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diff --git a/old/54892-0.txt b/old/54892-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c38dec2..0000000 --- a/old/54892-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2787 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Publisher's Confession, by Walter Hines Page - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Publisher's Confession - -Author: Walter Hines Page - -Release Date: June 11, 2017 [EBook #54892] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PUBLISHER'S CONFESSION *** - - - - -Produced by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -A PUBLISHER’S CONFESSION - - -[Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. - 1905 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. - - - _Published March, 1905_ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I THE RUINOUS POLICY OF LARGE ROYALTIES 3 - - II WHY “BAD” NOVELS SUCCEED AND “GOOD” ONES FAIL 27 - - III ARE AUTHORS AN IRRITABLE TRIBE? 45 - - IV HAS PUBLISHING BECOME COMMERCIALIZED? 61 - - V HAS THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR A CHANCE? 79 - - VI THE PRINTER WHO ISSUES BOOKS AT THE AUTHOR’S EXPENSE 99 - - VII THE ADVERTISING OF BOOKS STILL EXPERIMENTAL 115 - - VIII THE STORY OF A BOOK FROM AUTHOR TO READER 131 - - IX THE PRESENT LIMITS OF THE BOOK MARKET 147 - - X PLAIN WORDS TO AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS 163 - - - - -PUBLISHERS’ NOTE - - -There is expressed in these chapters so much that is practical and -of interest to those engaged in the various branches of authorship, -book-making and book-selling that the present publishers have availed -themselves of the permission of the Boston _Transcript_, in which they -originally appeared, to gather them together in book form. - -NEW YORK, _March, 1905_. - - - - -A Publisher’s Confession - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE RUINOUS POLICY OF LARGE ROYALTIES - - - _How it Operates to the Disadvantage of Both Author and Publisher-- - The Actual Facts and Figures--Authors’ Earnings Greatly Exaggerated - by the Press--Books Sell Too Cheaply--What a Fair Price for All - Concerned Would Be._ - -The author of a very popular book, who has written another that will -be as popular, wishes me to publish it, so he is kind enough to say; -and he came to see me and asked on what terms I would bring it out. In -these strenuous times he can dictate his own terms to his publisher; -and I happened to know that two houses had made him offers. - -I confess, since I am old-fashioned, that this method of an author -shocks me. If he does not openly hawk his book and his reputation, he -at least tempts one publisher to bid against another, and thus invites -the publisher to regard it as a mere commodity. But I suppressed my -dislike of the method and went straight about the business of getting -the book, for I should like to have it. - -“I will give you,” I said, “twenty per cent. royalty, and I will pay -you $5,000 on the day of publication.” - -The words had not fallen from my mouth before I wished to recall them, -for the publishing of books cannot be successfully done on these terms. -There are only two or three books a year that can pay so much. - -“I will consider it,” said he. - -Abject as I was, I recovered myself far enough to say: “No, the offer -is made for acceptance now or never--before this conversation ends. I -cannot keep it open.” - -“My dear sir,” I went on, for I was regaining something of my normal -courage, “do you know what twenty per cent. royalty on a $1.50 book -means? You receive thirty cents for every copy sold. My net profit -is about four or five cents a copy, if I manufacture it well and -advertise it generously; and I supply the money in advance. I make an -advance to you; I pay the papermaker in advance of my collections, the -printer--everybody; and I wait from ninety to one hundred and twenty -days after the book is sold to get my money. My profit is so small -that it may vanish and become a loss by any misadventure, such as too -much advertising, the printing of too large an edition, or the loss of -an account with a failed bookdealer. I have no margin as an insurance -against accidents or untoward events. I am doing business with you -on an unfairly generous basis. I am paying you all the money that -the book can earn--perhaps more than it can earn--for the pleasure of -having you on my list. If I make money, I must make it on books for -which I pay a smaller royalty.” - -“But I can get twenty per cent. from almost any other publisher,” he -replied, truthfully. “Why should I consider less from you?” - -I could not answer him except by saying: - -“Yes, I am not blaming you--not quite; but there is a grave fault in -the system that has brought about this general result. You may have -forgotten that this high royalty is a direct temptation to a publisher -to skimp his advertising. You expect generous advertising of the book. -Well, I can never sign an order for an advertisement of it without -recalling the very narrow margin of profit that I have. An order for -$500 worth of advertising will take as much net profit as I can make -on several thousand copies. - -“Again, when I come to manufacture the book, I cannot help recalling -that gilt letters on the cover will increase the cost by one cent -or two cents a copy. You tempt me to do all my work in the cheapest -possible way.” - -Well, we are good friends, this writer and I, and we signed the -contract. He is to receive a royalty of twenty per cent., and a payment -on his royalty account of $5,000 on the day of