By Warren Snyder.
It is with the finished product of author and publisher that the
bookseller has chiefly to do. In the building of a book he does not
come into contact with author, artist, compositor, printer, or
publisher. If he be in a position to place large orders, his opinion
is occasionally sought as to the advisability of bringing out a new
edition of some book or books for which there seems to be a demand. A
book may have reached an unusually large sale in an ordinary edition;
he is asked if he thinks a finer and more expensive edition would be
warrantable. He is, however, chary in most cases about expressing an
opinion; and he never allows himself to become enthusiastic over any
book in the presence of a publisher or a publisher's representative.
For he feels that if he should display any eagerness, he would, in a
measure, commit himself to placing a large order for that particular
book.
With books being brought out at the rate they have been for the last
five years, the bookseller finds himself with little time or
inclination either to read or to think about the things to come. He
has enough to occupy his attention in his efforts to display and sell
the books he already has on hand. Witness the pyramids of volumes
towering ceilingward--many of them books that have been there for
several moons at least; and which are likely to remain there until
many more moons have waxed and waned.
I often wonder if the bookseller of fifty years ago ever dreamed of
what his successor would have to contend with in the way of new
publications. I recall a conversation I had two or three years ago
with a man more than seventy years of age. He had started out in his
business life as a clerk in a bookstore and he said to me, "There are
no booksellers to-day like there were when I was in the book business.
Then," he continued, "a bookseller was thoroughly posted as to the
contents of the books he had for sale; while now they know but little
more about a book than its title." I asked him if he ever stopped to
compare the conditions under which the bookseller of past days worked
with those under which the bookseller of to-day had to labor. I have
read that in 1855 there were but five hundred new books issued in the
United States. In 1905--fifty years later--there were seventy-five
hundred new books launched on the market. This did not include some
six hundred reprints.
When there was an average of less than ten new books published in a
week, it was an easy task for an intelligent salesperson to get a
fair knowledge of the contents of every one. But when books are ground
out at the rate of one hundred and fifty a week,--twenty-five a
day,--the task becomes an impossible one. Yet I have frequently been
asked by seemingly intelligent persons if I did not read a book before
purchasing it. And when I have attempted to explain that it would be
impossible for me to read all the books issued, they have not
hesitated to convey, by word or gesture, their opinion of this
obviously reckless way of doing business. Not long ago a man came to
my office inquiring for the manager. When he was directed to me he
said: "I bought a book here a few days ago, and it is imperfect. There
are a number of pages missing, while some pages are repeated." Then,
with a sneer, "I am surprised that a firm like this should sell
imperfect books." I assured him that we had no intention of selling an
imperfect book; it was an accident that sometimes happened. The wonder
to me was that it did not happen oftener. I was sorry if he had been
put to any inconvenience; we would cheerfully give him another copy.
We could return the imperfect copy to the publishers who would make it
right with us.
"But don't you examine the books you buy to see if the pages are all
there?"
I told him how impossible that would be. Why, we often added as many
as fifty thousand volumes to our stock in a single week. He left me,
I am sure, convinced that we were careless in our mode of doing
business.
Once I was called from my office to meet a lady who also had a
grievance. She accosted me with the air of one who had been basely
swindled. "I bought a book here yesterday," she said, "one you
advertised as cheap. I wish to return it and get my money back. My
husband says it is no wonder that you can sell books so cheap; this
one is not half finished. Look at the rough edges; the leaves are not
even cut."
Of course I had the price of the book returned to her at once. Then I
proceeded to show her some of the expensive and finely bound volumes
with rough edges. I explained how the value of many of these books
would be lessened if the leaves were trimmed. I tried to give her the
point of view of the book collector. She was incredulous. I think,
however, that she went away a wiser, if not a happier woman; and she
has probably blushed many times since when recalling the incident.
