Ways To Make Money Online 2019: How to Get Free Book Reviews
Penny Sansevieri, CEO and founder of Author Marketing Experts, Inc encourages people to take the time to blog, reach out to people whose ideas resonate, and to be open to opportunities in Book Marketing 101: How to Get Free Book Reviews
She emphasises the importance of reaching out to book bloggers as a form of marketing your own book.
Readers and authors will have tremendous benefits using book bloggers.
For many authors, getting book reviews often feels like an uphill climb.
And now that Amazon is pulling contact points off of their list of top reviewers, the climb is getting even steeper.
We know that when it comes to book marketing, there’s nothing better than a bunch of book bloggers saying great things about your book.
So book bloggers, who do this just for the love of the book or topic, are a fantastic resource.
Bloggers offer a massive benefit to authors and readers alike.
They’re often voracious readers and often because of their reach, they offer a great return on your book marketing investment.
In many cases, they not only reach their own core audience, but they also often have a strong social media presence.
(Check out our tips for smarter social media book marketing in 2018!)
Different bloggers for different topics:
When you think of pitching bloggers, your mind probably goes straight to book bloggers, doesn’t it?
But there’s a world beyond book bloggers, especially if your book is non-fiction, or ties to something historical (think: historical fiction books).
There are a lot of book marketing possibilities out there, which lets you open the blogger door even further.
An example of this might be pitching a fitness blogger with your new yoga book or diet book.
And what about that WWII historical site? Why not pitch your WWII historical fiction book to them?
So how do you pitch bloggers who don’t do book reviews?
Well first, it’s a good idea to make sure their message aligns with yours and that they don’t have a competing book of their own.
Even in this case, they may consider supporting yours, but it’s often an easier pitch if they don’t.
Once you identify bloggers who might be interested in your topic, send them a short pitch and let them know you’re happy to send them a copy of your book.
And send them whatever format they ask for, book marketing 101: make it easy for the blogger.
While book bloggers are fantastic, their schedules often fill up quickly, so if you have the opportunity to expand your reach to other types of bloggers, do it!
Your space to discuss the books you are reading and what you think of them
Guardian readers and Sam Jordison
Welcome to this week’s blog. Here’s our roundup of your comments and photos from last week.
Elizabeth Hay’s Late Nights on Air has transported PatLux:
I have just returned from a vicarious visit to Canada via Elizabeth Hay’s gentle and exquisitely beautiful Late Nights on Air.
There are so many layers and themes to the novel and I particularly enjoyed the poetic prose in the section towards the end where four colleagues journey together through the frozen July wilderness.
And safereturndoubtful has been digging into Japanese literature with The Sailor Who Fell from Grace With the Sea by Yukio Mishima:
It is noir, based in Yokohama, and about an adolescent boy’s relationship with his mother as she embarks on a new relationship with a sailor.
The boy’s group of friends behave in an unpredictable and troubled manner.
It is a relatively short and haunting tale of masculinity that (published in 1956) relates to US occupation, Japan’s loss of status and the anger of youth.
It can hardly be described as a beautiful book, as there are several disturbing scenes, but the setting and language make the images it conjures quite memorable.
Elsewhere, a reminder that splendid as Tips, Links and Suggestions may be, other sources of book recommendations are available. Robert Rudolph explains:
I first heard of Richard Preston’s The Hot Zone from a sales clerk at a department store on the 18th.
I left the store shortly after 9:00 PM, went to the nearby book store, and was some 52 pages into the book by closing time.
It’s a remarkable medical detective story, dealing with an outbreak of an unidentified form of Ebola.
The book came out in 1994, and I kept asking myself why I’d never heard of a story this good until now… and I’ve already reread parts of it.
But then again, it’s hard to beat contributors like paulburns, and his epic ongoing series of posts on John le Carré. Last week it was A Delicate Truth:
A rendition on Gibraltar involving British armed forces, an FO observer and a private American organisation funded by Republican Christian Fundamentalists goes horribly wrong.
The novel is about the cover up and the effect on some of the survivors (and includes a charming depiction of rural life in Cornwall.) A few years later two of those survivors and an FO bureaucrat decide to blow the whistle.
