The best stuff is out in that deep, blue sea

John Updike , who has been on both sides of the pen, once said this: “Writing criticism is to writing fiction and poetry as hugging the shore is to sailing in the open sea.”

No argument. The worst thing that a critic can do is confuse what he or she does with the artist whose work is being reviewed. For example, John Rember , author of “Traplines: Coming Home to Sawtooth Valley” (Pantheon Books, 256 pages, $22), says that his book, a memoir, took 11 years to write. Furthermore, he says, “Much of the impetus for writing it came from a sincere if naive desire to make the world a more humane, happier, and more conscious place.”

Eleven years. It takes me, at most, a couple of hours to write a book review, half that time for a movie review. It would be ridiculous for me to think that what I am doing is on the same level as what a novelist or poet or filmmaker or artist or rock star does. They are creating something that, in the best of cases, is original, poignant and intelligent. I, on the other hand, am merely delivering one person’s opinion about artistic efforts that are, to my way of thinking, original, poignant and intelligent. Or not. I like to think that it’s informed opinion, and I try to avoid the thumbs-up/thumbs-down school of criticism. Even so, the reviews I write are merely commentary. They aren’t art.

When I write a book full of such comments, then maybe I’ll consider that I’ve jumped off the shore and taken to the open sea. Until then, though, I’m standing on the pier , trolling for quality.