Opinionated Speculations: Book Trailer Park

For the next bit of featured burbling here on The Speculative Scotsman, I have for you, dear readers, a topic that's been intriguing me increasingly over the last little while; a topic brought to mind during my much ballyhooed-about review of The Left Hand of God, which I was reminded of once more while browsing through the publicity materials that accompanied my review copy of A Dark Matter. That topic?

Namely, the book trailer.

We've all seen a few, I'm sure, but what purpose do they truly serve? Do we think they work, or is the book trailer a marketing tack too far?

Let's take a look at the short promotional video the PR wizards from Doubleday put together for Peter Straub's latest novel:

It's a quick one. To say it lasts for 30 seconds is to give the static powerpoint screens advertising the book's title and a few choice recommendations more credit, perhaps, than they deserve.

That said, let's take stock - from the perspective of someone who hasn't a clue about this book - of what little one might glean from the trailer for A Dark Matter.

Firstly, there's a run through the woods from a first-person perspective that can only recall The Blair Witch Project, which will surely bring to the savvy viewer's mind the concept of found footage - or in this case, a found manuscript, such as those recovered in House of Leaves and Caitlin R. Kiernan's The Red Tree. Someone is either running from something, or, conversely, chasing it; it's unclear which. Whatever the case, the visuals soon become distorted, and the viewer must understand that things have taken a turn for the worse.

Perhaps the only other notable aspect of this book trailer is its sound: an aurally twisted gladiatorial chant that ratchets up throughout before erupting into applause and a few wolf-whistles. The chant hardly sounds human, animalistic even. It unnerves, implicating the viewer in some sort of supernatural and/or horrific goings-on.

The trailer's last seconds are devoted to brief blurbs. We know, from these, that Stephen King and Michael Chabon enjoyed A Dark Matter. And from the brief scene that precedes their recommendations, we gather that Straub's latest novel is creepy, potentially supernatural metafiction in which something bad happens in the woods.

I haven't yet read enough of A Dark Matter to say, with any certainty, if the book trailer's assertions are correct. In the interim, however, a plot synopsis will suffice:

"The charismatic and cunning Spenser Mallon is a campus guru in the 1960s, attracting the devotion and demanding sexual favors of his young acolytes. After he invites his most fervent followers to attend a secret ritual in a local meadow, the only thing that remains is a gruesomely dismembered body—and the shattered souls of all who were present.

"Years later, one man attempts to understand what happened to his wife and to his friends by writing a book about this horrible night, and it’s through this process that they begin to examine the unspeakable events that have bound them in ways they cannot fathom, but that have haunted every one of them through their lives. As each of the old friends tries to come to grips with the darkness of the past, they find themselves face-to-face with the evil triggered so many years earlier."

So it's safe to say that yes, the essential elements alluded to by the book trailer for A Dark Matter are present and correct in the text itself - or, at the least, the outline of the text. And yet, for all that the audiovisual experience of the trailer implies certain key features of Straub's novel, I can't help but feel it obscures rather more than it illuminates. In the end, it takes about the same amount of time to read the product description on Amazon or wherever else, and that, surely, gives potential readers a better idea of what to expect from A Dark Matter. Where in the trailer, for instance, can viewers learn of Spenser's cult of sexuality?

Of course, product descriptions themselves are often rather unhelpful, deceptive in the particular parts of a text they foreground - the better to shift the damn things in the first place. I wouldn't make the argument that a sales pitch is any more reliable an indicator than a book trailer; neither, after all, are the creations of, in this instance, Peter Straub, but rather the marketers whose job it is to sell his novel to as large and diverse an audience as possible.

But book trailers such as that advertising A Dark Matter are, I feel, an abstraction too far. If a blurb represents a stripped-down version of a novel, and a book trailer is a second-hand interpretation of said reduced still further, what's left can hardly bear much resemblance to the text itself, and the text, at the end of the day, is what counts above all else.

I understand that the intent is to pitch a book to an attention-starved audience that isn't interested in blurbs - that a 30-second clip can be televised to reach further than any written sales pitch - but how effective are they in that regard? Is that segment of the market even the type to care about books? Let's be frank for a moment: people who first hear about the likes of a new Peter Straub from some ad between episodes of Ugly Betty or some such drivel are hardly the sort likely to invest the time and effort into reading a book as dense as A Dark Matter anyway. So who are such book trailers even for?