From then on it’s a race between those wanting to maintain the cover up and those wishing to go public.
As usual with le Carré, the suspense is masterful, the bureaucrats self-protecting, private industry and the Americans awful.
Elsewhere, SydneyH has set aside Zola’s Germinal:
It isn’t as bad as my first impression of it, but the prose in my copy isn’t very good.
It seems likely that it’s partly a translation issue.
The first rank cliché in my Oxford copy is “still as a statue” on page two, and the simile is repeated, with slight variations, twice in part 1, which is where I’ve finished.
The Penguin softens it a little bit, saying instead “stood waiting with the immobility of stone”.
When Bonnemort uses the phrase “kick the bucket” in the Oxford to describe a near-death experience, Penguin chooses “pop my clogs”.
The translator’s note in my copy said that they wanted to reconcile the text with twentieth-century English language, which could mean that they have deliberately used the more common expressions.
I also cringed early on with the comparisons of the mine to a monster, and some of the melodramatic descriptions: “the wind wailed past them like a cry of hunger and fatigue torn from the bowels of the night”.
It’s a shame, because Nana was wonderful.
I’ll take it as a lesson to be wary about impulse-buying translated novels on sale.
Let’s end on a brighter note. MildGloster loves A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan:
Which is completely addictive, which I can’t stop reading. 220 pages in two hours. Interspersed, interrelated stories from chapter to chapter; connected characters, though years between the action.
It’s almost irrelevant – maybe impossible – to give a synopsis, because it doesn’t matter: I suppose it’s about modern America but that makes it sound boring, which it isn’t.
People and their relation to one another is more it, a shifting kaleidoscope of correspondence. What I’m trying to say is: it’s really, really good.
If you would like to share a photo of the book you are reading, or film your own book review, please do.
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I’ll include some of your posts in next week’s blog.
If you’re on Instagram and a book lover, chances are you’re already sharing beautiful pictures of books you are reading: “shelfies”, or all kinds of still lives with books as protagonists.
Now you can share your reads with us on the mobile photography platform – simply tag your pictures there with #GuardianBooks, and we’ll include a selection here.
… we have a small favour to ask. More people are reading the Guardian than ever but advertising revenues across the media are falling fast.
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The Guardian’s independent, investigative journalism takes a lot of time, money and hard work to produce.
But we do it because we believe our perspective matters – because it might well be your perspective, too.
If everyone who reads our reporting, who likes it, helps fund it, our future would be much more secure.
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after giving up on several books i enjoyed a night to dark and though not dead by dana stavenov. the second one in particular as it went deeply into history aand family back ground. only 3 to go. :(now reading london rules by mick herron, laugh out funny when it’s not sad and infuriating, about what empires do to keep control.
I have been reading Norwegian by Night by Derek B Miller and what a good book it is.
The story unfolds around Sheldon, an 82 year old American who is trying to protect a 6 year old boy, son of an immigrant, in Oslo.
Neither speaks the other’s language. But the book is so much more.
It flashbacks through Sheldon’s life; the Korean and Vietnam wars; Kosovo and Serbian atrocities;Jewishness; memory and age, loss and philosophy.
The book is well written and I found it hard to put down.
I am reading the english version of Pinocchio, I read it, obviolsly many times in my language and the other day I found a small book with this title and I was curious to see how it was in a different language from mine.
I also want to “invite him for dinner” as it is the title of a context of a famous italian newpaper (wrinting an invitation for a carachter of a book at your choice) but I have not yet written a word.
I am not too keen on inviting to meals, it means axtra work and I did it enough. But may be reading it I get inspired.
I read a stage version of Pinocchio in English many years ago and very much enjoyed it.
I read Pinocchio in a dual English / Italian text.
My Italian is pretty much limited to what I have gleaned from endless listening to the Mozart / da Ponte operas, so I only occasionally referred to the original language.
I did come away with the word (and concept) tornagusto, a kind of appetizer taken mid-meal, between courses.
That’s proven a useful concept in my reading life – having temporarily exhausted my interest in a particular branch of reading, I turn to a short work or essay collection as a kind of mental tornagusto.