The buyer of books for a large store does not go out to look for new
publications. He remains in his office, and the publisher sends a
representative to see him in regard to each new book issued. In New
York City he is called upon on an average of once a week by some one
from each publishing house. At certain seasons of the year these
"commercial travellers," as they prefer to be titled, seem to drift
in ten or a dozen at a time. They will often be found waiting in line
outside the buyer's office, each taking his turn. Each will have from
two to ten new books, all to be ready within the next two weeks.
I have said that the bookseller of to-day has but little time to read
about the volumes that are forthcoming. Therefore, most of the new
books are first brought to his attention by the salesmen who come to
solicit orders. Every book must be given some consideration; and in
most cases some quantity of it must be ordered. It may be five copies
or it may be five thousand. To the inexperienced it is difficult to
explain the precise considerations that govern the amount of the
order. Here is where the strain comes on the buyer; for the
responsibility lies with him. Yet he must decide without having read a
single page; and he must decide quickly--in a few minutes. Many times
he places an order without having seen the completed book at all. Some
pages of the text, a half-dozen illustrations, and the outside cover
are perhaps presented to him. Even the fact that the publisher has had
the manuscript read by three or four experts before deciding to
publish, does not always help him. There are many miscalculations on
the part of both buyer and publisher.
But, you insist, how does a buyer form a judgment of the number of
copies to buy if he does not read the book? There are many things to
guide him. There is the popularity of the author to be considered;
the subject of the book; the mechanical features; the price; and the
publisher's name and standing. If it is an author's first book the
risk is great. If both the author and publisher are new the risk is
still greater. For the amount of advertising that such a publisher is
likely to do is an unknown quantity. The buyer can estimate pretty
closely on the advertising probabilities of well-established firms; he
knows what they are accustomed to do in that line.
In the reminiscences of a bookseller who began business more than
seventy years ago, there is a letter from his mother written in 1844,
from which the following is an excerpt:--
"I will ask you once more to consider my plea regarding the policy and
character of some portion of your business. The selecting of books for
a reading community is a peculiar responsibility; and if the matter
therein contained be good in its wholesale and retail consequences it
will rise up for you, if bad, against you, even here in this partly
Christianized America."
But the bookman no longer has the opportunity of selecting for a
community. The conditions are changed. In these days of extended
advertising in newspapers and magazines, the reading public learns all
about the new books before going near a bookstore. The demand is
created outside the shop; the dealer must be prepared to supply it.
Customers tell him not only what to keep on sale, but what not to keep
on sale. The writer of the present article has been admonished not to
have in stock the writings of many of the great authors--Darwin,
Huxley, Tyndall, Herbert Spencer, Miss Braddon, George Eliot, Mrs.
Humphry Ward, Balzac, Byron, and many others. A letter received about
fifteen years ago read something like this:--
"I was much surprised yesterday, while passing through your bookstore,
to find a number of immoral books there for sale. I copied down the
names of a few of them--'An Earnest Trifler' and 'A Desperate
Chance.'"
There were four others the titles of which I do not recall; but the
two mentioned made an impression on my mind, because I had read the
first one only a short time before; and knew it to be a perfectly pure
story. The second one happened to have been written by an acquaintance
of mine, J. D. Jerrold Kelly, now a commander in the United States
Navy. If he ever reads this article he will probably be informed for
the first time that he is accused of having written an immoral story.
The funny part of the incident was that the letter in question closed
with the following: "I will admit that I have not read any of these
books. I would not soil my mind by reading them; but I think the
titles are quite sufficient to lead many a weak-minded person astray."
I leave the reader to draw his own conclusions.
I said that the bookseller does not necessarily come into contact with
author or publisher in the building of a book. He is, however,
frequently called upon by authors of the class that might be termed
unsuccessful. These want his help. One came to me with a proposition
that I take five thousand copies of a book he had written. "It's a
wonderful book," he said. "Nothing like it has been written; and it's
bound to make a great stir. It will revolutionize society completely.
