Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company

April 3, 2005 Sunday

HEADLINE: Cancel My Subscription

To the Editor:

I recently ended my 20-year subscription to The New York Times Book Review, and instead subscribed (at twice the price) to The Times Literary Supplement. I did so reluctantly, as I am generally both set in my ways and loyal to a fault. Yet I feel I am not abandoning the Book Review; rather, it has abandoned me, along with most of its own traditions.

There is not a single thing I like about the Book Review's recent face-lift, but those cosmetic changes only make more obvious a gradual transformation that has taken place over the past several years. The Book Review has become, perhaps deliberately, more like the world in general and the rest of the media in particular – flashier, more superficial and less respectful of its audience. The cover now shouts the editors' selection of the most important review of the week (a choice I would just as soon make for myself), which is further expounded upon in the loud and self-indulgent Up Front column. Other front-page teasers feature more People You've Heard Of, be they authors, reviewers or book subjects. I could equally well do without the gossipy Inside the List column, which covers literature in much the same way the networks cover politics. It typically highlights yet another celebrity author who, having made a name for himself in some other arena, has now written a book about it. Likewise, the tendency of the Letters column nowadays is to emphasize the comments of authors, editors, reviewers and subjects of books, to the near exclusion of mere readers, unless of course they happen to be famous as well.

Your publication has gradually become less like the Book Review and more like People magazine, attempting at every turn to leverage itself on the celebrity of those it covers. What finally pushed me over the edge was the new policy of including head shots of many authors. It is an unwelcome intrusion of the world of admen, image consultants and television into the quieter realm of the written word, where one could, at least until very recently, seek refuge.

Lawrence F. Povirk
Richmond, Va.