publication. - -When, therefore, I had the pleasure of receiving the friends of another -author, who told me that he would give me the book for twenty per cent. -royalty ($5,000 cash on publication) if I cared to read it, I replied, -“No.” - - -NO MONEY ON THAT BASIS - -I had recovered. I said: “I cannot make money on that basis. Neither -can other legitimate and conscientious publishers, who build their -business to last. I will let novels alone, if I must. I will do a small -business--but sounder. If that is your condition, do not leave the -book. I will pay you a sliding scale of royalties: I cannot give you -twenty per cent.” - -And he went away. I had just as lief another publisher lost money on -the book as to lose it myself. True, the public, the reading public and -the writing public, will regard the success of the book (if it succeed) -as evidence of a rival publisher’s ability and enterprise. He will win -temporary reputation. He will seem to be in the “swim” of success. He -will publish flaming advertisements, in the hope of obtaining other -successful authors; and he will attract them, for much book advertising -is done not with the hope of selling the book, but chiefly to impress -writers with the publisher’s energy and generosity. But there’s no -profit and great risk in business conducted in this way. - -There is positive danger, in fact. And I owe it to myself and to all -the men and women whose books I publish to see to it first of all that -my own business is sound, and is kept sound. In no other way can I -discharge my obligations to them and keep my publishing house on its -proper level instead of on the level of a mere business shop. - -The rise of royalties paid to popular authors is the most important -recent fact in the publishing world. It has not been many years -since ten per cent. was the almost universal rule; and a ten per -cent. royalty on a book that sells only reasonably well is a fair -bargain between publisher and author. If the publisher do his work -well--make the book well, advertise it well, keep a well-ordered and -well-managed and energetic house--this division of the profits is a -fair division--except in the case of a book that has a phenomenally -large sale. Then he can afford to pay more. Unless a book has a pretty -good sale, it will not leave a profit after paying more than a ten per -cent. royalty. - -Figure it for yourself. The retail price of a novel is $1.50. The -retail bookseller buys it for about ninety cents. The wholesale -bookseller buys it from the publisher for about eighty cents. This -eighty cents must pay the cost of manufacturing the book; of selling -it; of advertising it; must pay its share towards the cost of keeping -the publisher’s establishment going--and this is a large and increasing -cost; it must pay the author; and it must leave the publisher himself -some small profit. Now, if out of this eighty cents which must be -divided for so many purposes, the author receives a royalty of twenty -per cent. (thirty cents a copy), there is left, of course, only fifty -cents to pay all the other items. No other half-dollar in this world -has to suffer such careful and continuous division! I have met a good -many authors who have never realized that a ten per cent. royalty means -nearly twenty per cent. on what the publisher actually sells the book -for, and that a twenty per cent. royalty is nearly forty per cent. on -the actual wholesale price. - -There are several things of greater importance in the long run to an -author than a large royalty. One of them is the unstinted loyalty of -his publisher. His publisher must have a chance to be generous to his -book. He ought not to feel that he must seek a cheap printer, that he -must buy cheap paper, that he must make a cheap cover, that he must too -closely watch his advertising account. A publisher has no chance to be -generous to a book when he can make a profit on it only at the expense -of its proper manufacture. The grasping author is, therefore, doing -damage to his own book by leaving the publisher no margin of profit. - - -THE STABILITY OF THE PUBLISHER - -There is still another thing that an author should set above his -immediate income from any particular book; and that is the stability -of his publisher. The publisher is a business man (he has need to be -a business man of the highest type), but he is also the guardian of -the author’s property. If his institution be not sound and be not kept -sound, the loss to the author in money and in standing may be very -great. The embarrassment or failure of a publishing firm now and then -causes much gossip; for a publishing house is a center of publicity. -But nobody outside the profession knows what practical trouble and -confusion and loss every failure or financial embarrassment costs the -writing world. The normal sale of many books is stopped. The authors -lose in the end, and they lose heavily. - -Every publisher who appreciates his profession tries to make his house -permanent, with an eye not only to his own profit, but also to the -service that he may do to the writers on his list. If it is of the -very essence of banking that a bank shall be in sound condition and -shall have the confidence of the community, it is even more true that -a publishing house should be sound to the core and should deserve -financial confidence. The publisher must do his business with reference -to a permanent success. But if he must do business on the basis of a -twenty per cent. royalty, he takes risks that he has no right to take. -It deserves to be called “wildcat” publishing. - -I am, therefore, not making a plea, by this