Confuseds, Strategists, and Snoozers: A Whimsical Odyssey Through the Maze of Scholarly Reviews

Navigating the labyrinthine corridors of academic publishing, authors often encounter three formidable guardians, each with their unique, sometimes perplexing, approach to gatekeeping. These are the Confused Reviewer, the Rational Reviewer, and the Lazy Reviewer. Their presence not only adds a layer of complexity to the publication process but also infuses it with a certain tragicomic flair.

The Confused Reviewer is akin to a confident tourist in a foreign city without a map, blissfully unaware of their ignorance. Armed with a dangerous combination of self-assuredness and a smattering of knowledge, possibly gleaned from a quick skim of Wikipedia, they wield their power with gusto. Their reviews are peppered with misguided critiques and a profound misunderstanding of the paper’s core concepts, leaving authors to wonder if the review was meant for another paper altogether. Engaging with their feedback often feels like explaining quantum physics to someone who’s firmly convinced that physics is a type of yoga.

Then there’s the Rational Reviewer, the Machiavellian strategist of the academic world. Highly knowledgeable and astute, they see the academic publishing arena as a zero-sum game where for their papers to shine, others must be dimmed. Their critiques are sharp, incisive, and often devastatingly on point, targeting the very heart of your argument. The Rational Reviewer doesn’t just want to improve your paper; they want to ensure it never sees the light of day, thereby reducing competition for their own work. Engaging with their feedback is like entering a chess game where you didn’t know you were already in checkmate.

Last but not least, the Lazy Reviewer epitomizes the spirit of minimal effort. Burdened with their own deadlines, research, and perhaps a profound disinterest in anything that doesn’t directly benefit them, they offer feedback that is as deep as a puddle. Their comments are often vague (“This needs more work,” “Consider revising”), providing no concrete direction or useful critique. The Lazy Reviewer’s feedback is the equivalent of a shrug in review form, leaving authors guessing what, if anything, can be salvaged from their work.

The collective antics of these reviewers turn the academic review process into a dark comedy. Authors find themselves in a Kafkaesque dance, attempting to decipher cryptic comments, address impossible demands, and engage with feedback that sometimes seems to emanate from a parallel universe where logic is optional. This Byzantine ordeal underscores a paradox; a system designed to foster intellectual rigor and advancement can sometimes feel like it’s more about surviving a trial by fire, where the flames are fanned by the very guardians of knowledge.

Ah, finally the Traumatized Reviewer—a specter haunted by the ghosts of reviews past. This particular class of reviewer transcends the boundaries of the Confused, Rational, and Lazy Reviewers, embodying a unique blend of behaviors shaped by their own harrowing experiences in the academic trenches. The Traumatized Reviewer is marked not by a lack of knowledge, malice, or laziness, but by a deep-seated desire to make sense of their own past sufferings by inadvertently perpetuating the cycle of review-induced despair.

Having been on the receiving end of seemingly pointless, arbitrary, or excessively demanding feedback, the Traumatized Reviewer seeks solace in the thought that if they had to endure such trials, so should everyone else. Their feedback often includes requests for endless comparisons with tangentially related work (X, Y, Z), additional benchmarks that are only marginally relevant, the inclusion of the latest yet barely established baselines, and an array of sensitivity studies that would make even the most dedicated researcher balk. These tasks, often Herculean in nature, do little to enhance the scientific contribution of the paper, but serve as rites of passage in the eyes of the Traumatized Reviewer.

The rationale behind their requests is a complex web of justification and projection. “If I had to do it, so do you” becomes a mantra, a way to validate their own experiences and ensure their scars are not borne in vain. This cycle of trauma, instead of fostering a supportive academic environment, turns the review process into a Sisyphean task, where authors are doomed to endlessly push the boulder of revision up the hill, only to watch it roll back down under the weight of additional, often unnecessary demands.

