Does an ARC guarantee a review?

I get a lot of the books I review from Netgalley. Others I buy myself. Very occasionally, I might get one from the author, but that doesn’t happen often.

If I buy the book myself, I choose whether to review it or not. When I get the ARC for free, I feel more obliged to do the review. But I won’t give an unfairly good review, because it’s not fair to the readers or to the authors whose books I loved, for that matter.

For better or worse, I try to be honest. That’s why I restrict the books I’ll review. Friends and publishers I write for, I won’t review, because, frankly, my writing comes first, and the people I work with are an important part of that. I would hope that most of the writers whose books I give not-so-good reviews to accept that I’m not criticising them, I’m not even criticising their book. I’m saying why I didn’t like it. And I never, ever criticise an author. Just that particular book. There are authors whose books I have both hated and loved, and I try to be fair and give them the grade I think they deserve for that particular book. The happy-sigh book gets the highest grade, regardless of author, genre, or publisher. And there are books by friends that I adore. Sometimes that’s why they’ve become friends, but if I’m ever moved to praise them, I’ll always state upfront that we’re friends. Just so you know and you can take that into consideration.

Like all reviewers, I bring my own expectations and even my background to my appreciation of a book. I’m particularly hard on historicals. I can’t help it. If there’s a vague, wishy-washy background or if the author has taken vast liberties with history, the book will get marked down or DNF’d. I have found that in the “wallpaper” history books, the characters are often as thin as the background, and no amount of hot sex scenes will make up for that.

That’s why histories don’t always work for me, even though I love, love, love a well-written, absorbing historical romance. But if I ever read a wishy-washy history book with vivid, believable characters that I care about, I’ll say so, because that is the point of reading a romance. To share in the experience of the main characters and to care about them. To be taken away for a while.

I sometimes write books set in modern-day America, so I have the same problems in reverse – trying to understand the American psyche and writing in the correct idiom. If I wrote that cars went down Fifth Avenue instead of up, if I had two-way flow at the Central Park end, I could guarantee lots of scathing letters. Something that seems trivial to me detracts from someone else’s enjoyment of the book. But I have two huge advantages over people trying to get into British history to write their romances. First, I can visit the places I write about, and I do. I love my visits, make copious notes, and take hundreds of photos. I travel alone so I can sit in restaurants and museums or on a park bench and just listen. Get the cadence of the area, hear the patterns of speech. Love it to bits. Now while a writer of historical romance can visit the UK, they can’t go back in time. None of us can. But visiting helps. The second advantage? I have American editors, usually two or more per book. That is invaluable, so much that I wouldn’t like to try to write a book with an American character without them. They point out things I’d never have dreamed of researching. To take a simple example, I had “car park” changed to “car lot.” Sure, I’d heard the expression, but I naturally write “car park.” Those editors are so, so important to what I do.

So why not get British readers for the historicals set in the UK by US authors? That would ensure that at least the language used is right. And if history buffs were recruited, even better. That’s not to say that there aren’t some American authors who get it right. Miranda Neville, Laura Kinsale, Loretta Chase, for instance, write fantastic books about vivid, believable characters who I remember for a long time after I’ve closed the book. So it can be done. And some of my compadres, Nicola Cornick, Sarah Mallory, Jo Beverley, write wonderful books that sell well both sides of the Atlantic. Long may they flourish.

I never read American romances before around 2000, so I missed out on the rape-into-love books (I read one Catherine Coulter, and it horrified me, but I did love the old Susan Johnson American historicals). I was used to books that respected the history they set the stories in and editors who were knowledgeable enough about history to critique them. I’m still trying, but these days a lot of the books I receive are ARCS.

Which brings me to the point. When I get an ARC, I feel more obliged to review the book. Recently I’m learning to decline. For instance, the Linden book I read recently didn’t work for me, so when I was sent another, I couldn’t see the point of reviewing it. Why should I start a witch hunt or upset the people who enjoy her books? So I declined to review it. But when I buy a book and it’s so-so or meh, then I’ll probably not review it, because I won’t be saying anything new or making a point. But if I’ve received the book as an ARC, then I’ll probably review it.

Raves—I get so excited about those that I almost always do a review. That’s why I read and why I review. I want people to know about this great book. If you ask most reviewers, they’ll say the same thing. It’s the raves that are so exciting. The D, F and DNFs I write with a heavy heart because I really, really want to like the book. I never pick up a book thinking, “I’m going to hate this.” I want to love it, to buy in to the romance, to have a good time. If I read a book and hate it, I don’t always do a review, because it might be a personal dislike (like my dislike of big misunderstanding books), and I’m not adding anything to the debate. But if it’s an ARC? I kind of think I ought to say something.