Here's another offender, this time for Stephen King's Under the Dome:

I won't waste my time and yours by subjecting this one to similar analysis as I did A Dark Matter. I post it only because I feel it's indicative of what book trailers seem to have become: desperate and often inaccurate appeals to the lowest common denominator.

But there are better examples of book trailers out there. From this, one of the very earliest, an award-winning short from Hoss Gifford advertising the truly breathtaking A Life of Pi by Yann Martel:

To this, a trailer for a steampunk YA novel you'll be hearing more about on The Speculative Scotsman shortly. Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld:

And finally, to this piece, in which Neil Gaiman himself narrates a brief pitch for The Graveyard Book:

For my money, each of the three ads above represent the better traits of book trailers, the things a little more thought can achieve. Rather than confusing the issue as the Peter Straub and Stephen King trailers did, they add a complementary dimension to the texts concerned that means, had I not already read and enjoyed each of these three novels, their respective advertisements would have certainly piqued my interest.

All the same, there is the thought that whatever their merits, book trailers could be said to rob readers of the pleasure of their own imagination. The implication that my mind's-eye simply isn't up to the task of realising the landscape of Leviathan or the unlikely situation Pi Patel finds himself stuck in could even border on the insulting.

But enough of my burbling - that's my $0.02 on book trailers. Over to you, then. Are book trailers a necessary evil in the era of web 2.0, or a marketing tack too far? Are they in any way effective, do you think, or are they borderline offensive?

Most of all, readers, I'd like to know whether you've ever been inspired to buy or read a novel because of a book trailer, and if the trailer left you feeling satisfied, or short-changed. Do chime in and let me know!

Opinionated Speculations: Writers Reviewing Bloggers

You've all read 'Righting the Left Hand of God', right?

If not, go do that. You'll also want to read the review of Paul Hoffman's eagerly anticipated fantasy debut that preceded it. Don't worry; it's not too much to get through, and hey, what better way is there to spend another dreary Monday than by shirking more pressing responsibilities?

Let's push forward on the presumption that if you're here, however, you're already familiar with the two posts Google Analytics tell me now reign supreme on The Speculative Scotsman - although before we do, let me thank everyone who's read the article, as well as those who were moved enough to tweet about it, link to it, or follow it up on their own blog, with their own thoughts. In the end, it's all about the conversation - the power that arises from this speculative collective - and I'm chuffed to bits to have contributed something to the endlessly stimulating dialogue that's followed.

But let's get on with the show.

In 'Righting the Left Hand of God', I discussed how the reception to my negative review of said novel had left me feeling a little conflicted; or, at the least, I certainly meant to. One way or another, to cut a long story short, I didn't launch The Speculative Scotsman in order to bully readers into buying or not buying a book - any book - based solely on my say-so.

Now far be it from me to suggest that any of the readers who said in the comments section of said review that they would no longer be buying The Left Hand of God made that decision based on a single blogger's opinion. I'm sure that wasn't the case, but equally, it's not impossible that in some cases, my thoughts on Hoffman's much-hyped novel represented the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. And no wonder: that camel's got to be exhausted by now, trotting back and forth with all the world's expectations on its shoulders like the first man to set foot on the moon, albeit with humps. And straw.

So. Tome of the Undergates author and seemingly frequent TSS visitor Sam Sykes posted his thoughts on the questions raised in part in 'Righting The Left Hand of God' on his own site, which I'd advise you bookmark or add to your RSS readers right this second.

I don't want to repost his entire blog, so go read his response, 'Do Y'all Wanna Talk About Reviews?' - and then, dear reader, return to me, for I have things yet unsaid to say.

To surmise: Sam - perhaps a little nervous over the perception that if bloggers don't like his highly anticipated debut, people might be dissuaded from buying it - doesn't think that a single recommendation, or indeed a warning not to go near a certain novel, is worth overly much. I find myself agreeing with Sam disturbingly often, and this surely isn't the ideological crossroads at which we must part ways; he's right.

I'm not the magical Scotsman that has been suggested elsewhere, nor need my English degree be any sort of validation of the opinions I presented here on the blog; assuredly, the university I studied at is no universally renowned bastion of education, though I suppose it's a step up from the drive-through colleges you can buy diplomas a dime a piece from. That said, there's nothing more or less valid about my reactions to a novel than any other blogger's. TSS is but a single voice, and though I'm not afraid sing a different tune here than other writers and readers might, that's only because, at the end of the day - as they say - beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What makes a book great to me isn't necessarily what would make a book great to you; my opinions are my own, and I promise you, I'll think no less of you if you do not share them.

