As many of you know, my first novel came out last year. And that meant getting reviews, something I didn't think of when I was in the heights of ecstasy--before the book actually existed.
Mostly the reviews were fine. Some wonderful ones saying I was a genius! Some lukewarm ones, and some that were downright mean, almost personal attacks, which I found bizarre. Luckily I have a thick skin, thanks to my family, who could get vicious and loud. I recall my mother throwing a phone at my sister once--and this was way before cell phones. Bless our Jersey hearts.
Anyway, after the initial shock of the "bad" reviews wore off (and maybe a few whiskey cokes), I moved on. Mostly.
But there's one thing that has stuck in my craw these past few months, one point that some reviewers made that I feel compelled to clarify.
I love the Simpsons.
To explain: At one point in Brains, Jack, my main zombie, is discussing "rednecks." He says, "The only Homer they knew was Simpson. Their idea of an art film was The Shawshank Redemption and their wives collected Precious Moments figurines."
Many reviewers took this to mean that I, Robin Becker, was taking a swipe at the Simpsons.
I'm setting the record straight: Jack feels superior to that lovable yellow American family. In fact, Jack dislikes many things I hold near and dear. Jack even has opinions that I disagree with.
Why is this? Easy. I am not Jack.
Long live the Simpsons! Over twenty years and counting.