Julio Cortázar – Hopscotch (Rayuela) 
If you like your novels simple and straightforward, don’t read Hopscotch.
If you have an allergy to extended brainy digressions and convoluted debates, you better avoid Hopscotch.
If you abhor puns, double entendre and wordplay, I most seriously advise you to stay clear of Hopscotch.
If you can’t stand literary, philosophical, musical and artistic references cramming your narrative, I sincerely prompt you to veer off taking Hopscotch from the bookseller’s shelf.
If you like your narrative to be free of phrases, expressions and vocabulary from languages you don’t know and don’t care for, maybe Hopscotch’s not a book for you.
Plot is definitely not what matters most in Hopscotch, but I’ll give you the gist of it anyway.
Horacio Oliveira is an Argentine expat living in Paris and sharing rooms with girlfriend la Maga.
They belong to a multinational group of young people who like spending soirées together discussing books and ideas while listening to jazz.
One day Oliveira makes the acquaintance of obscure writer Morelli and then read some of his unpublished essays.
Change of scenery: Oliveira returns to Buenos Aires where he meets former best buddie Manú Traveler and his wife Talita.
He lives at close quarters and all three work together in a circus before accepting new jobs in a lunatic asylum.
That’s it; and yet so much more than that.
As a novel Hopscotch seems most difficult to describe and categorise, its main interest lying in the adventurous linguistic tricks in which Cortázar famously excels.
In a literary style clearly reminiscent of the French surrealists, he piles allusion upon allusion, citation upon citation to a point an honest soul might find openly extraneous.
The references to authors, artists and musicians are so overwhelming one would suspect Cortázar of spending his days skimming aimlessly acros Wikipedia entries and lists had he written this novel last month.
As it is, in the early 60s internet didn’t exist, and in any case the Argentine clearly knows what he’s talking about (although, in all honesty, he could be a bit less garrulous as regards his cultural tastes and influences, especially when so evidently outweighing their relevance to the narrative).
Hopscotch is famous for its unusual structure.
Divided in 155 chapters of unequal length and split in three different parts, the reader is invited to take the novel following two different methods: either obeying the customary process of progressing from chapter I until the novel’s last page, or engaging in a ‘Table of Directions’ provided by the author and which displays a different order for the reader to follow.
Those who choose the first are not required to go beyond chapter 56, the last part being comprised of ‘expendable’ material not wholly essential to the understanding of the novel (so implies Cortázar); the ones who prefer to follow the Table will jump from chapter to chapter along the book thus getting a more complete vision of the writer’s intention (or that’s what he says).
NB: Hopscotch is sometimes quoted as one of the literary sources which inspired the Fighting Fantasy adventure books.
I suspect Cortázar of using these instructions in order to play with us.
His theory relies on the fact that most readers are only interested in the classic plot and will therefore be thankful for being spared the third section of the novel where much relatively unrelated material – mostly theoretical – is hotch-potched.
On the other hand, not only the first two sections are also filled with philosophical digressions but the last one includes chapters that provide snippets of the story after the events described in chapter 56.
If the reader is really interested in knowing what happened he will do well to read some of this not-so-expendable material.
Besides information accessory to the plot, this last part includes a number of pieces titled ‘Morelliana’ which expose Morelli’s literary conceptions that together form a kind of theory of the novel not uninteresting to get acquainted with.
There are two more features worth mentioning about Hopscotch.
First, Cortázar’s novel is extremely humorous and can only be fully appreciated if taken on its playful grounds – the whole book can be interpreted as one big joke, though one of the chapters sounds clearly more serious in tone.
Second, the Argentine’s interest in avant-garde literature and experimental narrative techniques inspires some of the most unorthodox moments in the novel: a whole chapter where two different accounts are overlapped and can only be individually understood if read every two lines in turn; a chapter where an obituary notice is transcribed according to an alternative spelling system where phonemes are ascribed an uniform phonetic realisation; glíglico, a language composed of imaginary vocabulary of amorous terms devised by la Maga and Oliveira.
And many other ingenious concoctions.To sum up, Hopscotch is not an easy read.