Anyway, never one to say a little when I could say a lot, I've only really written all of the above to somehow justify with sheer verbosity my reposting of the lengthy comment I made on Sam's blog, as follows:

"Be it good press or bad, if people are talking about your book, if there's buzz of any sort surrounding its release, there's got to be a greater chance that the average Joe or Jane will recognise it when he or she is window-shopping in Waterstones or browsing in Borders. People aren't like lemmings - as Sam says, we can and should be making up our own minds about whether or not a particular thing appeals to us, be it a book, a film, new food or fashion. As far as books go, a review, whether positive or negative, serves firstly to give people who otherwise wouldn't look twice that first incentive to pick up, say, The Left Hand of God, or indeed, Tome of the Undergates, and make their own decisions according to their own criteria.

"And though a part of me rebels against it, there is that other point that no-one's quite making. The Speculative Scotsman may only be a month and change old, but I've been lurking amongst the community for years, and as such I don't think I would be far off-base to say that a negative review on a blog, any blog really, seems to be an uncommon thing. It's not like there's a chance Orbit or Gollancz would stop sending ARCs to The Guardian or The Times if either made a habit of ripping their publications to shreds - the exposure is just too valuable - but as far as blogs go, I imagine things are quite different.

"Bloggers are in the unenviable position of either buying just the books they want to read, and therefore leaning necessarily towards covering only those novels that they're likely to react positively to, or relying on publishers to send them a selection of the good, the bad and the ugly alike. In that latter case, the bloggers in question must then decide how important the relationships he or she has with those publishers are before publicly savaging a book they've particularly disliked. There's certainly bad press to be had in the blogs, but largely I think it's a case of good press to be lost.

"Now I wouldn't go so far as to suggest that blogs which rely on ARCs and the like are dishonest - I'd only be shooting myself in the foot, let's be frank - but I feel there's an important point to be made in amongst all that thinking-out-loud. At the end of the day, I don't necessarily trust a good review in the way that I do a negative perspective; a reviewer has nothing to lose by saying nice things about something, and much to gain. A bad review, on the other hand, will do him or her no favours - it's akin to biting the hand that feeds. Suffice it to say I don't imagine any attempts I make to establish a working relationship with Michael Joseph, the UK publishers of The Left Hand of God, will meet with much success. For a book to be met with indifference or outright negativity, therefore, there have got to be some real problems for a blogger to take that chance.

"Of course, none of that changes the fact that ultimately, readers must make their decisions for themselves. Better that they're informed decisions, though, and better still that they're decisions made bearing in mind the advice of bloggers whose reactions in the past have been similar to your own.

"But for me, for the reasons outlined above, when I'm looking to add to my collection of books, a single bad review carries substantially more weight than a single good review."

Of course, the larger part of that comment is a story for another time, and that time is not now. I've burbled enough for one day.

But do, dear readers, let me know what your thoughts are on these issues in the comments. Are bad reviews bad things? Do they impact your perception of a book more than a good review might? Can bloggers be considered a source of legitimate criticism if there's anything to the above-mooted opinion? At that, is there anything to it?

Discuss!

Righting The Left Hand of God

We're all adults here, aren't we?

Well, here's hoping the thought of a little homework doesn't discourage you from reading the remainder of this post. There's really only a very little, I swear it! For those of you who have already scrolled through my review of Paul Hoffman's The Left Hand of God, a free pass. For those of you who haven't, well... why not? Click through and get caught up. Don't forget to read the comments!

Go on. I'll wait.

...

Quite finished? Excellent. Let's get on with it, then.

I'll admit, I had a notion that a review of The Left Hand of God would appeal to many of the kind souls who frequent these pages. Penguin's incredibly widespread publicity campaign has made certain that there's a great deal of buzz surrounding Hoffman's debut - enough to have hoodwinked several of my fellow bloggers into tipping it as among the most promising SF&F debuts of 2010 - and with its publication in the States still months away, the level of anticipation for The Left Hand of God remains high enough that anyone writing anything about it is guaranteed a bit of traffic.

Skeptics: the above rationale is not why I'm writing about The Left Hand of God again. You have The Speculative Scotsman's word, and Scotsmen, especially the speculative variety, are well known to be honour-bound by their word. Also, if you believe me, I will give you each a cookie.