confession, for a larger -profit to the publisher in any narrow or personal sense. Every -successful publisher--really successful, mind you--could make more -money by going into some other business. I think that there is not a -man of them who could not greatly increase his income by giving the -same energy and ability to the management of a bank, or of some sort -of industrial enterprise. Such men as Mr. Charles Scribner, Mr. George -Brett, Mr. George H. Mifflin, could earn very much larger returns by -their ability in banks, railroads or manufacturing, than any one of -them earns as a publisher; for they are men of conspicuous ability. - -It is, therefore, not as a matter of mere gain to the publisher that -it is important to have the business on a sound and fair basis; but it -is for the sake of the business itself and for the sake of the writers -themselves. - - -AN AUTHOR’S BLUNDER - -Here is a true tale of a writer of good fiction: He made a most -promising start. His first book, in fact, caused him to be sought by -several publishers, who do not hesitate to solicit clients--a practice -that other dignified professions discourage. The publisher of his first -book gave him a ten per cent. royalty. For his second book he demanded -more. A rival publisher offered him twenty per cent. The second book -also succeeded. But the author in the meantime had heard the noise of -other publishing houses. He had made the acquaintance of another writer -whose books (which were better than his) had sold in much greater -quantities. Of course, the difference in sales could not be accounted -for by the literary qualities of the books--his friend had a better -publisher than he--so he concluded. His third book, therefore, was -placed with a third publisher, because he would advertise more loudly. -Well, that publisher failed. His failure, by the way, the report of -the receivers showed, was caused by spending too much in unproductive -advertising. - -Here our author stood, then, with three books, each issued by a -different publishing house. What should he do with his fourth book? He -came back to his second publisher, who had, naturally, lost some of his -enthusiasm for such an author. To cut the story short, that man now -has books on five publishers’ lists. Not one of the publishers counts -him as his particular client. In a sense his books are all neglected. -One has never helped another. He has got no cumulative result of his -work. He has become a sort of stray dog in the publishing world. He -has cordial relations with no publisher; and his literary product has -really declined. He scattered his influence, and he is paying the -natural penalty. - -The moral of this true story (and I could tell half a dozen more like -it) is that a publisher is a business man, but not a mere business -man. He must be something more. He is a professional man also. He can -do his best service only for those authors who inspire his loyalty, who -enable him to make his publishing house permanent, and who leave him -enough margin of profit to permit him to make books of which he can be -proud. - -The present fashion of a part of the writing world--to squeeze the last -cent out of a book and to treat the publisher as a mere manufacturer -and “boomer”--cannot last. It has already passed its high period and is -on the decline. A self-respecting worm would have turned long ago. Even -the publisher is now beginning to turn. - -Better still, the authors whose books will be remembered longest -have not caught the fashion of demanding everything. It was that -passing school of “booms” and bellowing that did it all--the writers -of romances for kitchen maids and shop girls, whose measure of book -values was by dollars only. Such fashions always pass. For, if novel -writing be so profitable an industry, a large number of persons -naturally take it up; and they ruin the market by overstocking it. - - -THE “BOOMED” BOOK PASSING - -Fast passing, then--praise God--is the “boomed” book, which, having no -merit, could once be sold by sheer advertising, in several editions of -100,000 each. I have made a list of the writers of books that during -the last five or six years have sold in enormous editions; and every -one of these writers, but two, has lived to see his (or her) latest -book sell far below its predecessors. One man, for instance, wrote a -first book which sold more than 200,000 copies. His publishers announce -only the sixtieth thousand of his latest novel, though it has now -nearly run its course. - -These are not pleasant facts. I wish that every novelist might have an -increasing sale for every book he writes. They all earn more than they -receive--even the bad ones whose books prosper; but the system that -they brought with them deserves to die--must die, if publishing is to -remain an honorable profession. They brought with them the 20 per cent. -royalty, and the demand for an advertising outlay that was based on -the sale of 100,000 or 200,000 copies. Only the keeper of dark secrets -knows how many publishers have lost, or how large their losses have -been, on “boomed” books. But any intelligent business man may take the -50 cents that the publisher receives for his $1.50 novel after paying -the author’s 20 per cent. royalty, and divide it thus: - - Cost of manufacture, - Cost of selling, - Office expense, - Extravagant advertising, - Profit. - -If he can find anything left for profit, then he can get rich at any -business. There have been novels so extravagantly advertised that the -advertising cost alone amounted to 22 cents for every copy sold. The -writer drove the publisher to loss; the