Criticism is the lowest form of journalism. «If you can't do, criticise» goes the refrain. Up to a point, the same could be said of all journalism. As Harry says to Sally in the eponymous film: «So you want to write about other people's lives?» Criticism involves not just writing about other people's art, but judging it.
My wife never reads French film and book reviews. «They always tell you the ending», she says. Reviews that reveal plot twists are known as spoilers in English. I came across a couple of examples recently that made me vow, like my wife, never again to read a review in a French newspaper or magazine.
The first one was in L'Express, for the film Source Code (attention: spoiler ahead). «Un GI, déjà mort», the review began. When I went to see the film - despite the review - I discovered that this vital twist was not revealed until halfway through.
Worse, far worse, was a review of Le Musée de l'innocence by Orhan Pamuk. The book had been waiting on my pile for several weeks, glowing with promise, when I made the mistake of glancing at a review in Elle. It revealed the fate of one of the main characters - a fate so shocking, so unexpected, that it is not revealed for 600 pages. The review spoiled a 700 pages book for me with one casually brutal sentence. Critics, I hate you.