In any event, I expected that my review would get a bit of attention from those fantasy fans that, like me, had been taken in by the unending hype behind Hoffman's genre debut. What I didn't expect was for traffic to the article to surpass every other piece published to date here on TSS. I mean, come on, Guy Gavriel Kay fans; you're letting the side down!

To my relief, no-one got too up in arms about my reaction to The Left Hand of God. Wait, had I not mentioned that this was the first out-and-out negative review I've written for the site? Well, you should have done your homework. To surmise: The Left Hand of God is hardly fit to prop up your worst enemy's gangrenous ankle. It's a book written by committee. A committee, moreover, who hasn't a clue how to write anything more worthwhile than derivative dreck with designs on selling fantasy to legions of readers to whom Twilight represents the height of literary fiction.

But decrying the UK's bestselling book isn't going to make it any less popular, is it? We're talking about the opinion of a single, small-scale blogger, after all. If you've a mind to see the other half of the equation, there are certainly plenty of more positive reviews of The Left Hand of God out there - although I strenuously disagree with nearly every flattering thing professional critics and fellow bloggers have alike asserted regarding Hoffman's debut. Nevertheless, that very question feeds into the issue I hope to address with this post. What good does a bad review do?

Perhaps I should rephrase and ask, instead: what bad does a bad review do? Eloquent, I know, but all the same, it's an easier question to answer. In the comments section of the aforementioned review, you see, where I'm pleased to say cooler heads prevailed than I'd anticipated - consider my expectations adjusted accordingly, readers; you really are a fine bunch - the most common reaction to my so-called "sodomising" of The Left Hand of God was something along the lines of this, from Phil of A Fantasy Reader:

"I'm glad I read your review, that book was on my 2010 reading list (sadly simply because of the hype) and now it's off."

And this, from Jason, who makes his home over at the excellent Kamvision:

"For some reason I wasn't sure about this one to begin with... Something I read - maybe it was about the author - put me off. Anyway, thanks to your review I'm really not going to bother trying to cram this into an already very tight schedule. Cheers!"

Now this, surely, is one of the prime motivating factors behind why we bloggers do what we do. To inspire people to read books they otherwise wouldn't, and discourage them from wasting their time and money on something that isn't worth either.

Assuredly, I find reviewing to be a great way of collecting together my thoughts on books, films and video games that in all likelihood I won't remember with any real clarity a few years from now, but if that were the only reason I began blogging about speculative fiction in all its forms I'd have been as well to start a diary as launch TSS.

For me, the reviews I publish here are firstly my contribution to the great conversation that goes on between the various members of a community that's built itself around SF&F. Individually, whatever our respective reach and readership, we're none of us terribly powerful when you come right down to it. Together, however, as a single entity amassed at the fringes of genre fiction, we're capable of touching nearly every part of the literature we love to an incredible extent - from writers to publishers to readers, bloggers are an influential force that each of these groups would rather have on their side than on the opposing front.

But that doesn't mean we all have to agree about everything. For my money, a review is a sort of balancing act; an accounting of the various positives and negatives that make up the whole that is the product you're reviewing. A review needn't be anything so sterile as that description perhaps suggests, but I would go so far as to say it's amongst our obligations, as bloggers, to state, according to our own judgment, what does and doesn't work about a particular piece of fiction - obfuscating either the good or the bad so that your argument seems clearer seems to me the sign of a poor argument.

At this point, let me reiterate one final comment from The Left Hand of God review that speaks to the entire issue at hand. Sam Sykes, author of the hotly-anticipated Tome of the Undergates and soon to be TSS interview subject, found a high horse and rode it into the ground. Apologies for his foul language - evidently the gentleman's username on Twitter (follow him @SamSykesSwears) isn't just smoke and mirrors to disguise a specimen of infinite sweetness and light - and do note that I've edited his reaction for brevity, and furthermore, taken great glee in so doing. You can find his unaltered words in the comments for the original post.

Without further ado, then, over to you, sweary Sam:

"Reviews aren't everything and everything a reviewer hates you won't necessarily dislike.

"This is most definitely not a slight or a discouragement of Mr. Alexander or his fine blog. He definitely does a service here, as do all reviewers, but that service is still giving us his opinion, not necessarily telling us what to buy.