One may even say you’ll only read everything if you’re curious enough about Cortázar’s techniques and don’t mind about brainy discussions and the many nods to high-culture. Jovial playfulness surely seems to be a prerequisite.
But most of all, don’t worry if you don’t understand everything; Cortázar clearly wants to play with you and not everything he exposes in such a convoluted way is expected to be interpreted as more than an aesthetic incursion into the fabulous world of literature and art.
Thanks for the review – I really love this writer.
I bought the Everyman edition of Hopscotch which includes two short story collections, Blow-up and We Love Glenda So Much.
The first handful of stories in Blow-up are all favourites of mine, but I probably went into Cortazar overload, reading Hopscotch in the non-chronological method. I’ll finish the whole volume at some point.
I also regret not having followed Cortázar’s instructions; I’ll most surely reread Hopscotch again following the Table, though not right now. I suspect some details will become clearer that way.
Yesterday evening, I finished My Italian Bulldozer by Alexander McCall Smith.
Complete ‘fluff’. No strain to read.
When I read the blurb on the back which included the words ‘food writer’ and ‘Italy’, I was interested.
(The first line of the blurb is this: “Food writer Paul Stuart flies to Montalcino, an idyllic town in Italy, to escape a failed relationship and to finish a book already past its deadline.”
It’s good food in it, a bit of local colour and an ending that makes you go ‘aaah’. A break from more serious stuff and crime novels.
It’s got food in it.. not good.
“Golden Hill” – Francis Spufford – New York in 1746, pop. 7,000, brought vividly to life.
Much commented on already, so I will just say it is both rewarding and ridiculously enjoyable.
I do hope he’s working on a new novel….
Grahame Greene – A Life in Letters : There some odd little insights – about how people used to travel by sea and get horribly ill, but then air travel came along and changed all that; Greene’s very Catholic attitude to extramarital sex – screw your brains out, go to Confession, go to Mass, go to Communion, come home, screw your brains out with partner not your wife, go to Confession … (I’m Catholic so I think I can say these things); The Power and the Glory nearly being put on the Catholic Index of Forbidden Books, but saved by intervention of Cardinal who later became Pope Paul VI; Greene’s long and curious friendship with Kim Philby, who he visited in Russia several times; Greene’s visa problems with US in the McCarthy era; Greene’s amazing journeys of research for his novels – I suspect he would have put most of his contemporaries to shame – would I be right or wrong here; Greene’s long friendship with Evelyn Waugh, which has caused me to reconsider the bad press Waugh usually gets as a nasty personality; Greene’s failure to win the Nobel Prize because he was Catholic, etc, etc.
As with all Life in Letters brought out by Penguin I’ve read so far, this is a collection of great richness, and I would suggest, a must for all Greene admirers.
Little brown, with pagination of Greene’s work from Penguin editions. Its the same thing nowadays with all these amalgamations of publishers. I’ve lost track of who is who.
Thanks for the tip. As a Greene admirer, I’ll definitely read this.
SPAIN – Javier Cercas (b.1962) – El impostor (2014) 450 pages – Eng trs: Frank Wynne, The Impostor (2016)
The Impostor is the story of Enric Marco, a fake holocaust survivor from the Flossenbürg concentration camp and one time chairman of the French association Amicale de Mauthausen.
Cercas labels it a “novel without fiction”, presumably because literary awards for fiction are sexier than those for non-fiction.
It’s been done before, as Cercas points out, referencing Truman Capote and Emmanuel Carrère (but not poor Norman Mailer).
To be fair, it’s been done before by Cercas as well.
Ever since the success of Soldier of Salamis rescued his faltering literary career back in 2002, Cercas has been grafting fiction to varying degrees onto real life characters and events.
It is telling that friends and relatives identify Marco as perfect subject matter for Cercas before he does even though he had already written about him in his weekly column in El País.
Enric Marco is also a textbook case.
His story mirrors that of many other fake holocaust survivors and even fraudsters like disgraced 9/11 survivor Alicia Esteve Head aka Tania Head (also name checked).
