Reviewing for pleasure: the power of amateur book reviews and their impact on Australian book marketing

Charlotte Waters

The rise of social media throughout the last two decades was accompanied by a global reimagination of the trusty book club. Social networking platforms carve spaces for everyday bookish discussions with potentially expansive audiences. The people leading these conversations—who I’ve dubbed ‘amateur reviewers’—usually have the non-commercial motive of bonding with others, deriving knowledge, enjoyment, and exercising the mind. Book communities within major social media platforms, including YouTube (known as BookTube), encountered steady growth throughout the 2010s, but the explosion of TikTok and BookTok during the Covid-19 pandemic was less precedented.

Much research and reporting on BookTok has understandably emphasised its profound impact on book sales. Viral videos dug up key books from backlists (think The song of Achilles and The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo), and publishers experienced booming print sales, particularly in the romance, fantasy and young adult genres. Another key focus has been BookTok’s impact on teen literacy and reading habits—the Australian Government’s Arts engagement during the Covid-19 pandemic report found that 36% of Australians had been reading more during the pandemic, with social media being a likely contributor. A unique feature of BookTok reviews that articles highlight is their indulgence in emotion: BookTokers aren’t afraid to cry on camera, curse at characters, and throw books across the room.

It can be easy for more purist literary circles to dismiss these reviewers on account of their ‘lack of intellectual credentials, their supposed “exhibitionism,” and their taste for delegitimized genres like sci-fi, horror, or fantasy.’ However, they are in some ways reminiscent of the affective or aesthetic approaches to reading imagined by post-critical literary theorists such as Rita Felski, Bruno Latour and Eve Sedgwick. Sceptical of ‘paranoid’ critics who attempt to harden themselves against surprise in order to master a text from a critical distance, Sedgwick proposed ‘reparative reading,’ in which readers are generous to the text, trusting it to affect them in complex and beautiful ways which are often located outside of language. Given the emotional journeys many romance and young adult books are designed to evoke, their affective power can be captured by a video representation of the changing impressions they leave on your face and body. 

There is little research that situates this ground-breaking approach to reviewing within the Australian publishing landscape, exploring the relationship between marketers and consumers. RMIT Master of Writing and Publishing student Tom Linkins’ article, Reading with the new critic, culminates in a ‘call to action … to start taking these new critics—new critics who have become serious power players in moving books with younger demographics—more seriously.’ Australian creative arts researchers Katya Johanson, Leonie Rutherford and Bronwyn Reddam observed, based on anonymous interviews, that some publishers would ‘actively discipline their own judgement about the good story according to a pre-emptive view of their colleagues’ judgement.’ As such, at the acquisitions stage, these reviews can offer crucial, more tangible insights into what many young people enjoy and value. I also hope that demystifying the impact of these reviews on book marketing will salute the adaptability of Australian publishers while providing insight into which strategies best appeal to this new audience of reader–reviewers and their followers.

The research aims were twofold: to investigate the tone and content of Australian readers’ amateur video reviews and their impact on how publishers market books. The process was largely observational. I located lists of popular Australian BookTokers and BookTubers, as well as the popular hashtags #aussiebooktok, #aussiereaders and #booktokaustralia, and watched many videos, making notes on first impressions and patterns across the board. It was not possible to do a more quantitative analysis: as youth literacy researchers Dezuanni et al. affirm, it would be unrealistic ‘to undertake a systematic approach for choosing appropriate influencers and accounts amongst the millions available. It is not possible to search by “most popular” or “most viewed” accounts or content.’ I also conducted an interview with a sales and marketing director from an Australian independent publishing house to gain a broader understanding of top-down marketing strategy.

This report will cover the steady rise of BookTube, the more sudden boom of BookTok, and book marketers’ attempts to find an ‘in’ to these communities. I expected that reviews would highlight the emotional experience of reading, and while this hypothesis was accurate, I also found that they were inherently creative and often tongue-in-cheek, not simply articulating affective experiences, but expressing and often recreating them for the viewer. The voice of the everyday reader is becoming increasingly powerful in the Australian publishing landscape, but this power is derived from their vulnerability and the connections they form with their audiences. In order to engage in these communities more, publishers should emulate this authenticity.

