I don’t really have an editorial policy for this blog. At least, not one written down. But, I’ve read a few things recently that I’ve hesitated to discuss on this blog, and thinking about it I’ve realised there are some similar reasons for not discussing them, and so I come to the conclusion that I do have at least one editorial policy.
In short: I don’t really like writing negative criticism, and I really don’t want to write negative criticism of living authors who might, conceivably, see it. I will write negative criticism of dead authors; for example, I’ve always been curious to at least try some Ayn Rand, and I can’t imagine I’ll have anything good to say about it. Even there, though, I’d be hesitant. I have strong political beliefs, but I really don’t see the point of arguing with people about them online. Putting in writing that I think Objectivism is ridiculous (uh-oh, I’m doing it now), is likely to draw the kind of attention I just don’t care for.
[For an example, see my review of The Caltraps of Time by David I. Masson, a deeply flawed collection with a couple really good stories. Or something like my review of Ringworld: Larry Niven is still with us, but even if he does read my review, he is unlikely to find a criticism that is fresh to him.]
This isn’t to say I won’t find fault, I’m quite happy to say that a book was overlong, or inconsistent in tone, or misrepresents an argument, but broadly if I write about something on this blog, it’s because I enjoyed it.
[There’s a corollary to this: I love, love, love, book related social media channels like Goodreads (add me) and Storygraph (please add me), but I don’t love how they’ve become part of this manifold of surveillance capitalism over the world of publishing, where a book getting 5 stars is an adequate rating and anything less than that is grounds for your publisher losing your number. If I read a book by a living author and it’s at least adequate, I find it hard not to give it five stars on Goodreads.]
I’ve taken three-hundred words to justify my telling you that I really enjoyed reading Tristan Gooley’s The Walker’s Guide to Outdoor Clues and Signs, but have been struggling for what to say about it since finishing it in early March.
I’ve always wanted to be more mindful of the natural world around me, particularly as I’ve taken to long walks being my main form of exercise. This book promised to fill that gap, and it did, kinda, but I think I just used it wrong, because I read it cover-to cover, indoors, at night. Which meant bits of it dragged, and bits of it seemed totally irrelevant or over-explained. Being able to decode animal tracks seemed reasonable – all the stuff about doing mental maths to be able to figure out what phase the moon was in didn’t.
I felt like he wasn’t doing himself any favours either because parts of the book are more based in narrative. He’ll tell you about a particular journey he took, or a particular place he went to, and then talk about techniques he used as and when they come up in the narrative. The bits of the book that aren’t narrativised seem really dry by comparison.
After finishing The Walker’s Guide I realised that it’s probably better used as a reference book, something carried around and dipped into when the need arises because you’ve found some tracks or you’re looking at the stars, and you’re wondering what they can tell you. I read it on Google Play Books, so I carry it with me because my phone goes everywhere with me. The Walker’s Guide may well prove to have more lasting utility than I’ve given it credit so far.
I do not in any way doubt Tristan Gooley’s expertise and think my misgivings can be attributed to user error. There’s a particularly interesting section on the clues and signs available in an urban setting which I loved and would gladly read a whole book on, as a lot of my walking and interest has centred around cities, recently (see my reviews of Iain Sinclair’s London Orbital and London Overground.)
The other day I was walking around my neighbourhood when I noticed a bollard that had some lichen growing on it. As I walked past the bollard I saw that only one side had lichen on it; the other was much cleaner. I stopped and oriented myself, accessing my mental map of Peterborough, and yep: the clean side pointed north, and more lichen was growing on the south face of the bollard. I felt connected, aware. I realised that I knew to look for that because I’d read The Walker’s Guide to Outdoor Clues and Signs, and that I just had to write something about a book that’d made a positive contribution to my life even if I did have some misgivings.
James Farson 
I’ve recently undergone a similar adjustment in reviewing as you mention above. In a Facebook sci-fi book club group I signaled that I would soon post a review of a very popular book and made a few disparaging remarks about it. Lo and behold, the author (an internationally recognised SF writer) ‘liked’ the post. Not sure if he saw my remarks which were further down, but he definitely knew the post was coming. It made me rethink how I phrase certain criticisms to seem clever or even superior. I didn’t like that snarky part of me and made concerted efforts to expunge him from my writing. As it turned out, Facebook glitched on me and wouldn’t allow me to post it. But I did blog about the transformation and posted the review. It’s very helpful to have those elements of self that are largely unconscious or selfishly justified brought out into stark relief so we can do something about them.
Totally agree. It’s a bit of myself I don’t like and have worked hard over years to improve. If I was getting paid for criticism, I might feel differently, but seeing as this is my space, I’d rather make friends.