The entry title is a stretch callback to yesterday's post on sockpuppet reviewing. As much as I appreciate well-written reviews and am committed to writing them, no reader should rely completely on reviews.
Art is subjective. Everyone who takes it in sees it differently. The best way to know whether I'll enjoy a book is to read the first page or two. Those first pages either move me or they don't, and that makes up my mind.
If I enjoy something hundreds of critics pan or no one else seems to watch—Weekend at Bernie's, Licence to Kill, Firefly, Andy Barker, P.I., etc.—I don't dwell on what I'm missing. I count myself lucky that perhaps I'm on the same wavelength as the creator, and we can share an enjoyment others don't get. Writers think of reaching one reader, not millions. That our words do connect with many is a testament to how much humans have in common.