i spent long years as a critic, mostly of music, and though i of course delighted in hearing music that i loved, i delighted in writing about music that i hated. other things being equal, negative reviews are far more fun to read than positive ones, which more often than not are woolly formulaic blurbs. by and large, slams are sharper, better-written, and more various. so if you stop thinking for a moment of criticism as a mere reflection of or in relation to something else, and think of it as itself a form of writing and something to read, you will accompany me to the dark side.

positive reviews always impose a slight obligation, are always a little guilt trip. you'd better buy this/read this/etc now, or be left behind, or parade your ignorance: each positive review is another hole in your soul, albeit a tiny one. a negative review is an itsy-bitsy relief, an infinitesimal liberation.

and the very best kind of negative review is a beautiful slam of an "important" work that everyone else will dutifully adore.

now a lot of people actually think it's wrong to hate things, particularly works of art. somebody worked hard on that. no doubt. but still i disagree. be big in your loves and hence big in your hatreds: form definite, real opinions. really react with your whole self.

and i say to you artistes that if you can't take somebody's dislike, then don't even start. you're putting it out there. now it's theirs, and it's time to go on to the next one. show some goddamn guts. there is no reason to be loved by everyone. you don't need that; it can't actually do you any good: it won't cure you. and if that's what you need, then you'll make something insipid, unreal. write or whatever it may be from your power, not your need.

if you're ian mcewan there has been a stampede of fawning adoration for years. so take this and grin, maybe. or do better next time. at least you did something that someone found worth hating. that is, you did something. i just want to say, i've survived bad reviews, sometimes enjoyed them immensely. and someday i'd love to get killed by walter kirn in the nytimes. that would be victory. i want to be hated at least as much as i want to be...blown.

and of course there are, like literally, a million novelists who have envied ian mcewan for their whole failed careers. now they feel better.