The steady growth of online book communities: #Bookstagram, #BookTube

Before the mid-to-late 2000s, when asked to think of a typical book club, most people would have envisioned an informal, relatively small in-person discussion circle, meeting regularly or semi-regularly. Conversation within such book clubs covers not only the content of the books themselves, but the experience of reading them—something traditional reviews may touch on, but usually by projecting an imaginary or ideal reader. Social platforms dedicated to books expanded the scale of the traditional book club, allowing readers across the globe to bond over readerly interests. Goodreads, the world’s largest site dedicated to reviewing books, was founded in 2006 with the purpose of providing a platform for intimate, bookish socialising: co-founder Otis Chandler envisioned it as ‘a place where I could see my friends’ bookshelves and learn about what they thought of all their books.’ Book clubs have historically been—and online book communities remain—dominated by women. A greater diversity of readers (and especially ‘everyday’ readers, who aren’t qualified to publish a formal review in a magazine or journal) posting public reviews will inevitably lead to a greater range of books being reviewed and receiving publicity.

The organic development of book communities inside major social media sites, whose purpose wasn’t limited to book reviewing, led to an expansion of what reviewing might entail. Social scientist Maarit Jaakkola notes that unlike ‘publishing platforms dedicated for reviewing such as Rotten Tomatoes or IMDB,’ these spaces, ‘as multi-purpose platforms, do not compel users to follow a certain type of review or genre.’ Within online book communities, the review category is fraught and arbitrary—some posts contain value judgements on a book, but also discuss, in a recount-like style, the process of reading the book. Other videos aren’t about particular books at all but make jokes about reading and the readerly lifestyle. As such, these communities promote the cultivation of readerly identity. On Instagram, particularly because of its emphasis on static images, this is a careful process. Across Bookstagram, visual aesthetic holds currency: the hashtag #bookstagram is dominated by highly curated ‘images of books (flat lays, book collections, bookstacks, colour displays, cover reveals, and TBR piles),’ along with bookshelves and images of people reading. That said, the 2020 addition of Reels—short videos that mimic and are often taken from TikTok—has complicated this, giving rise to posts with a more organic, laid-back feel. The visual and sensory aspects of books are important to the reading experience but are overlooked in traditional reviews, which consider only the dominion of the author—the content of the book.

YouTube places less emphasis on highly polished, curated portraits of readerly identity (though, good video quality and editing is nevertheless valued). Here, bookish identity is cultivated through an appearance of authenticity, where videos aim to offer a realistic glimpse into the world of a reader. BookTube reviews are littered with plenty of faltering and uncertainty. It’s normal to admit that you’ve been going through a reading slump, or that you’ve forgotten most of the plot. While amateur written reviews—such as on Goodreads—may have introduced new risks and opportunities for publishing companies, these social media communities have emphasised aspects of the reading experience, and even the physical book, that may not usually be accounted for in marketing campaigns.

The reading experience is rarely steady, linear and uncomplicated, and is always inflected by external factors, such as personal mood and even bodily experiences. Grace, an Australian BookTuber who has over 6,000 subscribers and particularly enjoys romance novels and manga, admits that a realistic dream ‘amplified’ her reading experience of Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One. In a reading vlog by Melbourne book and lifestyle vlogger Mariam Rivzi, who has nearly 5,000 subscribers, a discussion of Colleen Hoover’s Verity transitions smoothly into an ‘aesthetic’ recording of her making instant noodles, which she describes as ‘literally so delicious’ and ‘packed full of flavour.’ This is an opportunity to project a sense of authenticity—she is a real person who will need to take a break from reading—and connect with her viewers by sharing a product she enjoys. In a recent 24-hour readathon, Rachel Catherine, a popular Brisbane book vlogger with 249,000 subscribers, begins re-reading A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas: ‘It feels so good to be back in this world… [the first time I read it] I was too busy trying to keep up with the plot and trying to figure out who was who, but this time I can really just like hone in on how funny some of the jokes are.’ While these comments convey the complexity and humour of the book, this is seen as secondary to the pleasurable response it produced. A second read of a book might be vastly different to the first when accounting for changes in taste and new understandings or perspectives, and it’s impossible—perhaps even dangerous—to imagine an idealised, pure reading experience abstracted from this reality.

As opinions on literature once reserved for private discussions become increasingly public and influential, publishers must learn how to engage with—and make the most of—abounding public voices expressing their thoughts and feelings on books. There’s the risk that negative opinions might catch on, with books going viral for all the wrong reasons, but there’s also new potential for local texts to achieve more global reach.

Bookish culture shifts: #BookTok

While BookTube enacts authenticity through nuanced discussion videos, BookTok prefers highly dramatised short videos and memes. Much of this has to do with the limitations of TikTok itself (while longer videos of up to 10 minutes are now permitted, TikToks were originally limited to 15 seconds). Across the first half of 2021, BookTok grew from 3.4 billion views in February to 10.3 billion in June, and publishers worldwide were astounded by a boom in print sales, particularly in the ‘genres trending on BookTok, namely young adult, romance, fantasy and science fiction.’ Most academic and news articles highlight BookTok’s ability to package a heightened emotional experience into a very short video. In an interview for the New York Times, Shannon DeVito, director of books at Barnes & Noble, marvels, ‘These creators are unafraid to be open and emotional about the books that make them cry and sob or scream or become so angry they throw it across the room.’

