Last week, I was admitted to the literal vault of the Enoch Pratt Free Library. Among the treasures I saw was a handwritten letter from F. Scott Fitzgerald to H.L. Mencken, thanking him for his review of THE GREAT GATSBY, which Fitzgerald believed (or so he told Mencken) had turned the critical tide in Fitzgerald's favor.

As a former journalist, it is very hard for me to reach out to critics. It seems improper. I have my job to do, they have theirs. Certainly, there are critics who have made me very happy, not because they like me work, although that's certainly central, but because they get my work, seem to understand what I do. Even then, I am reluctant to initiate a conversation about reviews, although I will usually acknowledge how pleased I am should I meet the critic face-to-face. Still, it seems a little fraught, sort of the opposite of the coyote and the sheep dog greeting each other at the time clock. As they pass one another, they acknowledge it's all a game. When the writer and critic meet, we are aware that we need each other and that the stakes might be higher than we care to admit, for both of us.

Fitzgerald was canny. An influential review in an important place can sway other critics, even if they try scrupulously to avoid being affected. If the New York Times Book Review publishes a rave on the cover, a critic can't help being conscious of it. That doesn't mean they feel obligated to agree. Some critics savor being contrarians, possibly too much so. But it's also human nature to be nervous about leaving the fold.

It's also human nature to dislike criticism, especially if it's especially harsh or unkind. (Although, for my money, the sorrowful review is the worst.) I'm sure every writer has wished now and then that a certain critic didn't exist.

When I teach, I have a rule for my students. Well, it's more of a suggestion. After the student has been up for discussion, I hold onto the annotated manuscripts until the next session and ask that they NOT think about their work for 24 hours. Take a walk, go to the movies, have a drink, do yoga, enjoy a nice meal, but put the work -- and the conflicting responses -- out of your head, I urge them.

I recommend doing the same with reviews. Skim them, then put them aside. Go back to them later -- much, much later. The good ones will be like photos from a pleasant vacation. The bad ones will sting less and less.

But in the wake of bad reviews, there are certain things you must not do:

Write a blistering letter that begins "In so-and-so's review of my book" -- this is always a bad idea.
Rig your Amazon reviews, or ask friends to do the same.
Walk around, demanding if others have seen the offensive review.
Wish harm to the reviewer. Seriously.

This is how I see it: The novelist gets 80,000-100,000 words or more to make his/her case. The reviewer has anywhere from 250-1,500, maybe up to 5,000 in a serious journal.

By the way, Mencken wasn't wholly complimentary about THE GREAT GATSBY. He called it a "glorified anecdote," according to an article by Bryant Mangum. It might be startling to think that Fitzgerald was grateful for such a review. It helps to know that another review, according to Mangum, was headlined: "F. Scott Fitzgerald's Latest Dud."

It should help to know that on any number of levels.