HAS THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR A CHANCE?
_A Popular Illusion Based on “Graustark” and “David Harum” Dispelled--
Publishers Blunder More Often in Welcoming Than in Rejecting
Manuscripts of the “New Man”--Guess Work Enters Largely Into the
Fate of a Novel--How Publishers Judge Manuscripts and How “Reading”
Is Done._
It will probably always be believed by many persons that publishing
houses do not give careful attention to book manuscripts that come
from strangers. The case of “David Harum” did much to fix this notion
in the public mind. The manuscript was declined by three or four
publishers before it was accepted by the Appletons. Its declination was
an evidence of bad financial book-judgment, but it is not proof that
it was carelessly considered. Most publishers’ readers are literary
folk, pure and simple. Not one in a hundred has a good financial
judgment of a manuscript. As a literary product, judged by academic
standards, there was not much in “David Harum” to commend it. The
publishers who rejected it acted on the readers’ reports. When it went
to the Appletons, somebody was shrewd enough to see that if it were
shortened and put in somewhat better form, it would have a commercial
value. A publishing judgment was passed on it there and not merely a
conventional literary judgment.
Or, take the case of “Graustark.” It was declined at least by one
publisher. There is, perhaps, not a “literary” reader in the world
who would have commended it in manuscript, or (for that matter) who
will commend it now. It does violence to every literary canon. But a
Chicago publisher, by some divine or subterranean suggestion, saw a
chance for it. Its roughest edges were hewn off with an axe, and it
was put forth. There have now appeared four “Graustark” books, three
of which have each sold perhaps a hundred times as many copies as Mr.
Howell’s latest novel will sell.
The difference between a mere literary judgment and a publishing
judgment indicates the greatest weakness in the organizations of most
publishing houses. The publisher himself is usually a business man. He
has to concern himself with the financial work of his house--with the
manufacture and the sale of books. In a great measure he relies, for
his judgment of literary values, on his advisers and readers. As a rule
these advisers and readers are employed men or women. They know nothing
about what may be called the commercial value of books. Many of them
know nothing about the losses or the profits on the books that they
have commended. They have had no experience in selling books. These
facts indicate the wrong organization of most publishing houses. Yet
the faithfulness that they show to aspiring authors is amazing; they
plough conscientiously through thousands of manuscripts looking for the
light of some possible genius, and they commend dozens of books where
their employers accept a single volume.
But the publisher does acquire a sort of sixth sense about a book. He
may or he may not know literary values, but he comes to have a peculiar
sort of knowledge of the commercial possibilities of books. If he takes
“literary readers’” judgments and does not read manuscripts himself,
he will now and then let a “David Harum” pass through his hands. To
avoid such mistakes every publishing house has at least two readers,
and these read manuscripts independently of one another. The publisher
then makes his judgment from them both, or perhaps from a third reading
by a specialist, if the manuscript seem good enough to warrant a third
reading.
The mistake of permitting a profitable manuscript to be rejected does
not come, therefore, from inattention to the work of strangers, but
from sheer fallibility of judgment. And the work of strangers is very
carefully considered in every publishing house that I know anything
about. Every publisher in these days is just as eager to get a new good
writer on his list as any unknown writer is eager to get a publisher;
and no manuscript above the grade of illiteracy is neglected.
A “first reader”--a man of all around general knowledge of books, and
he ought to be a man full of hard common-sense, common-sense being
worth more than technical literary knowledge--the “first reader”
examines the manuscript. If it be a shopworn piece of commonplace
work, obviously hopeless, he may not read it from preface to end, but
he must say in his written report whether he has read it all. Whether
he condemn it or approve it, it is examined or read by another reader.
If both these condemn it as hopeless, the publisher declines it without
more ado.
The greater number of manuscripts that come to publishing houses are
hopeless. Three-fourths of them, or more, are novels that have been
written by lonely women or by men who have no successful occupation;
and most of these are conscious or unconscious imitations of recent
popular novels. It does not require very shrewd judgment to see that
they are hopeless. But it does require time. If they are above the
grade of illiteracy somebody must read a hundred pages or more to
make sure that the dulness of the early chapters may not be merely a
beginner’s way of finding his gait. And many of these manuscripts go
from publishing house to publishing house. There are, I should say, a
thousand hopeless novels in manuscript at all times making this weary
journey.