Cercas traces Marco’s motivation in his troubled childhood, born out of wedlock from a schizophrenic mother in a mental asylum and passed around different relatives eventually ending up with a sympathetic uncle.
The diagnosis is pretty straightforward, Marco is a Narcissist (cluster B by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders).
And yet, while admitting his craving for admiration, it was empathy, Marco claims in the documentary Ich Bin Enric Marco to have moved him to identify as a Holocaust survivor.
The pop psychology is mercifully limited to passing guilt at having abandoned his mother in the asylum and lack of physical contact with his father, who never held his hand. Cercas is also happy to discount profiteering, an accusation otherwise leveled at Jerzy Kosiński after the publication of The Painted Bird.
From the outset, Cercas displays a passive aggressive attitude towards Marco. He keeps procrastinating (possibly because he lacks the exclusive) and, I’d speculate, is only persuaded by the endorsement of Claudio Magris and Mario Vargas Llosa, who calls Marco espantoso y genial.
While I am morally and politically repelled by the character, I confess my admiration as a novelist for his prodigious narrative skills and his power of persuasion, akin to those of the greatest fantasizers in the history of literature.
On top of that, Cercas’ son, Raul, who starts off videotaping the interviews with Marco, (before getting bored, or changing career, and dropping out), points out that Marco is a smarter version of Alonso Quijano who assumes the fantastical and fictional character of Don Quixote in Cervantes’ novel, whilst failing to be persuasive to any extent.
Cercas establishes from the outset his position, he’s there to listen, not to justify.
Problem is he ends up doing most of the talking. It takes him 60 odd pages to even get started (he has reservations, see) therefore exposing his own narcissism.
Amidst countless narrative loops, Cercas does eventually get to the facts.
Marco was never an anti-Franco, antifascist militant, he didn’t participate in the invasion of the Balearic Islands, he wasn’t captured by the Germans while acting for the Catalan resistance in France, but emigrated to Germany to work and escape military service.
Alas, none of this is presented with any panache, as Cercas casts himself not as a historian but as a fact checker.
Cercas is pitiless towards Marco, whom he defines as pure kitsch, someone who embellishes his narrative with small, but heroic acts of defiance.
Tellingly, when Marco at the height of his glory is invited to share his story on telly, he is introduced, more often than not, by the soundtrack to Roberto Benigni’s La vita è bella.
There is no denying that the material raises important ethical and moral questions.
The fundamental reason why Marco reinvented himself so many time throughout his life is that he discovered the power of the past: he discovered that the past is never dead, and that at least his past and that of his country, was not even past and he discovered that he who controls the past, controls the present and the future.
Once Cercas starts questioning what made Enric Marco’s lies so believable and durable, I finally got a sense of why this book was necessary.
Marco invented a past for himself (or embellished it or gilded it) at a moment when all around him in Spain, almost everyone was embellishing, or gilding up, or inventing a past. Marco reinvented his life at a moment when the whole country was reinventing itself.
This is what happened during the transition from dictatorship to democracy in Spain.
With Franco dead, almost everyone began to construct a past to better face the present and to prepare for the future.
It is that burden of forty years of dictatorship when almost no one had said No and almost everyone had said Yes, what made Enric Marco’s story possible and so compelling in the first place. Spain as a country, says Cercas, was as narcissistic as Marco during the transition years and built a democracy on a lie, whether an enormous collective lie or a long series of individual lies.
Spain is not just a country with a deficient digestive system, it is also a country where the Holocaust does not figure within its collective memory with few victims to account for from Nazism, compared to most of the rest of Europe.
As Cercas points out, up until the beginning of the XXI century there have been no accurate studies of Spanish genocide victims, which also explains why Enric Marco got away with his survivor act for so long.
But Cercas also lists the sacralization of the Holocaust (as defined by Peter Novik), and the chantaje del testigo (the blackmail of the witness), as contributing factors.
The witness is sacred and untouchable, which is what prevented many from questioning Marco’s story and yet, Cercas says, history and memory are opposites.
Memory is individual, partial and subjective whereas history is collective and aspires to be objective.
