The Review Copy Dilemma: Why I Stopped Accepting Review Opportunities—and Why I’m Back

After frustrating experiences with review copies in recent years, I took a step back to reconnect with the joy of reading. Now I’m back and approaching review copies, and life itself, more mindfully.

I received my first-ever review copy from a publisher back in late 2021. At the time, I couldn’t believe that someone from a publishing house had noticed my Bookstagram page and decided my platform was worthy of receiving a couple of free books a year in exchange for honest reviews. I still remember how much I enjoyed putting together the flat lay for that first copy. I turned the house upside down, searching for the perfect setup—bits and bobs I had collected over time—and took dozens of photos before I was satisfied. I paired my vibrant, eye-catching post with a carefully thought-out book review article on my blog, along with a shorter, Instagram-friendly review. Though I didn’t find the book I received to be particularly special, I put in a lot of effort to express my response as authentically as possible. To me, that was all that mattered; I was immensely grateful for being acknowledged in this way, and the only thing to do in return for this overwhelming sense of validation I received for the first time as a reviewer (which I didn't even realize was such an integral part of my journey as a writer and editor) was to give it my all.

But it wasn’t long before I grew disillusioned with the whole thing.

After the novelty of the first few copies wore off, I started to notice things. I realized—and slowly began to accept—that many copies I received from publishers, big and small (barring one or two big names), contained an abominable number of errors or editing issues. But let me tackle one publishing issue at a time. My dissatisfaction peaked when I was added to “review groups” on WhatsApp in late 2022. These spaces were created by marketers and agencies, often paid by publishers or authors, to recruit reviewers. In exchange for a copy of the book and sometimes a meagre amount (rarely more than ₹100), reviewers were asked to flood platforms like Amazon, Instagram, and Goodreads with pre-written reviews to boost visibility, credibility, and sales.

When I realized what was happening, I began refusing projects—especially those that demanded I use pre-made content, follow strict posting schedules (one marketer rudely insisted on posting at “EXACTLY 7 p.m.”), or accept token payments in exchange for inauthentic reviews.

By early 2023, I completely stopped accepting review copies. Why? I’d gotten into small but baffling arguments with marketers who couldn’t handle anything less than a 4 or 5-star rating, even after I had explicitly mentioned (and they had agreed) that I would only share honest reviews. On several occasions, these marketers begged me to bump up my ratings after I had posted them—pleading for a 5-star review for books I honestly rated a 2 or 3. They often admitted they were under immense pressure from their employers (publishers or authors) to deliver certain results. Each time we reached an impasse, and we frequently did, I would either leave the group or offer to rescind my review entirely. They were usually happier with the latter option—after all, they could find countless other compliant reviewers anytime they wanted.

By this point, I was utterly drained—not just by the process of reviewing, but by the way it seemed to strip away the joy of reading itself. Adding to my disillusionment was that many of the books I received didn’t align with my interests, making the experience feel more like a chore than a passion. As a relatively new bookstagrammer, I misguidedly thought it was better to take whatever I got to build my page and establish myself as a reviewer. But after more than a year of reading and reviewing random, often poorly edited titles, I looked at my little corner of the internet and felt shamefully estranged from my own content.

As it usually goes, something had to give—and it did. I stopped reading—not intentionally, but because I couldn’t enjoy it anymore. Naturally, my other creative endeavours fell silent as well, and within weeks, I felt completely lost.

I must admit there were quite a few other changes in my life that added to my restlessness—for one, I had just entered the workforce and was learning to live on my own for the first time. But in retrospect, I can confidently say that a large part of these life changes not only brought independence but also gave me the space to redefine my priorities and rediscover my passions, especially with regard to writing and reading.

With a little bit of downtime and a lot of good company (you know who you are, my dears), I began looking for more media that resonated with me—books, shows, and music that made me feel something. As I began to become more mindful of these things, my attention naturally turned inward, making me think about what truly mattered to me as a person. I adopted a more intentional approach to almost everything I did, including how I used social media and other blogging spaces. Over many months, this mindfulness began reshaping my thoughts on what it means to read, write, or even review books.

This meant I was thinking a lot about what I wanted my creative outlets to represent. Instead of chasing trends or appeasing algorithms, I decidedly focused on consuming and creating more content that aligned with my values. Naturally, by the time I returned to my Bookstagram late last year, I was feeling refreshed and excited to try again. After a few months of slow deliberation about how to run my blogs—including Bookstagram and this Substack—I decided to start accepting review copies again. And in response, I received, just last month, review requests from an old contact for books with surprisingly intriguing blurbs, and, to my endless pleasure, minimal deliverables, namely honest reviews and a tag in exchange for a physical copy. Ah!! Quelle joie!!

So far, I’ve accepted two copies since my 'official' return (and I thank you profusely, dear reader, for staying invested in my story thus far). While neither jumped out at me at first sight, they did seem like a step in the right direction. I was right: I ended up enjoying the reading experience this time around and believe me, I was more than just a little skeptical about how it would all go. But, despite some reservations about editing quality, both turned out to be worth the read. The first—a poetry collection—was refreshingly relatable and resonated with me in unexpected ways. The second—a self-published short story collection—turned out to be more engaging than I had anticipated. Both opportunities allowed me the freedom to think and form my own opinions, without the pressure of schedules or inauthentic requirements, and this has only encouraged me to keep going.

It is worth noting my experience of working at a publishing house in India for the last two years has only helped me in this transition back into reviewing; there’s a newfound sense of integrity in the review exchange—something I realize I lacked before. Though I’ve always been in awe of the work publishers and editors do, especially growing up, my own work experience as an editor has given me a profound appreciation for the meticulous effort it takes to shape manuscripts and connect them with the right audiences after publication. This behind-the-scenes perspective has made me more empathetic and patient when reviewing books, whether or not they are review copies. I no longer see books as mere products but as physical things made from countless hours of hard work by many people determined to share a story they believed in.

This growth has redefined what being part of the publishing space means to me. As a rule, as it always should have been, I now only accept, buy, and perhaps most importantly, read, books that genuinely spark my curiosity or align with my interests. When I receive a book, I approach it, as I had always done before I joined Bookstagram, as a conversation between me, the author, and the text. Editing and other technical aspects aside, if a book doesn’t resonate, I let it go knowing it might simply not have been the right story for me at this time, and that’s okay. It might have been just what someone else needed, and that's enough of a reason for it to exist, right?

Now I share my thoughts because I want to, because I care about the stories being told, and because I value the experience of discovering something worth recommending. My Bookstagram finally feels like home again.

But what is most satisfying to me is that this marks a return to my original vision: to share my love for books, engage with fellow readers, and be a proud and contributing member of a thoughtful global community. I’ve also learned to let go of perfection as a content creator. I no longer measure my content by how well it pleases others, but by how much it reflects my growth and creativity.

Ultimately, this has been a journey of rediscovery—not just of books, but of myself as a reader, creator, and reviewer. So, here’s to a more mindful, authentic approach to reviewing. One where the power of words is cherished, the integrity of the work is upheld, and the only pressure is the one we place on ourselves to stay true to our voice.