One of the things that makes reading good fiction so entertaining is that, in talented hands, it gives the author a chance to sound off on topics that interest him right in the midst of his narrative.
This is taken from Chapter 11 of Anthony Trollope's (1815-1882) novel The Way We Live Now (1875). One of his characters has just published a book; it's not a very good book, but the character is high enough up in society to be able to have the book published and get book reviewers to review it. Trollope takes the opportunity to kick a little dirt in the direction of the "book reviewing profession. He starts by categorizing book reviews:
There is the review intended to sell a book - which comes out immediately after the appearance of the book, or sometimes before it; the review which gives reputation, but does not affect the sale, and which comes a little later; the review which snuffs a book out quietly; the review which is to raise or lower the author a single peg, or two pegs, as the case may be; the review which is to suddenly make an author, and the review which is to crush him. An exuberant [reviewer] has been known before now to declare aloud that he would crush a man, and a self-confident [reviewer] has been known to declare that he has accomplished the deed. Of all reviews, the crushing review is the most popular, as being the most readable. When the rumor goes abroad that some notable man has been actually crushed - been positively driven over by an entire Juggernaut's car of criticism till his literary body be a mere amorphous mass - then a real success has been achieved...
The composition of the review, together with the reading of the book, consumed altogether perhaps an hour of Mr. Booker's time. He made no attempt to cut the pages, but here and there read those that were open. He had done this kind of thing so often that he knew well what he was about. He could have reviewed such a book when he was three parts asleep. When the work was done, he threw down his pen and uttered a deep sigh. He felt it to be hard upon him that he should be so compelled, by the exigencies of his position, to descend so low in literature; but it did not occur to him to reflect that in fact he was not so compelled, and that he was quite at liberty to break stones, or to starve, honestly, of no other honest mode of carrying on his career was open to him. "If I didn't do it, somebody else would," he said to himself.
Thanks for the compliment; sorry I was too dense to get it!
