Stop the bean-counters ruling the fiction roost
How can good new writers be published when the industry is ruled by people who aren't interested in originality?
Robert McCrum
The Observer, Sunday 18 October 2009
Everyone's been saying that the 2009 Booker prize has been good for new fiction. That rumbling sound you can hear is the noise of a consensus forming on the high ground of British literary culture. But can it be trusted? Consider this tale of our times.
A friend of mine, let's call her Jenny, has just sold her first novel to a well-known London publisher. The book is the fulfilment of a dream. Friends and family have been supportive; her literary agent enthusiastic. Jenny, I should add, is on the sunny side of 30, highly intelligent and an excellent writer; in short, a publisher's dream. What could possibly go wrong ?
At first, it was all plain sailing. The typescript went to London's top editors. Three immediately said "Yes please, we're interested. Can we get together and – sign of the times – have a meeting with marketing?" Jenny and her agent duly subjected themselves to a series of informal auditions at which rival publishers metaphorically kicked her tyres.
How can good new writers be published when the industry is ruled by people who aren't interested in originality?
Robert McCrum
The Observer, Sunday 18 October 2009
Everyone's been saying that the 2009 Booker prize has been good for new fiction. That rumbling sound you can hear is the noise of a consensus forming on the high ground of British literary culture. But can it be trusted? Consider this tale of our times.
A friend of mine, let's call her Jenny, has just sold her first novel to a well-known London publisher. The book is the fulfilment of a dream. Friends and family have been supportive; her literary agent enthusiastic. Jenny, I should add, is on the sunny side of 30, highly intelligent and an excellent writer; in short, a publisher's dream. What could possibly go wrong ?
At first, it was all plain sailing. The typescript went to London's top editors. Three immediately said "Yes please, we're interested. Can we get together and – sign of the times – have a meeting with marketing?" Jenny and her agent duly subjected themselves to a series of informal auditions at which rival publishers metaphorically kicked her tyres.
At this point, some of the sales people got cold feet and House A dropped out. With two imprints left in contention, there was a brief, medium-fierce auction in which House B made the clinching bid. Subject to one final discussion with sales – another sign of the times – House B was confirmed as Jenny's publisher. Doubles all round.
In the past, when editors exercised real power not just as midwives to the creative process, but as the dynamic element in the world of books, that would have been that. Jenny's typescript would have had one last edit, been sent to the printer and published, for better or worse. If you want to know how it used to happen, read John Carey's new life of William Golding and his account of the offstage work on Lord of the Flies.
In the past, when editors exercised real power not just as midwives to the creative process, but as the dynamic element in the world of books, that would have been that. Jenny's typescript would have had one last edit, been sent to the printer and published, for better or worse. If you want to know how it used to happen, read John Carey's new life of William Golding and his account of the offstage work on Lord of the Flies.
Every good tale has its narrative twist. Soon after the conclusion of the auction, Jenny's agent got a call from House B – frightfully sorry and all that – the sales department was worried. The deal could not go ahead as negotiated. After a moment of justifiable rage, Jenny's agent said: "Thanks, but no thanks" and promptly sold the novel to House C, a smaller independent of proven taste and judgment. And when the novel comes out in 2010, we shall see if those sales people were right (I doubt it).
Such is the climate in which new fiction is often published today. At the public end, there's the razzmatazz. Off-the-radar, new fiction by unknown writers, the lifeblood of the business, is being scrutinised by people who have neither appetite for, nor understanding of, originality.
In the past month, I have had conversations with the CEOs of two conglomerates in which both have complained bitterly about the difficulty of launching new talent. Yet everyone knows that fiction is what the reading public wants, that fiction can become really commercial. You can lose your shirt on it, but you can also laugh all the way to the bank.
The origins of this Booker Paradox lie in the 1990s. After a decade in which the editor had been king, with very mixed results, and certainly a lot of wasted investment, the suits took control. Some editors were purged, others were muzzled. The balance of power shifted towards sales and marketing, backed up by the newly dominant book chains.
In the past month, I have had conversations with the CEOs of two conglomerates in which both have complained bitterly about the difficulty of launching new talent. Yet everyone knows that fiction is what the reading public wants, that fiction can become really commercial. You can lose your shirt on it, but you can also laugh all the way to the bank.
The origins of this Booker Paradox lie in the 1990s. After a decade in which the editor had been king, with very mixed results, and certainly a lot of wasted investment, the suits took control. Some editors were purged, others were muzzled. The balance of power shifted towards sales and marketing, backed up by the newly dominant book chains.
Read the rest of McCrum's piece at The Observer online.
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