Merchandise hell

Lila’s drawings were what made The Hayseed Chronicles such a success, but the “publishers had paid her a flat fee, and, in signing whatever contract they had flashed before her, she had passed the copyright to them“. She got no financial benefit from the brand. Not like the author’s children, one of whom describes the “merchandise hell“.

I was there at the beginning. I was the beginning – but if you trawl book shops and gift shops and computer shops and duty-free shops and mail-order catalogues, and ads in this magazine or that magazine, and special offers on the back of certain cereal packets, you will find some of the following: the original five paperbacks (of course), the boxed set of the original five paperbacks, the activity book for older readers, the hardback deluxe compendium edition with the coloured illustrations (or colourized – the originals were black-and-white) illustrations, the board game (‘A throw of the dice decides which entrance you take into the Darkwood’), the PlayStation Hayseed game (‘Do you dare to be Mt Toppit?’), the Royal Doulton cereal-bowl set, the eggcups, the porcelain figurines of Luke, the DayGlo rucksacks, the pencil boxes, the notepaper, the Christmas cards, the T-shirts with ‘My brother went to the Darkwood and all Mr Toppit allowed him to bring back was this lousy T-shirt’ emblazoned on the back (unauthorized, I suspect – I’ll get the lawyers on to it), the baseball caps and the keyrings.

Charles Elton, Mr Toppit, 2009

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Bios Unlimited

“My idea was this: to form a company that would publish books about the forgotten ones, to rescue the stories and facts and documents before they disappeared – and shape them into a continuous narrative of a life.”

Nathan Glass, the narrator of Paul Auster’s The Brooklyn Follies is no publisher: he is a retired insurance man. But towards the end of the book he has a publishing idea. Waiting in hospital to see if he has or has not had a heart attack, he comes up with Bios Unlimited, a firm that will write up and publish the life stories of ordinary people – “something that would outlive them, that would outlive us all”, possibly financed by “biography insurance”. As the book finishes there is a “brilliant blue sky” when Nathan leaves the hospital with this idea spinning in his head. “One should never underestimate the power of books”, he asserts, but things are about to change.

“It was eight o’clock when I stepped out onto the street, eight o’clock on the morning of September 11, 2001.”

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Just like Borders in 1931

When William Young Darling published (anonymously) The Private Papers of a Bankrupt Bookseller in 1931 , the text may not have been entirely fictional. After eighty years there are resonances for the current Border’s bankruptcy.

When the situation gets serious, the bookseller recognizes that the “publishers haven’t been bad really. There is no other business, I am sure, where they treat creditors with more consideration, but things are too tangled for any remedy I can see“.

With the bank, it is a different matter.

If I go tomorrow and see the bank they will give me more time. They must. If they give me a little longer things will improve. The book trade is like everything else, it is passing through a phase of depression. I can bring it round. I will work hard. I won’t waste time writing or talking too much. I will be keen. I will change my windows every week and dust the place properly. My personal appearance, I will improve that.

It won’t do. It won’t do.

They have no more patience for me. They can let my shop to that man next door and he will fill my windows with knickers and hats and God only knows what inconceivable muck.

What will fill the windows of all those empty Border’s stores?

Anon (William Young Darling), The Private Papers of a Bankrupt Bookseller, 1931

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A publishing bull’s eye

British publishers seem to be stuck in their ways according to Anthony Powell who introduces publishers here and there in A Dance to the Music of Time.

“That had been towards the end of the nineteen-twenties. Glober had arrived in London as representative of a recently founded New York publishing house. Even before he landed, his name went round among the London publishers as a young American colleague with a head full of bright new ideas; by no means an unqualified recommendation to that particular community.”

In Temporary Kings, Nicholas Jenkins meets up again with Dan Tokenhouse, with whom he had worked when younger, and Louis Glober who had once been involved with Tokenhouse in an aborted project to co-publish some books on Cubists. But Glober had moved on. “His firm fell into liquidation the following year. Several go-ahead American publishing houses went bust about that time.” Since then, he had been many things. “The Herald-Tribune had termed him playboy-tycoon, this type-casting to cover publisher, film-producer, sportsman, ‘socialite’, a lot of other more or less news-valued labels, most with some basis in fact.

Tokenhouse, on the other hand, was the model of the gentleman publisher and got into publishing art books, according to Nick’s father, because he “always hankered after publishing picture books”. After a nervous collapse he has given up publishing, moved to Venice and devoted himself to painting. There are evidently great differences between the British and American publisher, although all publishers are obviously part of the cultural scene. In Venice, they are counted among Jacky’s “Communist chums, movie people, publishers, other rich people like himself“.

There is another more pragmatic British publisher in the book, J. C. Quiggin who is married to Ada Leintwardine, a novelist, who also works for Quiggin & Craggs. She pushes Glober to make a movie of one of their books, Match Me Such Marvel, and we learn that, although Quiggin and Craggs once had a strong left-wing leaning,“Quiggin himself, anyway commercially, had so far abrogated his own principles as to have lately scored a publishing bull’s eye with the memories of a Tory ‘elder statesman’.” He rejects another potentially interesting title that Ada suggests they might publish. “A book on X. Trapnel is never going to sell. Why get us involved in it at all. It would only mean more money down the drain”.

