Henry Writes a Review

Henry’s brow furrowed more deeply and the swiping action on his tablet became more like those of a man searching for something lost in the bottom of a junk drawer. A sigh of exasperation escaped his lips, “Why are there no reviews?” he said aloud. I looked up from my tablet just as he snapped the cover closed on his and placed it, quite firmly, on the table between us.

Our infrequent get-togethers had begun as a means of catching up, discussing our lives, how the kids had grown, where our careers had taken us and of course the inevitable “we’re not getting any younger” conversations. We both loved to read, and Henry was a voracious consumer of books; hoovering them up in a manner that was both impressive and a little frightening.

The expression on his face was clearly one of frustration, mixed with disdain. “What’s got you bent out of shape?” I asked. “Ratings”, he said, “without reviews to back them up.” I touched the power button on my device and the screen went dark, “Do tell”, I said, placing it on the table and leaning back in my seat. Henry was nothing if not a passionate soul, this should be interesting.

“Well”, he said, “I picked up a new novel a couple of days ago and got thoroughly engrossed in it; a really good read, you know the kind”, I nodded and he continued. “I had never heard of the author before this, and it turns out it’s their first book, so I thought I’d leave a review.” With you so far”, I said. Henry leaned forward, “It’s rated at only two and a half out of five stars, but the exasperating part is that there are no actual reviews! Mine will be the first!”, he used both hands to indicate his tablet and then dropped back into his chair. “Why is that?”, he said, “and why are the ratings all so consistently low? It’s a good story with good characters and humour. “

“That was a rhetorical question, right?” I asked. “Of course, of course,” he replied automatically. His expression had quickly changed from that of irritation to one of deep thought. I could see the wheels turning. “Are you still going to leave a review?” I asked, gently bringing him back to the conversation. “Mmm what?” he said. “I said are you still going to leave a review?”. He was looking in my direction, but more through me than at me; the wheels of his mind once again turning, “Yes” he said absently.

Henry and I were old friends, going back to university where we met some twenty-one years earlier. Becoming fast friends, life had, as they say, “gotten in the way” and we eventually lost touch. Marriage, children and careers became the focal point, and although we had only recently started meeting up for coffee and tea, I knew Henry was sharpening his mental pencil.

“Yes”, he said, much more in the here and now, “I am. I really enjoyed this book and it deserves better than it is getting, and more importantly, the reason for my rating must be explained.” “Because…” I said, leaving him to complete the thought. “Because a rating without an explanation is, well, nothing really is it? It leaves one wondering `why’, doesn’t it? I liked this book, yet all of the other ratings are abysmal so mine will stand out. It might not affect the author’s sales any but it will be the only rating which has an honest-to-God review next to it.”, he picked up his tablet with the physicality of a man on a mission and pulled a small keyboard from his back-pack.

“That’s new”, I said, indicating the keyboard. “What? Oh yes. I found the on-screen keyboard too sensitive to my fingers hovering over it, so I thought I’d pick this up and give it a go. A bit more to carry around but it does come in handy and there are far fewer typographical errors”, he smiled and he set to his task.

Taking a swig of my coffee I picked up my device and resumed reading my latest find, a collection of short stories; `13 Echoes’, and thought I’d check its rating to review ratio. It fared better than Henry’s, with 16 ratings, 10 of which had reviews, some of them lengthy and quite well written while others consisted of merely a sentence or two. “I suppose it’s the thought that counts”, I said aloud as I closed the review page and carried on. “It certainly is”, answered Henry, his fingers flickering across the keyboard, “but those thoughts have a reason for being, and knowing that gives prospective readers much more to go on than just a number.

Conversation wouldn’t resume for awhile, but I was sure that the words Henry was now putting out onto the Internet would provide fodder for our next meet-up. I lost myself in the world of Andy Wallerman, apparently someone was insisting he attend a birthday party, his birthday party, and they weren’t taking no for an answer.