakfast of Champions, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.— Breakfast is Vonnegut’s uniquely rambling exploration of, among other things, the existence of free will, and the impact it has on our individual lives. It is classic Vonnegut, and even though our politics are at loggerheads, I welcome the way he makes me think about certain realities from unique perspectives. In addition, he’s fun to read, and funny. Out of 250 reviews, 19 people gave it one or two stars. One decried this classic to be “heavy-handed, smug, obnoxious, and fatuous.” Another fan crowed it to be “a nonsensical stream of consciousness dribble.” Sorry, Kurt. I’d like to say “maybe next time,” but you are, of course, dead.

To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee— This is Ms. Lee’s lovely tale of a girl’s coming of age in the South, the region’s struggle with generational racism, and the importance of doing the right thing, whatever the cost. For those willing to peer deeply, the book explores dozens of life’s most important issues. Out of 1743 reviews, 90 gave it one or two stars. Among these reviews one opined “fifty pages of good writing and the rest is garbage.” Another wrote, “Half way through the book I was just wishing a bunch of mockingbirds would fly in and end everyone’s misery (mine included).” Uh, Harper? About that Pulitzer Prize…

Lonesome Dove, Larry McMurtry— In Lonesome Dove, author McMurtry covers more ground than most novelists cover in a career—to call it anything less than a brilliant epic is laughable. Within its pages are almost every issue a father could wish to discuss with his son—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Out of 377 reviews, only 14 gave it one or two stars. But, oh my-- what stars! One reviewer from Chicago claims it to be “the worst book I’ve ever read,” and another declares it a “generic, unimaginative piece of crap. Pulitzer Prize… what a joke!” Larry, perhaps you and Harper can save on postage by sending your Pulitzers back together in one of those flat rate envelopes they offer at the post office.

A Lesson Before Dying, Ernest J. Gaines— In this tight and racially charged novel, Gaines explores racism, expectations, and the meaning of manhood—in a time and a place where the author experienced it first-hand. Was it as exciting as Lonesome Dove? Not in my eyes—but neither is theology, a concept that serves as the cornerstone of my life. Out of 488 reviews, 40 gave it one or two stars. One reviewer proclaimed, “The lesson? That Oprah could sell a bicycle to a fish.” Another stated, “slow, dull, uninteresting, and characterless.” Well, Mr. Gaines… let’s be honest: Who wants to talk about these issues when we have black Academy Award winners? And in the next book, please include gunplay, a car chase, and some scenes with heaving breasts.

1984, George Orwell— To read Orwell’s 1984 in the 21st Century and fail to experience dread is the mark of a human who is simply not in touch with reality—the ideas Orwell details are not Republican or Democrat… they are the very worst of both, and we are watching them put in place day by day. From what we do to what we even think, Big Brother is watching, and judging. Out of 1368 reviews, 61 proclaimed it worthy of only one or two stars. One of his fans proclaims him “a second rate hack who profiteered on the worst fears of modern man. Today, his book is the modern bible of the paranoid, disgruntled white male.” And yet another, “This book’s reputation reveals less about book than it does the shallowness and mediocrity of many book critics.” George, my boy—time to take your paranoid rantings (and all those disgruntled white males) and shove ‘em down the memory hole.


Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig— An extremely difficult book to read for a simpleton like me, Zen is a brilliant exploration of the concept of quality: Can it exist? Does it exist? What brings it about? I’m not going to tell you Mr. Pirsig’s opinion, because I worked to hard to discover it myself. Out of 522 reviews, 96 stated it to be a one or two star book. Mr. Pirsig’s fans offered such praise as “If you are going on a journey of the mind, you should not have a guide who is incapable of thinking straight.” Another wrote “pedantic, poorly written, and poorly thought(sic).” Bob, apparently your book about quality is of poor quality. Plus, you’ve been insulted by a very high quality word.

Blood Meridian, Cormac McCarty— In my opinion, McCarthy is the kind of writer every writer wishes they could be—so brilliant and challenging and experimental that even academics hold him in awe. (James Joyce ring a bell? Faulkner? T.S. Elliott?) He does not promote his books, he does not do signings, and he does as he damn well pleases. His work is dark and often hopeless, with redemption being the highest goal we can hope to achieve. In Blood Meridian, however, Mr. McCarthy was feeling even less optimistic about humanity, and this novel’s trail leads to certain damnation. Of 293 reviews, 41 announced reviewers proclaimed McCarthy’s tale of the devil’s work to be worth one or two stars. “Leave this overwrought, pretentious attempt at fashionable nihilism to the obscurity it surely deserves,” wrote one. Another advises curious readers to “rent the movie A Clockwork Orange and just imagine they are wearing cowboy hats.” If Mr. McCarthy has skin like most writers, I recommend he stay out of the fields where Amazon reviewers play; it is, indeed, no country for old men.

It will happen to us all.

That, I suppose, is the lesson to take from this experience.

No matter how sensitive and kind and politically correct you are, your book will inspire a volatile reaction from some number of your readers. Now I have no doubt.

But why does this surprise me?

Why did I think that my book could tread some sort of thin white line between the haters?

Because I’ve never had a book published, and it never dawned on me to read the negative reviews on Amazon.

Why would someone invest several of the precious, irreplaceable minutes they have on this planet writing a lousy review on Amazon? In fact, let’s chase that rabbit down the hole a little further: Why in the name of all that’s holy would someone finish a book they didn’t like?

I’ve read hundreds of books since graduating from college, and here’s how many crappy books I’ve finished: Zero. If the book is not good, I stop reading it. Problem solved. Why? Because I am not a paid, professional book reviewer, and thus it is not part of my job description to plod through writing I don’t like. Books are supposed to make you happy/sad/think/wonder/excited/smarter, not bitter or huffy.

Hey, I’m all about putting on your big boy pants and reading the thoughts of those you disagree with… that’s how new ideas are formed and common ground is discovered. To that end, I bought one of Al Franken’s books a while back, because I wanted to see what he was all about. After two chapters, I decided. The book went to the library, and I managed to go on with my life. At no point did it even dawn on me to continue reading the book so that I could give Al “the business” via a poor review on Amazon. What would be the point??!!

Sadly, I think I know.

I once had a professor at Auburn who spoke of an expanded version of the famous Gore Vidal quote: It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail. The class laughed, and I waited for him to put the words into their comedic context.

“It’s funny,” the Prof said, “because it’s true; isn’t it? That tiny, tiny good feeling you get when something bad happens to someone else? Because it didn’t happen to you?”

Some of those in class nodded in bemusement.

True? Sure, it’s true-- if you’re a sick, twisted bastard with enough self-esteem issues to fill a dozen psychiatry textbooks.

I understand the amusement of a specific person you dislike failing, but “others” in general? The idea that this belief haunts the minds of some percentage of the population makes me think that perhaps Cormac McCarthy does have it right—perhaps we are damned. Perhaps we are little more than a band of spiritual Indians, hopelessly existing in desolate, sun-bleached plains, awaiting the arrival of those who will scalp us of our last remaining hopes of goodness.
I pondered that long and hard, and then I remembered something my dear, old Grandmother used to say when the world got overwhelming: Aww, screw it.