I had a tea party for my mother today. And long after we ate the red pears with Gorgonzola, the orange currant muffins with Black Forest Ham, the pecan chicken salad on cucumber rounds, followed by the poppyseed cake, there was a conversation about this blog.
“Tom likes your blog, you know,” said his wife Amy. “He really does.”
A look of small surprise from me, that my pleasure would strike this judge’s fancy.
“But,” said Tom, “I really want to know what you think of the book.”
“Hmmmm?” I say, thinking that my reviews give an indication of what I liked.
“If you really enjoyed it,” he said, “I want to know. Or, if you think it’s just so-so, I want to know.”
I’m so busy worrying about hurting someone’s feelings, that I don’t say, “Hey! This book is meaningless drivel.” When I have said that, about one or two, I’m anxious I’ve offended the author especially when I’m reviewing per request. (Which I’m determined to do less of, but that’s a post for another day.)
“I think it would be very helpful,” said my mother, “for people who know you, and trust you, and read your blog, to have your honest opinion.”
“Yeah,” said my husband, “you could give it five quills or something. Five bookmarks, maybe.”
“Or three,” said Amy.
And so, I think I’ll go back to rating the books I’ve read on a five star basis. As I used to do in 2008 or so. The elementary teacher part of me, the part that has to be an encouragement to every child in the room, will be laid aside in the name of blunt truth on my blog. I loved this book. I hated this book. I think this book is okay. From here on out.