"The biggest thing I've learned so far is that the phrase 'different strokes for different folks' (or blokes, if you're inclined) is not just a phrase as it pertains to books: it's a goddamn mantra.

"Everyone gets some negative press. This is because what is written just doesn't work for everyone. Some people want grittier, some people want more angst, some people just want something closer to something they already know. As a result, I don't really take any review as negative anymore, because for every point that a reviewer says is not good, someone else says: 'shit, that's for me!'

"Admittedly, Mr. Alexander's review was a bit harsh and he's absolutely correct to tell you exactly what he thinks of a book; if he coddled you, he'd be a fraudster, and sentenced to the eighth level of hell to be sodomized with hot irons. But that doesn't necessarily mean you won't like the book.

"That went on a bit, didn't it? The point of this all is that you shouldn't feel poorly for buying a book that someone later didn't like. There are tons of popular books out there that I absolutely could not bring myself to like.

"Besides, even if you end up hating it, you'll want to keep it around, because you will find a sentence you just truly hate and someone will eventually ask you what the worst book you ever read was and you will want to have it on hand to quote from."

I find myself very much in agreement with Sam's argument. Ultimately, either in a review or in the case of an article such as this, what I'm stating is an opinion, nothing more concrete than that and nothing less pliable. But then, that's all any of us are doing - even those critics in the enviable position of being able to trade theirs for cold, hard cash. If you've enjoyed some of the same books The Speculative Scotsman has, you'll probably enjoy the books I've read that you haven't; equally, you probably won't like The Left Hand of God, nor be entirely blown away by the likes of Cherie Priest's Boneshaker. But in all likelihood, you'll love Tigana.

However, whether you're a reader or a fellow writer, if the opinions published on TSS diverge from your own - and inevitably, even if we find ourselves nodding in agreement the majority of the time, they will - so much the better; much as I feel a review is better when it encompasses both pros and cons, surely the community as a whole is made stronger if it's truly representative of the vast swathe of reactions every piece of fiction leave in its literary wake.

When I was growing up, my folks would fight a lot. Maybe that's got something to do with why I find fiction such an invaluable diversion, but I digress; I certainly haven't had a hard life. Nonetheless, whenever I'd ask why they were always shouting at one another, they'd say to me, "N. R. Alexander, couples who don't fight, why... they aren't couples at all," which I thought was ridiculous. Isn't that ridiculous? What's surprising, though, is that the grown-up me might agree with them - to a point. Disagreement, I believe now, is healthy. Energetic debate gives you a fresh perspective on issues you might not ever have realised there was another side to.

In the grander scheme, I'd wager that the disparity of opinion in the blogosphere coalesces, eventually, into a kind of counter-intuitive parity; that the very divergence of the opinions voiced here and elsewhere comes, in the end, to form a representational entity that can simultaneously cater to readers of every taste and inclination, from one extreme of the spectrum to the other. That one blogger might hate a book while another thinks it's the best creation since the cheese slice, I think, is of little significance in individual terms, but when taken together, this glorious collective of opinions at odds with one another is surely an infinitely more valuable entity than any single recommendation, be it positive or negative.

So you see, fighting is fun and helpful... although my parents are still loons.

Here endeth today's lesson!

How We Read: An Addendum

As if they've anything left to prove, the incredible community that's built up around SF&F in fiction and in film last week wowed this humble blogger with their considered response to the first feature to grace the front page of The Speculative Scotsman. There's another such article in the works, never fear, and I'm as excited as all get-out about this one, too, though I'm keeping the details close to my chest for now.

In the meantime, I thought it would be a fine idea to highlight the best of the comments and responses to Had We Worlds Enough and Time in a post of their very own. TS was first to answer the question I'd posed - how do you read?

"These days I'm also a slow reader.

"The start of the book is usually the slowest going. I'll read a chapter or two, set the book aside until tomorrow. Somewhere in the middle, I'll speed up because I'm more invested in the story. Usually 1/4 to the end I'll be sitting in the near dark late at night only moving because otherwise I'll get a cramp."

I find myself in almost complete agreement with this reader. Starting out with a new novel is always the hardest part, but the further along the road I get, the more I'm drawn in, the easier I find it to ignore all the other things I could and very likely should be doing to keep reading into the wee hours.

ediFanoB of Only The Best Sci-Fi/Fantasy has some sage advice, too:

"Every month I put together a list of books I want to read. Mostly six books... Normally I try to find three hours per day for reading. Sometimes it is difficult due to my work."

