No one likes to see gifts inadequately wrapped and crammed into a box, particularly when the packaging is done with the evident callousness or carelessness of a critic.

A book is a gift but judgment must still be rendered. The market, the demands upon the reader and our responsibility to him - with the reviewer's own stamina and tolerance - insist.

Our rating system is unsophisticated and imbalanced. Perhaps in time we'll junk it. It serves merely as a sign-post, a captioned advisory. Your mileage may vary. The headings are taken from four memorable Wodehouse characters.

A Whip-Cracker is a terrific book, well worth the expense and commitment. It is enthusiastically recommended, and is not just a book that one is expected to like. When it's over, we're sorry to see it go but admire it on the shelf and look forward to rereading it.

A Cat-Stroker may be a fine book. Something, however, is holding it, or us, back. Probably us. We'd pick it up at the library New Book rack but pass it by at the bookstore, aware that the loss will be ours. There just doesn't seem to be enough time, we say to ourselves.

A Scooper is a much easier call. Something is clearly not on. It added little to our understanding or appreciation of the subject, or of the "big picture." Like the unidentifiable hors d'oeuvre, we can see what it's for but we have no hesitation in waiting for the next tray.

A Rodney Spelvin, like the nefarious foil, leaves us shaking our head. While others may be strongly opposed, we doubt it. Despite the best of intentions, hard work and expense, this just wasn't for us. We're sorry but Chinese water torture won't make us change our mind.