The emotional experience of reading a book is frequently expressed in physical terms. Not only is the dramatised expression of emotion located in the body of the creator (who might cry or react with visible shock); but the physical book is at the centre. Discussing videos of creators expressing excitement over the smell of a new book or making themselves cry when challenging themselves to crack the spine of a book, library science and reading researchers Marianne Martens, Gitte Balling and Kristen A Higgason describe BookTokers as ‘both lovers of story, and of books as physical objects.’ It’s important to recognise the creativity that goes into crafting these videos. Playful video formats include memes engaging with popular TikTok sounds, videos highlighting memorable quotes, short reading timelapses, and far-fetched anecdotes at the end of which the creator reveals it’s the plot of a book. Where BookTube steers away from performativity, BookTok embraces melodramatic performance, though this is often accompanied by an undercurrent of humour and a tongue-in-cheek awareness of hyperbole.

When isolating Australian BookTok from global BookTok, this humour is amplified and often more explicit. There’s an especially high concentration of memes about being a reader and jokes about erotic or ‘spicy’ fiction. For instance, in a humorous TikTok video, science fiction author and BookToker JP McDonald (2022) compares ‘what guys think BookTok is’ to ‘what it really is.’ Pretending to read Ray Bradbury’s The Martian, he comments on its ‘prose,’ ‘lyrical descriptions’ and ‘thematic discourse’ in a British accent. He then switches to a second character, reading Sarah J Maas and talking passionately: ‘…with the demon fae prince king put his hands around her throat *moans*…I just…oh God.’ This speaks to the popularity of ‘spicy’ fiction while conveying the tongue-in-cheek, often self-deprecating tone that accompanies discussions about it.

Similar to those found across BookTok globally, most Australian reviews focus on the emotions books evoked. For instance, while BookToker Claudia Scalzi, who boasts 62,100 followers and is now a marketer for Hachette, enjoyed reading Yellowface, she also found it ‘confronting’ and ‘frustrating,’ as its protagonist is blatantly racist and ‘so oblivious.’ Claudia articulates the emotions triggered by the book while rationalising them, aware that the prospective reader may have a different experience (i.e., if they aren’t deterred by an unlikeable protagonist). In a video by Caitlin Burgess (2023), a Melbourne BookToker with 11,100 followers, the overlaid text reads ‘This. Book.’ as Caitlin sits in bed staring at the camera with a stunned expression, tinged with the slightest smile. She flicks through The priory of the orange tree, before dropping it onto the bed. The caption solidifies the post as a review of sorts: ‘I cannot remember the last time I was so painfully invested in a book. If this is on your [to be read list] and you’ve been too intimated to read it, PICK. IT. UP.’ The public emotional vulnerability is inherently social and implies the imagined presence of an audience who will empathise and relate. BookTokers’ affective displays are not a performative step back from the authenticity espoused by BookTube, but a way of connecting in an intimate, playful way with audiences.

BookTok’s heightened focus on a book’s affective qualities has contributed to a dramatic shift in how a book’s success is defined, culturally. It’s a new world in which going viral on TikTok can hold as much weight as winning a prestigious award, demonstrated by the many Australian bookshops with a BookTok shelf front and centre. Many Australian publishing companies have embraced this turn and are keeping their ear to the ground, experimenting with strategy and responding in creative ways.

How are publishers responding to these new, powerful players?

BookTok has prompted changes in Australian publishers’ vocabulary when it comes to discussing their books. In a US industry panel, BookToker Kendra Keeter-Gray observed that paid advertisements ‘undermine the authenticity that BookTok is built on, and [tend] not to fare well.’ In any case, TikTok’s algorithm, which prioritises popular and personalised individual videos over accounts or brands, makes it easier for a consumer to accidentally happen upon appealing content. This has encouraged publishers to create videos that don’t feel like advertisements but instead mimic common BookTok video formats, hoping to blend smoothly into the community. These videos are often structured by tropes, themes or aesthetics. For instance, Scribe Publications posted a video featuring the text ‘cottagecore books for living your best, cosy life.’ Four book covers were flashed for around two seconds each, accompanied by one-line descriptions. Capitalising on the popular ‘cottagecore’ aesthetic, which emphasises a simple, cosy and self-sufficient lifestyle, this could easily be mistaken for a typical BookTok recommendation video (which is usually based on tropes, aesthetics or other TikTok-famous books). Via an interview, an Australian sales and marketing director explained that although the publisher he works for is ‘floating around the edges’ of BookTok because of their largely literary catalogue, they tend to ‘go harder’ on those texts that have ‘themes of genre’ and appeal to popular BookTok tropes and trends.