No one capitalized on this insoluble antithesis better than Marco. The whole notion of historical and collective memory is an interesting one. Halbwachs, cited by Cercas,
suggests three practices for organizing knowledge of the past in a manner compatible with contemporary society’s need:
1. Autobiographical memory which contains personally experienced events.
2. Collective memory which contains events that were rendered to an individual by other members of society and
3. Historical memory which shapes the past through the work of historians.
I’ve been reading The Songlines by Bruce Chatwin for the past couple of days, which I’m really enjoying at about the halfway point. It’s a travel book, I suppose, about Chatwin’s experiences in the Australian Outback learning of Aboriginal culture and their belief in ‘songlines’ or ‘dreaming tracks’, or “to the Aboriginals as ‘Footprints of the Ancestors’ or the ‘Way of the Law’”:
Aboriginal Creation myths tell of the legendary totemic beings who wandered over the continent in the Dreamtime, singing out the name of everything that crossed their path — birds, animals, plants, rocks, waterholes — and so singing the world into existence.
It’s fascinating reading in so many ways, about something I knew nothing about.
The idea of the songlines, of people being able to understand the land they live on through song, and to be able to navigate across the large expanse of Australia in the remembrance of these songs, is a concept I frankly find bewitching and beautiful.
I’m especially taken by the fact that, knowing these songs, different tribes can come to understand one another — tribes who, though they may speak different languages, will be able to comprehend each other through song; because although the words will be foreign the melody will be the same and in the rhythm of the song is its meaning.
Really, really interesting.
However, I had a look on the Wikipedia page for The Songlines before writing this comment — I didn’t know whether to refer to it as a travel book, or whatever; Wikipedia classifies it as a combination of fiction and nonfiction, though it’s reading like a travelogue to me — and it states:
[T]he text has been criticised for being masculist, colonialist, simplistic and unreliable as both a source on European Australians and Aboriginal culture.
(It also notes it has been praised by other critics.) So this is something I will have to bear in mind as I continue reading it.
Also, thank you for featuring my comment on A Visit from the Goon Squad and calling it “lovely”, Sam.
I loved that book so, so much!
Talking about Indigenous Australians can be a sensitive matter, given centuries of abuse, and a disturbing difference in life expectancy.
The thing we often forget is that, with over 200 recorded languages, we aren’t really speaking of one culture at all, so any representations of it can seem a bit simplistic.
The Songlines is a hauntingly beautiful book, but really qualifies as an unreliable memoir.
In the end it’s all about him. You might be interested in this recent essay in The Monthly.
I am well into Prairie Fires by Caroline Fraser, a biography of Laura Ingalls Wilder who is best known as the author of the Little House children’s books.
I have not read these books nor have I seen what I believe to have been a rather saccharine TV series The Little House On The Prairie.
I have a more general interest in the early settlement of the American West and the complex set of relationships between the government which wanted the west populated but which was largely indifferent to the plight of early settlers who had been encouraged to go and farm in what would now be considered hopelessly unsuitable locations, the railway barons who strongly boosted these desert areas in order to gouge money out of the hapless immigrants (which many of them were) and the pioneers themselves whose optimism in the face of ludicrous odds is a miracle of hope over expectation.
Ingalls Wilder lived until 1957 having become famous and comfortably well off, but her early life, part of which was lived in a mud cave dug into a river bank, is an extraordinary tale of transition from extreme poverty and isolation to mid twentieth century affluence.
For a working definition of the term “The American Dream” you could do worse than read Caroline Fraser’s book.
She also gives substantial and sympathetic consideration to the oft-betrayed and dislocated native Americans whose traditional lands were routinely confiscated even after the government had signed treaties pledging to keep the settlers away.
For the last word on the broken dreams of westward pioneers you need Jonathan Raban’s Bad Land.
An unqualified masterpiece.
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If you plan to write more books, your blogger relationship is an ongoing one. Don’t stop the conversation once you get your review. It’s always nice to stay in touch with bloggers who give you book reviews. And you can do so by commenting on other book reviews they do or share things they’re posting on social media. If social sharing isn’t your thing, be sure to post a comment. Don’t just grab your review and vanish. Remember: good book marketing is all about building relationships and an author-book blogger relationship is a good one to have!
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