Somewhere out in the dangerous land of the intramawebby, an author is being bent out of shape by a less-than-positive review they have accidentally stumbled across using the magic of “google”, or “blogpulse”, or “icerocket”, or some such fell black witchcraft. That author is prolly contemplating their witty riposte, or deciding what to call the vengeful sock puppet they will loose upon the malign and malodorous writer of the less-than-positive review.
Truly. Just let it go. If you publish stuff you have to learn to do the duck’s back thing. Folks are going to read your stuff and hate it. You cannot stop them. And if you try you will only look really really really pathetic and tarnish your reputation amongst readers who really care about what they read. Like I said before your book no belonga you.
And those reviews? Bad or good: they’re not about you or for you. Believe it or not, most are written without giving the real, living, easily wounded author of the book a second thought. A wise friend of mine points out that they are written for readers. Just as most literary prizes are about canon formation, about pointing librarians and booksellers to the books they should be making available, and scholars to the books they should be writing about. Rewarding the author is a mere side effect.
Or to put it more simply: you are not your books. You just writes them.