Perhaps Quiggin is an example of a British publisher who adapted well to the new publishing culture arriving from the other side of the Atlantic.

Anthony Powell, Temporary Kings, 1973

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Like the pyramids of the Aztecs

In Roberto Bolaño’s 2666, Benno von Archimboldi is published by Mr. Bubis’s publishing house in Hamburg. Mr. Bubis, re-establishing his company after the second world war, takes on the pseudonymous novelist’s first book with the assurance that “the book would receive the finest treatment and be carried in all the best bookshops, not just in Germany but also in Austria and Switzerland, where the Bubis name was remembered and respected by democratic bookshop owners, a symbol of independent and high-quality publishing“. On another occasion, we hear that all Mr. Bubis “really cared about was the adventure of printing books and selling them“.

Bubis sticks with Archimboldi in spite of very poor sales. He buys him a typewriter, pays larger than warranted advances, and, when he dies (laughing at a novel by a new writer from Dresden), his wife Baroness Von Zumpe continues as his publisher (and occasional lover), not even bothering to read his latest novel, The Return, before giving it to the copyeditor with instructions to publish it in three months.

When Archimboldi wanted to know why she kept publishing him if she didn’t read him, which was really a rhetorical question since he knew the answer, the baroness replied (a) because she knew he was good, (b) because Bubis had told her to, (c) because few publishers actually read the books they publish.

Much of Archimboldi’s dealings with Bubis are covered in the later part of this monumental book, although we first hear of him in the first section of the book: The Part about the Critics. Two of the Archimboldi specialists, Espinoza and Pelletier, visit Hamburg to see the publisher, but learn little. On a visit to Mexico, they hear an interesting view on publishing from Amalfitano.

In Europe, intellectuals work for publishing houses or for the papers or their wives support them or their parents are well-off and give them a monthly allowance or they’re laborers or criminals and they make an honest living from their jobs. In Mexico, and this may be true across Latin America, intellectuals work for the state.

There are various other references to writing and publishing, with Archimboldi himself declaring the importance of the book.

“An old book is the past, too,” said Archimboldi, “a book written and published in 1789 is the past, its author no longer exists, neither does its printer or the ones who read it first or the time in which it was written, but the book, the first edition of that book, is still here. Like the pyramids of the Aztecs,” said Archimboldi.

Like the pyramids of the Aztecs, 2666 is large, mysterious but obviously of some great significance. Even if the novel suggests that publishers have motivations very different from those of writers, it is clear about the importance of the act of publishing.

Roberto Bolaño, 2666, 2004

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Based on name recognition alone…

Jeremy Taylor is a 25 year old American book editor working for Pearce Learner in London. He lives in a swanky flat, has a fancy coffee machine, and goes to work in a designer suit. When he arrives at the office, his fierce corporate boss is fuming about a rival publisher’s signing of the new novel by Irvin Gattinger, a once famous writer who hasn’t produced in years.

Jeremy is impressed: “based on name recognition alone, it’ll be an instant success“. He is even more impressed when he is sent off to Tuscany to persuade another once famous novelist (and his personal hero), Weldon Parish, to start writing again after twenty years, and give Pearce Learner the bestseller the boss craves.

Tuscany is lovely, he falls for the writer’s horse-mad daughter, gets Weldon back tapping at the keys of his old typewriter, and discovers his inner novelist. Needless to say Jeremy ends up staying in Italy.

Wow! Is this what happened to all those 25 year old editors we used to know?

Shadows in the Sun (2005)

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We hold a dead book in our hands

In Vladimir Nabokov’s The Real Life of Sebastian Knight being published is what the narrator yearns for, when, in Paris, he first sees his half-brother’s new book “The Doubtful Asphodel announced in an English paper”.

“And as I sat there alone in the lugubriously comfortable hall, and read the publisher’s advertisement and Sebastian’s handsome black name in block letters, I envied his lot more acutely than I had ever envied it before.”

As is the case with many books about writers there is little mention of publishers and publishing, although we do hear something of Sebastian Knight’s lackadaisical dealings with the profession. What a lark that “The Funny Mountain was published simultaneously in two American magazines, and Sebastian was at a loss to remember how he managed to sell it to two different people”. The first publisher of The Prismatic Bezel spotted an obvious libel and “advised Sebastian to modify the whole passage, a thing which Sebastian flatly refused to do, saying finally that he would get the book printed elsewhere – and this he eventually did”. When the book was published it “fell completely flat” and “was appreciated at its true worth only when Sebastian’s first real success caused it to be presented anew by another firm (Bronson), but even then it did not sell as well as Success, or Lost Property.” Bronson is the only publisher mentioned, and the author’s successes are not attributed in any way to publishing expertise.

Books are central to the story V unfolds, and his view of The Doubtful Asphodel obliquely presages now overworked predictions of the death of the book: “The man is dead, and we do not know. The asphodel on the other shore is as doubtful as ever. We hold a dead book in our hands. Or are we mistaken?”

Vladimir Nabokov, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, 1941

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