Read another writer’s novel? You must be joking. I don’t have time for that. I’ve got my own book to finish. And it might put me off. I might start imitating another author’s style and lose my own. I might get confused. Or demoralised. Or envious. My inner-narcissist might start looking for things that are wrong with another writer’s novel. Or my mind might wander, as if it were a chore, like eating my greens or doing my homework.

And what if I discover that I have a limited repertoire of techniques
compared with other writers? Forget other novelists’ work; I’ll wait until later – when I’ve got a book deal.

This may or may not sound familiar to you, but it is surprising how reluctant writers are to read others’ work. Yet, it does raise the question that if we find novels so unpalatable, then why do we want to write them ourselves?

Reading is widely seen as the best way to improve the writer’s craft. Think of other craftsmen – if you were a carpenter you would want to study the properties of wood, your raw material, and become skilled in the tools of the trade. You’d watch your trainer to see how he or she does it.

But how should a writer go about appreciating other writers’ handiwork? If you read in too acquisitive a way, hungry to steal a few moves, then you aren’t experiencing the novel as a disinterested reader would. Just filleting a novel for whatever you think is useful to you will prevent you immersing yourself and as a result you won’t experience the novelist’s effects. There’s a balance to be struck here.

Reading and interpreting fiction is a skill with a big knowledge base. Otherwise there wouldn’t be vast ranks of specialists in literary criticism and creative theory.

A fan blogging about the books she reads is only expected to say what she liked or didn’t like. But as a practitioner, surely a writer should have a more educated view? After all, if you don’t ‘get’ another writer’s work, then what value does your opinion have?

Spending some time capturing your thoughts allows you to go on to compare notes with reviewers, readers and other writers. You may discover things you have missed, find you have failed to engage with the writer’s intentions. Finding out what you don’t know means you can add new approaches to your own fiction.

Your review of any novel will almost certainly reveal as much about you as it does about the novel. If you’re bored, it isn’t necessarily the author’s fault; my father in law (an avid reader) once said he feared that he bored Proust. Often, we dismiss books simply because we don’t ‘get’ them.

If you’re short of time, it is probably best to focus on the books you most enjoyed or were most affected by. It helps to have a few basic questions to ask after finishing the last page. Here are some suggestions – but I’d be very interested in seeing others.

Ten questions to ask yourself when you’ve finished a novel:

1. Before thinking about the novel, what do you most remember about it?
2. What did you like about the novel?
3. Were there things you disliked about the novel?
4. At what points were you most engaged and at what points did your interest sag – and why do you think this was?
5. What is the basic story and plot?
6. What do you think the novel is saying about its key character(s)?
7. What do you think the novel is about?
8. What would you say was the novelist’s overall intention?
9. Was the novel emotionally compelling? (If so, how was this achieved? If not, why not?)
10. What effects does the novelist achieve and what do you think the novelist’s intention was in creating them?