It’s not just selling points that have changed, but also the tone of communication. The sales and marketing director admitted that his publishing company is ‘quite a serious press but we do quite silly things on TikTok,’ and Penguin Australia’s humorous dance and skit videos frequently go viral. In a video that received 3.9 million views, a marketer playfully dances towards the camera to the tune of Naughty from the 2022 film Matilda: the musical (a viral TikTok sound), while other team members throw paper at him. At the end, he reveals the cover of Penguin’s recent Matilda reprint. In an interview with ABC, Michael Windle, Penguin Random House Australia’s head of digital, touches on their TikTok strategy: ‘It can’t be planned out too much, it can't be too contrived … the approach we’ve taken is to just capture fun when fun’s happening.’ This laid-back approach appeals to TikTok’s playful humour, as evidenced by comments such as ‘Imagine coming to work and being told “ok who can do the Matilda dance for TikTok? The rest of you are throwing papers.”’ Rather than honing in on a book’s key selling points, these marketers are using books as a springboard for creative and humorous videos that spark intrigue and help shape the publisher’s online brand.

When promoting their books, publishers aim not just to spark conversation, but to participate in it. One tactic across the board is to collaborate with influencers, which is less likely to involve a paid sponsorship, and more likely to include bespoke book packages and invitations to community events. In a thesis on online book reviewing, Katharina Albrecht explains that ‘companies have sought to identify and uphold their strongest supporters, equipping them as needed to help spread the word through the various networks to which they belong.’ Publishers recognise not only that the everyday consumer holds the power to contribute to public conversations on books, but that some consumers will have more impact than others in actively shaping this conversation.

The popularity of ‘unboxing’ videos, in which a content creator opens a gift box from a publisher, has prompted publishers to put extra effort into personalising and decorating their gifts. Several Australian publishers have posted what can be described as a ‘reverse’ unboxing video, detailing the process of assembling an influencer package. Simon & Schuster ANZ posted a breakdown of their influencer packages for Adam Silvera’s The first to die at the end, which included ‘tissues for when you ugly cry,’ ‘chocolates for after the ugly cry,’ ‘A TOTE BAG !!’ and ‘this first edition hardback 😍.’ This projects transparency about their collaborations with influencers while giving viewers an interesting behind-the-scenes glimpse into these marketers’ jobs. Publishers work to achieve a sense of authenticity not only by mimicking the style of BookTok videos but by playfully developing the voice of the ‘social media person.’ The sales and marketing director interviewed discussed his team’s increased experimentation and flexibility with branding and focus on a human, personal feel, describing it as the ‘natural evolution of marketing:’ ‘It’s important that brands are engaging with people … who wants to be friends with a company?’ Publishers are increasingly finding that the best way to respond to changes in the Australian publishing landscape is to embrace and befriend its newest powerful stakeholders.

Conclusion

The everyday reader holds increasing power within the Australian publishing landscape. This power is usually derived not from their expertise or qualifications, but their ability to connect with their audience. It’s important to recognise the value of amateur reviews as a refreshing way of imagining the reading experience, which is complex, imperfect, affective, and sometimes social. Publishing houses have begun engaging meaningfully with this community by cultivating a sense of authenticity—often by creating content similar to that of reader–reviewers, or by developing the voice of a real-life social media marketer over a faceless representative of a brand. Publishers should not be afraid to experiment with their branding and communication strategy in order to appear more personable and authentic, and while jumping on trends is effective, it might also be worthwhile to engage more deeply at the level of the reading experience, empathising with first-time readers and integrating emotional response into the selling points that frame marketing strategy.

While this research focuses mostly on raw social media content made by reader–reviewers and publishers, it would be useful for future researchers to speak with marketing practitioners from different publishing houses with different backgrounds and at different stages in their careers. Another interesting angle could be a comparative analysis of contemporary critical reviews and amateur reviews on social media, to assess the impact (if any) of online communities on professional reviewing. Nevertheless, as a first step, literary communities across Australia must make space for the creativity and honesty of online amateur reviews, and publishing professionals must humbly learn from them. After all, they provide insight into the values and habits of an important cross-section of the Australian reading audience.

About the author

Charlotte is an emerging editor and writer (and seasoned TikTok doom-scroller) living on Wurundjeri country in Melbourne. She’s currently studying RMIT’s Master of Writing and Publishing and working in academic publishing. They enjoy writing poetry, reading and analysing queer literature, taking long walks, and eating olives directly from the jar.