Sometimes one comes back to the same publisher a second time, the
author having perhaps not kept an accurate record of its itinerary.
Sometimes it comes back a year later, somewhat changed. There is one
novel-manuscript that has come to me four times within two years,
every time in a somewhat different form, and twice with different
titles--obviously to fool the “careless” publisher.
While very few mistakes are made or are likely to be made with these
manuscripts that two readers independently declare hopeless, the
class next to these require a great deal of work and care. This class
includes those books by unknown writers that are not bad. One reader
will say that they are worth considering. The next reader will say
that they have some sort of merit. Then the publisher must go slowly.
A third person must read them. If the publisher be an ideal publisher,
he will read them himself. (The weakness of most American publishing
houses of this generation comes just here--the publisher himself does
not read many manuscripts.)
In the best publishing houses (this, I know, is the habit of three) the
reports on books of this class are all read at a meeting of the firm,
or (better) at a meeting of the firm and of the heads of departments.
At such a meeting the judgment of a sensible man who is at the head of
the sales department of a publishing house is very useful. He knows
by his everyday work what sort of books the public is buying. Some of
them are books that the “literary” world knows nothing about or has
forgotten.
And three or four or five men, by a little discussion, can reach a
clearer and saner judgment about a book from the reports of three or
four readers than the readers themselves can reach or than any one
man or any two men who consider the reports could reach. There is no
subject in the world about which a conference is likely to be more
helpful. One man’s judgment about the publishing quality of a book may
easily be wrong. The judgment of two men may be wrong if they look at
it from the same angle or with the same temperament. But the judgment
of three, or four, or five men, if they have the facts before them and
if they indulge in frank discussion, is very seldom wrong. No book
on which serious work has been done ought to be rejected or accepted
without the benefit of the independent reports of two or three sensible
persons who have carefully read it, and without the discussions
of these reports by three or four other persons of experience
and judgment. And in at least three American publishing houses
every manuscript of any value or promise runs a course of hopeful
consideration such as this; for the publisher wants good new books, he
wants good new writers; and he wants them badly. Half a dozen popular
writers will build a publishing house. It is, therefore, doubtful
whether any other business is so carefully conducted with reference to
its sources of supply.
In fact, all publishers make many more mistakes in accepting books
than in declining them. They accept many books from new writers that
they hope may possibly succeed, but in which they have not very strong
faith. It is the book manuscripts of this class that cause the most
work and the greatest trouble--the class that may possibly succeed. A
book of this class by a new writer who shows cleverness or some other
good quality is often accepted in the hope that the author may do
better with the next book. It is accepted as an encouragement and as
a hope; it chiefly is for this reason that so many books are published
that are barely good enough to warrant publication. The publisher is
trying to “develop” an author.
Sometimes this method succeeds; for it sometimes happens that a
good writer writes a first book that is merely a promise of later
achievement. But this does not often happen. In most cases the second
book is no better than the first--or is worse. Then the publisher
loses and the writer is seldom heard of again. The number of one-novel
writers scattered over the land would surprise the world if it were
known. There is no rule about literary production to which there
are not an embarrassing number of exceptions. But in most cases a
successful writer starts with a successful book. The hope that the
second book will be better is one of the rocks on which many publishing
ventures wreck.
But if the publishers put forth a number of commonplace books (chiefly
novels) from a false hope that they may thus develop good writers, they
also do a service of the opposite kind. They save the long-suffering
public from many worthless books. For if the public had thrust upon it
all or half or a tenth of the books that are written, what a dull world
we should have!
When a book-manuscript has been rejected, the delicate task comes
next of informing the author. This task is seldom done as well as it
ought to be. It is almost impossible for a publisher--who receives and
rejects manuscripts as a matter of business--to put himself in the
place of a writer who has spent lonely weeks in her work. To send a
mere business note is almost an insult. Yet what more can the publisher
write? He does not dare write hopefully. If he does he will give a
degree of encouragement that is dishonest. Yet the author expects a
long and explicit letter telling why the manuscript is unavailable.