The inclusion of the Traumatized Reviewer in the academic review ecosystem adds another layer of dark humor to the already Kafkaesque ordeal. It highlights the absurdity of a system where the abused become the abusers, perpetuating a culture of busywork under the guise of rigor and thoroughness. The review process, instead of being a constructive dialogue aimed at advancing knowledge, becomes a battlefield littered with the casualties of egos, wasted time, and squandered potential.

Yet, amidst this tragicomedy, the academic spirit perseveres, driven by a mix of stubbornness, the thrill of discovery, and the hope that one day, the review process will evolve into something more conducive to scientific advancement. Until then, authors navigate this minefield with a blend of resilience, cynicism, and the occasional indulgence in gallows humor, reminding themselves that, despite the madness, the quest for knowledge must go on.

A more humorous aside on a bold set of solutions: in a bold move to revolutionize the academic review process and restore sanity to the beleaguered scholarly community, several groundbreaking solutions can be attempted. First, the introduction of a “Schedule Therapy Session” button in rejection emails, acknowledging the emotional roller coaster of receiving feedback from our esteemed Confused, Rational, Lazy, and Traumatized Reviewers. This feature promises a seamless transition from despair to solace, as authors can immediately seek professional help to mend their battered egos and decipher cryptic comments. Second, leveraging the prowess of Large Language Models, rational reviewers’ critiques will be automatically rewritten into supportive, constructive, and possibly even uplifting feedback, ensuring every review is a warm hug for the soul, regardless of content. This LLM will be combined with a BCI (brain-computer interface) to incept this new review into the Rational Reviewer’s brain. Third, to address the cutthroat competition, conference acceptance rates will skyrocket, transforming prestigious gatherings into academic block parties where everyone’s invited, and the word ‘rejection’ is but a whisper from a bygone era. Lastly, in an effort to expedite the gladiatorial arena of publish or perish, the submission-review-decision cycle will be accelerated to warp speed, allowing authors to roll the dice more frequently in the grand casino of academia. With these innovations, the future of academic publishing shines bright, promising a world where the only tears shed are those of joy and laughter at the absurdity we once endured.

Humor aside, the capricious nature of the academic review process, particularly its randomness and unpredictability, poses a significant and undue burden on young graduate students embarking on their journey into the research realm. This initiation into academia, marred by encounters with a gamut of reviewers—from the ill-informed to the overly critical and the disengaged—can be disheartening and disillusioning. We owe it to these nascent scholars, the future of academia, to provide a more supportive, transparent, and constructive pathway. The current state, where the gatekeeping process often seems to rely more on noise than on signal, risks alienating a generation of potential academics. The loss is not just personal but collective, as the field potentially misses out on groundbreaking ideas and innovations simply because they could not navigate an arcane and seemingly arbitrary review process. Addressing this issue is not just about acknowledging that the system is broken; it’s about taking concrete steps towards reform, to ensure academia remains a welcoming environment for all, characterized by its pursuit of knowledge rather than its gatekeeping mechanisms.

Despite the frustratingly nonsensical aspects of the academic review process, there remains a paradoxical sense of pride and accomplishment when papers are accepted or even win awards. This dissonance speaks to the deeply ingrained value system within academia, where such achievements are seen as high honors, validating the hard work and resilience of researchers. The emotional roller coaster—from the lows of rejection and criticism to the highs of acceptance and recognition—highlights the complex relationship between researchers and the publication process. Understanding this dissonance is crucial in developing any meaningful solutions. It suggests the issue is not just procedural, but deeply psychological and cultural. The sense of achievement in navigating such a challenging process reflects a badge of honor, underscoring the need to dissect and address both the tangible and intangible aspects of academic publishing. Only by getting to the root of this complex relationship can we hope to foster an environment that truly celebrates intellectual discovery and innovation, unhampered by unnecessary barriers.

Karu Sankaralingam is Mark D. Hill and David Wood Professor at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. An entrepreneur and an inventor, Sankaralingam is an IEEE Fellow. In his research in computer architecture, he pioneered the principles of dataflow computing,  including commercial chips his startup SimpleMachines built. He has published more than 100 research papers (including nine that received awards), has graduated nine Ph.D. students, and is listed as an inventor on 21 patents.