We do peer critiques of our reviews in class on Wednesday. When Ms. Archer stands up to read out the names of the people in each group it occurs to me to really, really hope I’m not with Cameron. He did give me condolences for having Hunter as a brother, but he never said anything snarky about Hunter’s band, the band about which I’ve written the most devastating review in the annals of journalism. His brother is in the band, too. The band performed one of his songs, producing the only line of praise in the entire review, which, now that I imagine Cameron reading it, is over-the-top gushing, and something I’d feel awkward if he read, sitting right there next to me. Of course, he’ll be able to read it if the review gets published. But it will feel different then.
If we’re in the same critique group, I’m going to have to get a pass for the health room.
We’re not.
I get Max Fruh, who’s an okay writer but not great; Tyler, who might appreciate the artful nastiness of my review; and Olivia, who would like my review a lot more, I’m sure, if she were the one who had written it.
“So who wants to go first?” I ask after I’ve led the way in dragging our chairs into a corner of the room as far away from Cameron’s group as possible. Olivia isn’t the only one who can take a leadership role.
The others shrug.
“Okay, I’ll start,” I say, pretending I don’t care either way.
I pass out copies of the review for them to read. Ms. Archer has us bring four copies to class on peer-critique day.
As they start reading, Ms. Archer pulls up a chair to join us. She likes to circulate from group to group. She never says anything about the piece itself; she just listens to the critique to make sure we’re following her guidelines: Start with something positive. Ask questions of the author rather than making assumptions. Don’t try to rewrite someone else’s piece the way you would have written it. Stay constructive.
I hand Ms. Archer my copy of the review so she can read along.
Please, please, please let her think my review is good enough to be published in the Peaks Post!
I hear Tyler chuckle. I wonder which line he just read. Maybe it was “There’s bad, there’s horribly bad, and then there’s Paradox.” Or “It’s paradoxical how songs by artists as different as John Lennon, Prince, and Coldplay can all end up sounding exactly the same.”
Olivia takes the lead again once it’s clear everyone has finished reading. This time she’s not being bossy: by Ms. Archer’s rules, the person sitting to the right of the author facilitates that person’s critique.
“So?” Olivia says. “What does anyone like in Autumn’s review?”
“It’s hysterical,” Tyler says. “It’s piss-your-pants hilarious. Man, that band must capital S-U-C-K.”
“Yeah,” Max says. “I liked that part, too.” He’s the kind of kid who waits to hear what someone else says and then says he agrees with it.
I notice Olivia doesn’t say anything she likes about it. Instead she says, “I have a question for Autumn. What do you think the reader will learn about this band from your review?”
“Um—that they’re terrible?” I offer.
“But terrible how?” Olivia asks. “Is it their choice of music that’s terrible? Or their playing? What about their playing? Are they off-key? Is there something odd about their interpretations? We get that they’re loud, but all rock bands are loud. We get a lot of funny insults about the band, but I don’t think you really supported them with examples and details.”
I look over at Ms. Archer to see if she’s nodding, as Olivia practically quoted her directions to us from last week word for word. But she just sits with her head tilted to one side, the way she does when she’s paying close attention.
“Well, I guess I could put more of that part in,” I mumble.
What does make a band bad? Olivia’s question might be fair, but it’s hard to answer.
That it has my brother in it isn’t going to be enough. That my brother said even worse things about me isn’t going to be enough either.
“The line about Cameron’s song doesn’t fit in with the rest,” Tyler says.
“Is that the same Cameron as our Cameron?” Max asks. My sudden blush gives the answer away. “I didn’t know he wrote songs. Cameron!” Max shouts across the room. “Autumn wrote about you in her review!”
Cameron looks up at the sound of his name.
“She loved your song!” Max shouts.
Well, I did love his song. What’s so terrible about that?
“She said”—and now Max is reading aloud from the review, despite Ms. Archer’s attempt to shush him—“‘The only redeeming feature of the evening was the haunting ballad by promising songwriter Cameron Miller.’”
Okay. Now I’m cringing almost as much as I did when Hunter read my poem to his friends. I might as well have a big sign hanging around my neck saying AUTUMN GRANGER IS IN LOVE WITH CAMERON MILLER.
But wouldn’t Cameron want to know that the only reviewer at the gig thought his song was wonderful? If I had written a song and he had heard it performed and called it a “haunting ballad,” I’d be delirious with joy.
Cameron’s eyes meet mine but reveal nothing.
To my relief, Tyler focuses our group’s discussion back on the substance of what I wrote. “It’s an okay line, but I’d like the review better if it was a hundred-percent hating on the band.”
“But then it wouldn’t be true,” I put in, even though another one of Ms. Archer’s rules for the groups is that the author isn’t supposed to say anything except in reply to a direct question.
“Autumn,” Olivia reprimands me.
As if she’s never defended herself when a comment is unfair, which she does all the time.
“Anything else?” Olivia asks.
Tyler and Max shake their heads.
“Maybe…” Olivia begins. “It’s just … when you’re writing a review? Sometimes funny can come out sounding just … mean.”
So Olivia isn’t critiquing my review. She’s critiquing me.
As always, Olivia looks over at Ms. Archer for her approval.
Maybe Ms. Archer will tell her, Now, Olivia, remember, we’re here to discuss the writing. It’s not our job to comment on the character of the writer as a person.
She doesn’t.
She smiles and says, “Thanks for letting me sit in for a while.” Not that we had any choice.
Then she heads over to another group.
Did she like my review? Or not?
After all, she’s the one who told us that the pen is mightier than the sword. That has to mean that it’s okay to use the pen sometimes as a sword.
Doesn’t it?