THERE is much which is intangible in the relations between an author
and his publisher. While it is true that modern commercialism has
invaded this field as it has all others, there are probably no actual
business relations more dependent upon mutual confidence than those
which exist between the writer who produces a manuscript which he
wishes to have published, and a publisher who wishes to secure for
the purpose of publication a manuscript which he believes to contain
elements of probable success. This is due to many reasons, the first
and most important of all being that each is in a position to add
to his reputation and success by the efforts of the other. Many a
publisher has by legitimate and judicious business sagacity established
the reputation of a previously-unknown author; many an author has
placed a small publishing-house in a position of importance, or added
to the fame of a house already established.
Another reason for these closely-identified interests is the fact
that the average writer is not experienced in business matters,
but relies largely upon the integrity of the publisher to whom he
intrusts himself. For the same reason, the publisher feels an added
responsibility to protect the interests of the author, realizing the
fact that he has been placed in the position of agent, to conduct
affairs in the joint interests of both. Even if there have been cases
where this confidence has been misplaced, they are exceptions which do
not affect the general statement.
The fact that the average author is not versed in business detail has
brought into being the literary agent,[1] who offers to stand between
the author and his so-called natural enemy, the publisher. There is no
doubt that frequently the efforts of these literary agents result in
temporary pecuniary advantage to the author, but the common consensus
of opinion is that in the long run the author will best serve his own
ends by co-operating with his publisher, rather than by employing any
intermediary. Confidence begets confidence, and fair play invites a
personal interest which is an asset, the value of which cannot be
over-estimated. When a manuscript has been offered competitively, and
is finally secured by the highest-bidding publisher, it by no means
follows that the net returns from this contract will exceed or equal
what the author might have received through some other publisher,
better equipped to sell it, who would have taken a pride far beyond
mere commercial advantage in making it a successful venture.
Take, for example, the question of advertising. If a publisher issues
a volume written by an author whose later work is likely to be given
to another house, he realizes that whatever investment he makes must
be charged off against this particular book. On the other hand, if he
feels that the author's relations are such as to make it probable that
the present publisher will have an opportunity to share in his later
success, then it is good business for him to invest a larger sum in
advertising the _author_ than he could possibly afford to expend upon
any single _book_. Here again is the mutual interest. The author's
reputation rests in a large measure in the hands of his publisher, and
he shares equally in any advantage which accrues to the publisher from
the publicity which comes to both.
From still another standpoint, the author can secure material
assistance from intimate relations with his publisher. Many a novel
owes its success to the advice given by the editorial staff of the
publishing-house. Many a strong story would never have reached its
audience because of mechanical or structural defects, which the
publisher helped to overcome. There have been instances of unwise
editorial advice, and of undue pressure brought to bear upon the author
to the detriment of his literary production, but these cases are rare
compared with those of helpful assistance, which every successful
writer will gratefully acknowledge he has received from his publisher.
In general, the publisher is a wise person in his own field, and as the
ultimate success of a book depends upon its sale, his advice is usually
based upon a knowledge and an experience which the author cannot
possess. To make his business a success, the publisher, as well as the
author, must interject his own personality, this expression taking the
form of personal suggestions, of determining the physical aspect of the
volume, of selecting the artist, of arranging methods of publicity, and
of making plans for interesting the retail booksellers.
Few publishers depend upon the judgment of their "readers" to the
extent of accepting or declining manuscripts wholly upon their
opinions. It is inevitable that a large proportion of the manuscripts
submitted should be culled out and discarded by the professional
reader without ever reaching the final court of appeal. These readers
consider each story from two distinct standpoints: (1) Has the author
a real story to tell? and (2) How well has the story been told? If the
manuscript fails to stand the test of the first question, its doom is
sealed at that point; if it passes through this test, even though it
fails in the second, it will be referred to the publisher for a final
reading, with the critic's comments affixed to it.
It is remarkable how many manuscripts in this state are actually read
by the publisher himself, in view of the countless other details which
naturally devolve upon him; but here is where he recognizes the first
claim upon his personality. His viewpoint differs from that of his
reader only in that it has narrowed down to three main questions which
he demands of each manuscript: (1) Does it conform to the standards of
the house? (2) To what and how large an audience will it appeal? (3)
Will the probable returns warrant the initial investment?
Having settled these points in his mind, the publisher will further
consider the literary value of the story. If the plot is strong and
original but clumsily constructed, he will discuss the situation
frankly with the author, and will advise him to rewrite such portions
as demand revision. Many a successful author has learned how to tell
his story through his publisher's assistance, and owes his present
reputation to the fact that some publisher discovered in his early,
amateurish efforts the germs of strength and originality, almost
smothered by structural faults.
After the manuscript is ready for the printer, it is the publisher's
function to decide upon its physical aspect, combining business
judgment and personal taste in producing a volume in keeping with
its content, and in such a dress as to attract to it that class of
bookbuyers who are influenced by its attractiveness. Nowhere, perhaps,
is the fickleness of the public shown more than in the taste displayed
by this class of buyers, and styles obtain in this as much as in
millinery or in dress.
With the plan of the building of the book determined, the publisher
undertakes to create a demand, first from the booksellers and later
from the public. The traveling salesman is the usual means to
accomplish the first end. He makes his regular trips at stated seasons,
covering the entire country, carrying with him "traveler's dummies,"
which usually consist of a stamped cover of each book, inside of
which are fastened representative pages and proofs of illustrations.
From these samples, the salesmen take their "advance orders," and the
publisher usually awaits the tabulation of these before deciding upon
the size of his first edition.
Other methods are employed in addition to these, varying with the
ingenuity of each publisher: such as the sending out to the booksellers
of advance copies or sheets, writing special letters, giving synopses
of the stories, etc., all of which advance preparation requires time
and thought. Authors sometimes become impatient over what seems to them
to be unwarranted delays, when in reality the publisher is serving
their interests as well as his own by creating a market before actually
placing the book on sale.
To create a demand on the part of the public is as difficult in
marketing books as any other commodity. Advertising helps, of course,
but as to the amount, nature, and method of advertising, each
publisher has his own ideas. Each author naturally regards his own work
as deserving of the maximum publicity, but the publisher is obliged
to consider his list as a whole. If he thinks it wise to invest a
large sum in advertising a particular story, it is because he believes
that story to possess an appeal to the public sufficient to warrant
this investment. His judgment may be wrong, and often is. The book
he depends upon does not respond as he expects, and some other book,
in which he did not have as much confidence, for some unknown reason
suddenly shows unexpected strength. But the publisher has been honest
in his attempt, even though faulty in his judgment, and the author who
recognizes this in his attitude to his publisher will go far toward
cementing the bonds of co-operation which inevitably bring success to
those writers who actually possess, the genius to demand it.
The fact that one author's contract differs from another's cannot be
taken as evidence that the publisher has not fulfilled his entire
responsibility to both. An author without an established reputation has
no right to expect as attractive a contract as one whose name is of
known value to the publisher's list.