How not to review books

Lee Goldberg (with additional commentary by his brother, Tod) point out just how much of a train wreck Eugen Weber’s occasional mystery column for the LA Times truly is. The words used are “cliched” “incoherent” and I’ll add “mystifying” as well. As Lee says:

He has this to say about George Pelecanos’ DRAMA CITY:

"Melodrama City" might be more to the point, but what matters is that Pelecanos is the foremost chronicler of our urban wastelands. His prose serves up vivid versions of them that we won’t find in tourist guides: drink, drugs, slaughter, random callousness, casual kindness, tuna sandwiches, sounds that currently pass for music and the rest.

These aren’t reviews. I’m not sure what the heck they are except, collectively, another dramatic example that it’s time to replace Eugen with a real mystery critic, someone with knowledge of the genre, who is respected in the field, and who can actually write coherently without resorting to cliches.

This is why I couldn’t link to the column during my weekend update yesterday. I didn’t really feel like spending the rest of my Sunday foaming at the mouth, crying for mercy. Even if you accept the cliches, would it be so terrible for Weber to review books that were released, oh, in the last month or so?

And in answer to Keith’s question posed in the comments section, yes, reviews exist in their own little meta-bubble (I write them, so I understand this) and aren’t necessarily a good indication of literary merit, but at least they ought to be reasonably well-written and comprehensible.