If she does not receive such a letter she jumps to the conclusion that
her manuscript has not had fair consideration. Publishers’ letters of
rejection are the chief cause, I suspect, of the persistent notion that
they are careless in the examination of manuscripts.
Every letter of declination ought to be written by a skilful man--a
diplomatist who can write an unpleasant truth without offence. Every
such letter ought to be written with a pen. No general form ought to
be used. Yet in only one of the publishing houses whose habits I know
is this degree of care taken. The consideration of manuscript from
strangers is careful and conscientious, but letters of rejection are
often perfunctory.
To sell a novel that has the mysterious quality of popularity in it is
not difficult. Properly launched, it sells itself. To sell a novel that
lacks the inherent quality of popularity--that is almost impossible.
Apparently it has sometimes been done, but nobody can be sure whether
the result after all was due to the book or to the salesman. Every
publisher has proved, over and over again, to his disgust, that he
cannot make the people buy a novel that they do not want; and when a
novel appears (no better novel) that they do want, the novel-readers
find it out by some free-masonry and would buy it if the publishers
tried to prevent them.
Nobody has discovered a rule--to say nothing of a principle--whereby
the popularity of a novel by a new writer may be determined. If it be
a really great, strong book, of course it is easy to understand that
it will sell; but whether it will sell 10,000 copies or 100,000 nobody
knows. If it be a slapdash dime-novel, full of action, it is easy to
guess that it will sell; but whether 5,000 or 500,000 nobody knows.
Sometimes a book of the sheerest commonplace happens to hit the public
mood at the happy angle and sells beyond all expectation. The truth is,
every new novel by an unknown writer presents a problem peculiar to
itself; and in advertising it and offering it for sale, every book’s
peculiar problem must be studied by itself.
The whole question is a subtle social one. Who could have foretold
popularity for “pigs in clover,” rather than for some other silly
puzzle; or for ping-pong; or for women’s hats of a certain grotesque
construction? The popular whim about novels is like the whims for these
things. And a popular novel passes as quickly as any other fashion.
The story has been many times told of the sudden falling off of the
demand for “Trilby”--so sudden that the publishers had a large number
of copies left on hand which could not be sold at all except as waste
paper. Every publisher is afraid to publish very large editions of any
very popular novel; for they have all had an experience parallel to
this experience with “Trilby.”
But other kinds of books are less capricious than novels; and the
business of the publisher has been reduced more nearly to a science in
dealing with books of information. Several publishers, for example,
have series of little books made of selections from English and
American classics. Many of them have sold well; but some of them have
sold by the million and others just as good and just as attractive have
stopped at the ten-thousand limit or at a lower limit. The difference
is with the skill with which they were put on the market. Sometimes an
ingenious “scheme” will sell information books in great numbers; and it
often happens that the worst of three or four books on the same subject
and published for the same price, becomes far better known than the
other better books.
As a theoretical proposition it seems plain that the publisher who
will spend the most money in newspaper advertising will sell the most
books. Authors not infrequently take up this notion. Sometimes it is
true; for sometimes newspaper advertising will cause a great demand
for a book. But this is not true with every book. And most recent
publishing failures have been due--in a great measure, at least--to
prodigal advertising--or, perhaps, to misdirected advertising.
Every book is a problem unto itself. The wise publisher so regards
it from the beginning; and he makes his plans for every book to suit
its peculiar case and not another. All the long road from author to
reader, the book--any book--presents a series of interesting, original
problems. Many of them are very fascinating problems. They call for
imagination, fertility, ingenuity. The reason why few authors or
authors’ societies or other persons who have not been definitely
trained to publishing fail, is that they are too likely to regard
publishing as a mere routine business--a business of manufacturing a
certain product and then of offering it for sale. They forget that
every book--and even every edition of every book--presents a problem
that was never presented before since the world was made. And when its
sympathetic ingenuity and inventiveness fail, a publishing house begins
to become a mere business and the drying-up period is not far off.
But no publishing house fails because it does not examine manuscripts
carefully. There is no other business that I know of that is done more
seriously; and the mistakes made are fewer than the public thinks. They
are mistakes of judgment and not of carelessness.