Last week I shared five of the types of expectations that can interfere with my enjoyment of a book. Today, I’m reflecting on the strategies I use to confront and resist these expectation, and why I think that’s so important for a satisfying reading life.
Why I confront my reading expectations
The simple answer is confronting my internal expectations about books makes my reading life more pleasurable and my responses to those books fairer.
The pleasure component is pretty straightforward. We all know that unmet high expectations can take some of the joy out of reading, but it’s really hard to taper expectations! Every reader wants to find their next favorite book so when we see a new novel lauded or approach a beloved author’s latest release, we can’t help but let our expectations build. Sometimes I can manage my expectations from the onset, but when I’m unable, I find that acknowledging and exploring them can make the reading experience more enjoyable—even if the book itself isn’t a winner.
Additionally, because I write reviews with the aim of helping readers know if a book might be worth their time, I think it’s only fair to those readers and the book that I unpack any expectations that might have impacted my reading. If I don’t confront my expectations head on, I may end up reviewing a book in comparison to the book I wanted it to be rather than reviewing it for what it is. This, I find, can be helpful to readers if I want to help them manage their expectations, but it can also be unjust to the authors who deserve for the conversation to be about what they did put out, not what they didn’t.
If I was not a public reader, I might worry less about considering my expectations, but I think it can be a valuable exercise in any reading experience. In unpacking my expectation, I’ve learned a lot about the cultural and contextual constructs I’ve adopted as a reader and in working to resist them I’ve grown to love a broader range of stories. Who doesn’t want that?
How I confront my reading expectations
I time my reading right. Last week I admitted to the character flaw of (occasionally) actively looking for flaws in books with lots of hype. The best way I find to resist this is to pause a beat before picking up a particularly buzzy book. While I do love to be part of the initial conversation about a hot new release, I know that I approach a book with more reasonable and fairer expectations if I don’t read it immediately. Currently I’m waiting until some of the frenzy fades to pick up Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano. Whether I like it or not, I know waiting will help me judge this novel on its own terms rather than in response to the hype.
I notice my specific expectations. As I mentioned last week, sometimes it’s the case that my expectations are simply too high. But often, it’s more specific than that. Maybe I expect an author to blow me away with a twist and move me with heartbreaking story. Maybe I think a book is going to be very “literary” and so I’m expecting something structurally or artistically innovative. Maybe I think a book is going to address a particular theme. Whatever it is, noticing these specific expectations allows me to acknowledge what I thought a book was going to be, accept what it isn’t, and focus on what it is.
I discern where my expectations are coming from. These are lots of sources for reading expectations. Here are a few: my past experience (I will always have high expectations for a Jesmyn Ward release), social media hype (remember when Age of Vice was everywhere?), the publishers’ synopsis (the Kitchens of the Great Midwest synopsis was all sorts of wrong), author blurbs (Don Winslow comparing American Dirt to Grapes of Wrath 🥴) , friends’ opinions (if my smart friends love something I want to love it too), the context we read it in (I didn’t enjoy The Nightingale when vetting it as a potential classroom read), newspaper reviews (this one seems obvious), the reputation of the book’s publisher (I expect literary but accessible from Riverhead and a little more experimental from FSG), the cover (we all know a historical fiction cover when we see one), the book’s title (if a book is called Romantic Comedy, I will have certain expectations), and the content of the book itself (I’ll get to this). As I’m noticing these expectations pop up, I remind myself that the author is only responsible for one…maybe two of these—the content of the book and often but not always the title. When I remember that so much is out of the control of the author and and book, it’s easier for me to be okay with unmet expectations.
I determine whether my expectations are fair game for critique. I want to avoid critiquing a book for not being what I expected it to be. First of all, it’s not fair—so many expectations are coming from external sources. And second, I want a reading life that defies my expectations—how boring would it be if every book was exactly what I expected?! I do think helping to manage and counter some expectations is a great thing for book reviewers to do. I find it incredibly helpful to know when a book being marketed as a fill-in-the-blank genre is not a fill-in-the-blank genre or when a new release is a departure for an author. But I try to state these as observations, not judgements. However, when my expectations are coming from the content of the book itself—I think that’s fair game for critique.
I talk it out. Sometimes these questions are difficult to unpack on my own and turning to a group of readers can be a fun and useful way for me to explore them. Other readers can help me understand why I had particular expectations for a book and whether those expectations where justified. I also enjoy getting a little meta with these questions (I mean, I host a monthly book club devoted to exploring why certain books get all the buzz). I find it fascinating to consider how the way a book is received is always determined in part by the audience it finds and the cultural moment it meets. I also enjoy these meta conversations with other readers because they put joy back into the expectations game. When I find myself dejected by a string of disappointing books, talking about those books almost always makes my reading experience more positive.
I read about reading. Even though I love to write and talk about books, the reading process itself is such a solitary activity. I’ve found that the way I read can get a little stale and that reading about reading gives me new strategies for approaching a text, seeing past my limitations, and realizing that people come to books with a wide and varying set of experiences, approaches, interests, tastes, and—yes—expectations. One of the books that has totally transformed my understanding of how my culture and educational background impact what I think of as “good” writing is Craft in the Real World by Matthew Salesses. I also adore A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders for the way it models considering authorial choices while reading. [If you like the idea of reading about reading, check out my Novel Pairings co-host Chelsey’s newest edition of Recipe for a Bookish Life].
I consider what the book is doing. This is the big one isn’t it. It’s one thing to recognize what a book is not and to notice when it fails to meet my expectations, but the next step is to think about what the book is—what it’s doing or trying to do—so I can focus on the book in its own right and meet it where it is. I’ll continue exploring this query and how I personally go about it throughout this series, but truthfully I just start by thinking “okay, this book isn’t _____ so what is it doing?” I find it’s just what I need to get me out of my own expectations and back into the world the author has crafted.
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-Sara
This topic has come up recently in our group buddy reading all the Booker winners written by women - specifically, what our expectations are for a Booker winner, what criteria that the judges might be using to choose a winner, and how to reconcile the two. As you say here, talking it out with smart and thoughtful readers is really enhancing my experience with these books.
This is why I find rereading so valuable! Often I'll have expectations for whatever reason and the book disappoints me because it's different from what I thought it would be, but rereading always allows me to approach the book as it actually is and it means I nearly always end up enjoying it much more. (Madame Bovary is an exception!)