The Speculative Scotsman could certainly learn a thing or two from this suggestion. I've always got a pile of books I mean to read, not least because of the review copies that are now trickling in day by day, and I do try to dedicate a couple of hours each day to whatever I'm reading at the moment, but as ediFanoB says, it can sometimes be difficult; real life often picks the least opportune moments to intervene while you're in the middle of a great story. Nonetheless, a bit of self-regulation could do me the world of good.

Meanwhile, the lovely Amanda of Floor-to-Ceiling Books had this to say:

"I skim read, I guess... I want to read as much as possible, but it does mean that as little as days after I've finished a book I can only remember sketchy details. The positive is that I can pick up a book for a second and third time and read it again with as much enjoyment - not remembering some of the little plot twists - and each time picking out some new detail I missed the first time."

Now I'd dispute that 90 books a year is "slow" reading by any stretch - last year I managed through perhaps 40 novels - but Amanda makes some excellent points. When the last issue of Granta arrived, with an ad for Paul Auster's Invisible, it took a few long minutes before I realised I'd already read it in a single sitting just months ago. Great book, by the way... I think.

The great Mark Charon Newton - author of Nights of Viljamur and the forthcoming City of Ruin - stopped by to offer his $0.02 as well:

"There seems to be a culture these days to read as many books as possible, which I don't think does the reader or the writer any justice... I must say, the writing eats up a good deal of what used to be reading time. And the internet eats away at a lot too, which I'm trying to control (not easy when you're watching any debate)."

Which reminds me of a lamentable by-product of all this blogging. One thing I've damn near stopped doing since launching The Speculative Scotsman is writing my own fiction. I really must get back to a few shorts I'd begun before the new year before my inspiration is lost to the ether, but making my presence felt in a blogosphere that was ticking over just fine without TSS has taken precedence in January. I regret nothing!

But Mark, I think I speak for the entire community when I say, if other books interfere with the progress of Legends of the Red Sun: stop reading, man, and get on with that next book! :P

Bryce of Seak's Stamp of Approval and another Mark, this one from the excellent Walker of Worlds blog, seem to agree that the style of the novel you're currently devouring has as much to with how we read as anything else. As Mark Chitty puts it:

"It all depends for me, if it's a book that I've been waiting for and the prose is to my taste then I can devour a book in a day or two. If it's done in a style that I struggle with then it will take anywhere up to a couple of weeks, or longer."

I'd agree wholeheartedly. You can read the TSS review of Best Served Cold here for a more thorough explanation of my feelings about Joe Abercrombie's relentless revenge fantasy, but suffice it to say I spent something like 10 days reading that, while managing through three admittedly shorter books in the week since. I would add, however, that I tend to be rather intimidated by longer novels, and that surely affects my own drive to read.

Mark also developed his point of view on the questions raised by Had We Worlds Enough and Time did with a post on his own blog, which I'd recommend you catch up on via this link and duly get involved in the conversation - if you haven't already, that is.

I'm going to conclude this addendum with a response from Black_Dog_Diary, who has no site that I can pimp for what will become obvious reasons. I think her comment represents a perspective that few of us in the blogosphere take proper account of:

"I used to read prolifically, but... now I have a life with 2 boys under 5 and a full time paid job & another full time unpaid job, being wife & mother. At the end of each day I am, frankly, spent. I have a pile of books by the bed, and probably 2 nights a week I return to the latest read before falling asleep. I arrange the pillows, get comfortable and read until I find myself backtracking & re-reading sentences & paragraphs because I was too tired to get the gist of what was trying to be expressed."

Often, it's not that the desire to read has faded in any sense, only the opportunity to. In some (selfish) ways, I dread the day my other half comes through with The News, not because it wouldn't be wonderful - truly, it would be; what more worthwhile pursuit is there in our meager existences than making new life? - but because it would mean I'd necessarily have less time to indulge myself in the books I love so much.

Then again, a baby would be something to love immeasurably more than even a new China Mieville. And I could read to it, couldn't I?

It's been a pleasure to add even such a small thing to the great conversation taking place amongst the lovely SF&F community, and it wouldn't be possible without you, dear readers. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and respond to The Speculative Scotsman's first feature post - those of you who didn't make it into this addendum equally as much as those of you whose comments did.