All it needs is for you to 'push' the sale." When I asked to see the
book, he said it was not published yet. "I am looking for a publisher;
and will let you see a copy as soon as it is ready. But," he added,
"if you would give me your order now it would be a great help in
securing a publisher." It is scarcely necessary for me to add that I
did not feel called upon to help him to the extent of ordering five
thousand copies of the book without seeing it, even if society had to
remain unrevolutionized for a while longer. I never saw the author
again; nor have I heard of the book. Now many books must have been
written for which no publisher could be found! The pity is that so
many have found publishers--a statement with which I feel sure
publishers and booksellers alike will agree.
A year or two ago I was asked by a friend to give some advice to a
lady who had written a book. She did not take my advice, however, when
I gave it--I hardly expected that she would. In fact, she went
directly contrary to it, and practically published the book herself.
Later she came to me with the proposition that I take her book and
"push" it as the Century Dictionary and Encyclopedia was being pushed;
she was sure it would have a large sale, if only I would advertise it
in the same way that these other books were being advertised--full
pages in the daily papers. The retail price of her book was, I
believe, one dollar. These are but two instances; I could mention many
more equally ridiculous. How that word "push" does grate on my ears!
It will put me in a bad humor about as quickly as anything I can
recall.
My first experience in the book business was on Nassau Street, then
one of the great book streets of New York City, if not the greatest.
One morning shortly after the store opened an elderly couple from the
country came in--the man evidently interested in books; but the woman
not at all. While he was looking over the counters she remained well
in the centre of the main aisle, a short distance behind him.
Presently he came to a counter on which there was a placard: "Books
fifty cents each." By some mistake an expensive volume had been laid
with these second-hand books. The man picked it up and began leafing
it over. Then turning to the woman he said, "That's cheap at fifty
cents." "What's it good for?" was her query. "I wouldn't spend fifty
cents for it." Then I heard him say, "That's worth more than fifty
cents. If that's the price I'll buy it." "Young man, what's the price
of this book?" This last to me. I told him, "Nine dollars." The look
he gave the woman was not unkindly, but it spoke volumes. He knew a
thing or two about books; he was thoroughly conscious of his
superiority over her, when it came to their value.
During the last thirty years a magnificent work has been done in
suppressing and destroying the filthy literature that was almost
openly sold in the streets of many of our largest cities. Too much
credit cannot be given the society that took the matter in hand. I
believe that nearly every dealer to-day aims to keep his stock free
from demoralizing books; but in the nature of things the line of
demarcation cannot be drawn with entire satisfaction to all. About
twenty years ago an itinerant dealer was arrested in a New Jersey town
for selling a certain book. I was present at the trial, which was
somewhat farcical. The defendant had gathered together a large number
of catalogues to show that the book had been sold by the most
reputable dealers in the country; and that it was included in the
catalogues of most of the public libraries. But the judge would not
allow this as evidence. He took the stand that the whole question
rested upon the book itself. It did not matter what the rest of the
world thought of the book; they were there to judge whether or not it
was immoral. (The penalty for selling an immoral book in New Jersey
was, I think, at least one year's imprisonment.) The jury was composed
of twelve yokels, eleven of them had never heard of the book, the
twelfth said he had read it about twenty years earlier. As the whole
thing hinged on the opinion of the jury as to its character, copies
were supplied by the defendant, and the jury was sent into another
room to read the book. After an hour or so they returned. All agreed
that the story was not immoral, and the case was dismissed.
It would be a pleasure for me to write of the many distinguished
persons with whom I have become acquainted during my career as a
bookseller and buyer. But were I once to begin on the subject I fear
my readers would believe me lacking in "terminal facilities." I should
regret, however, to have to close this article without mention of the
many delightful friendships I have formed with authors, customers, and
publishers. And I may add, with the men who sell to me--whom, almost
to a man, I have found thoroughly conscientious. These are pleasant
features that go a long way toward compensating one for being in a
business, the profits of which, at the best, are small as compared
with those of other lines of trade.