Had We Worlds Enough and Time

Now here's a question.

The week I've spent with Best Served Cold has seen me through roughly two-thirds of its 550 pages. I've gone a day here and there without delving into Abercrombie's cruel, merciless world, granted, but on those days when I have, I've read for long stretches; a hour at the least, three or four in a single sitting if outside circumstances have allowed it. In total, I've been wrapped up in Monza's ruthless quest for vengeance for about 16 hours.

When all is said and done, I think it's fair to extrapolate that I'll have spent a full day reading this book. And I know that to be unusual. It pains me to admit, but I'm a notoriously slow reader. Particularly given how omnivoracious I am in terms of fiction, in fact - not to mention film, video games and the other media I have an appetite for - my ever-so gradual march through Best Served Cold, much as I'm enjoying it now, frustrates the hell out of me.

In my younger years, when J. K. Rowling had the literary zeitgeist all to herself, I'd hear of readers devouring one of her latterly massive Harry Potter novels in the wee hours between the midnight launches they'd attended and sunup the next morning. I remember avoiding newspapers and the internet entirely for a week after The Half-Blood Prince so as not to have it spoiled for me while I gobbled my gradual way through it. I still haven't read The Deathly Hallows because, despite my efforts, some spoilsport ruined that novel's ending while I was still on the third chapter.

The sheer length of some novels is all it takes for me to overlook them. If it hadn't been for one recommendation after another, I don't know that I'd have read The Name of the Wind; often, when it comes time to choose my next book, I'll opt for the shorter selection simply for the fact that I'll be able to get to the rest quicker. Vast tomes will sit on my shelves for months, even years at a time, unread only because I know it'll be weeks before the stories contained therein are over. These are decisions I make before they've even begun; I can hardly express how much I resent myself for giving into them once and again.

And another thing. The staggering investment of time it would require for me to see through epic SF&F series such as A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin and the late Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time cycle means that, well... I just haven't tried. I'm sure I'd love them, but I'd be able to read nothing else for so long that I can't quite justify sacrificing all the other fiction I'd miss in so doing.

It can be a real problem, then, reading so slowly, and much as I wish I could make rush headlong through Abercrombie's latest - the better to get to the mounting pile of promising speculative literature that awaits me when Best Served Cold is over - I tell myself that the snail's pace I set when I sit down with a good book also has its advantages.

Five years at Uni dealing with intimidating reading lists for a myriad of English units have left me perfectly capable of skimming through fiction, but honestly, now that I read for my own pleasure, I'd rather not ruin a good narrative by glossing over the depth and texture that I think gradual progress grants. Worlds come alive in new ways when you pore over every detail, imagining the scene before you as if it were painted rather than written. With every word spoken or thought, characters become more complex, more substantial, more relatable than the imperfect impressions a speedy read-through results in. Pages dense with description and exposition - the very sort you'd gloss over if you were reading for any reason other than the innate pleasure of the act itself - can prove vital to a proper understanding of the text in question, developing technique, tone and atmosphere, those intangible literary imperatives that can make or break a book.

I'm deeply suspicious of people who can devour an epic novel in the space of a day, but let me be clear: I certainly don't mean to suggest that if you read faster than I do - and who doesn't? - you're reading wrong, somehow. A thousand thousand factors can and do play into the time it takes for a person to make the great journey from prologue to epilogue, the innumerable concerns of real life and making ends meet not least among them. On the other hand, when I see here and there across the speculative community bloggers who boast of the hundreds of novels they read in 2009 - not to speak of those who manage as many in a month, and they're out there - I can't help but feel a little inadequate.

I love to read. There are few activities in life that I value more highly. I wish with every fibre of my being that each day was a few hours longer that I might spend the precious extra time with my nose buried in one book or another. Every year I resolve to read more than I did the year before. Most years, I manage, but there's never enough time to get to everything I'd like.

But I had a question to pose to you, and for all my meandering, it's a simple one, perhaps deceptively so: how do you read?

This needn't be a pissing contest. Let's just take as given that I read at rougly the same rate as a third-grader, and go from there. I'd be very interested to hear how you go about setting the stage for a long night with a good book, too. Do you listen to music, for instance? Bake a choice few snacks? Soft lighting, a movie soundtrack in my headphones and a nice cup of tea suits me right down to the ground.

Consider it open mic night at The Speculative Scotsman.

To that end, dear readers: over to you...