publisher (foolishly) consented -in the hope of attracting other authors to his house. If “other -authors” knew that the very cost of the bait that attracted them makes -the publishing house unsound, they would not long be fooled. - -Thus it comes about, in this strange and fascinating world of writing -and making and selling books, that one period of “whooping up” novels -is ending. Half the novels advertised during the past few years in -big medicine style did not pay the publishers; and any conservative -publisher can tell you which half they are. - -The manufacturing novelist has always been with us. But he used to be -an humble practitioner of the craft whose “output” was sold for ten -cents a volume. He always will be with us, and his product will sell, -some at ten cents a volume, some at $1.50. But the time seems about to -pass when he can disturb the publishing situation. For the publisher -has to accept his methods when he accepts his work; and his methods -do not pay either in dignity, permanency, or cash. If any of these be -lacking--and in proportion as they are lacking--the results will fall -short of the ideal. The results to be hoped for are money, but not -money only, but also a watchful care by the publisher over his author’s -reputation and growth, and a cumulative influence for his books. - - -THE INCOME OF AUTHORS - -There are, perhaps, a dozen American novelists who have large incomes -from their work; there are many more who have comfortable incomes; but -there is none whose income is as large as the writers of gossip for the -literary journals would have us believe. It has been said that Harper’s -Magazine pays Mrs. Humphry Ward $15,000 for the serial right of each of -her stories and twenty per cent. royalty. Miss Johnston must have made -from $60,000 to $70,000 from royalties on “To Have and to Hold,” for -any publisher can calculate it. - -But along with these great facts let us humbly remember that Mr. -Carnegie received $300,000,000 for all his steel mills, good will, -etc.; for the authors that I have named are the “millionaires” of -the craft. I wish there were more. But the diligent writers of most -good fiction, hard as they have ground the publishers in the rise of -royalties, are yet nearer to Grub street than they are to Skibo Castle. - -The truth is--but it would be a difficult task to reduce such a truth -to practice--that the public gets its good new novels too cheap. There -is not a large enough margin of profit for author, publisher and -bookseller in a new book that is meant to be sold for $1.50 and that -is often sold for $1.08. The business of bookmaking and bookselling is -underpaid. There is not a publisher in the United States who is today -making any large sum of money on his “general trade.” Money is made on -educational books, on subscription books, on magazines. But publishing, -as publishing, is the least profitable of all the professions, except -preaching and teaching, to each of which it is a sort of cousin. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -WHY “BAD” NOVELS SUCCEED AND “GOOD” ONES FAIL - - - _The First May Have No Literary Quality, but They Have a Genuine - Quality--Power of Construction the Main Thing in Story-Writing-- - Literary Reviews of Novels are Regarded as of Little Value by - Publishers--Odd Incidents and Facts in the Business._ - -A report on the manuscript of a novel made by a “literary” reader -not long ago ended with this sentence: “This novel is bad enough to -succeed.” He expressed the feeling of a great many literary persons -that fiction often succeeds in the market in proportion to its -“badness.” And surely there are many instances to support such a -contention from the “Lamplighter” to “When Knighthood Was in Flower.” -But the “literary” view of fiction is no more trustworthy than the -“literary” view of politics or of commerce; for it concerns itself more -with technique than with substance. - -It is a hard world in which “Knighthood,” “Quincy Adams Sawyer” -and “Graustark,” to say nothing of “The One Woman,” “Alice of Old -Vincennes” and a hundred more “poor” books make fortunes, while Mr. -Howells and Mr. James write to unresponsive markets and even Mr. -Kipling cannot find so many readers for a new novel as Mr. Bacheller of -“Eben Holden.” It seems a hard world to the professional literary folk; -but the professional literary folk would find it a hard world anyhow; -for it has a way of preferring substance to color. And novels, after -all, have less to do with literature than they have to do with popular -amusement. - -Heaven forbid that I should make defence of bad writing, or of -sensational literature, or of bad taste, or of any other thing that is -below grade; but, as between the professional literary class, and the -great mass of men who buy “Eben Holdens” and “David Harums” the mass of -men have the better case. - -Why does a man read a novel? Let us come down to common-sense. He seeks -one of two things--either a real insight into human nature (he got that -in “David Harum”) or he seeks diversion, entertainment. A writer’s -style is only a part of the machinery of presentation. The main thing -is that he has something to present. Even though I am a publisher I -think that I know something about literary quality and literary values, -and it must be owned at once that hardly one in a dozen of the very -popular recent novels has any literary quality. But every one of them, -nevertheless, has some very genuine and positive quality. They were -not written by any trick, and their popularity does not make the road -to success any easier to find. They have qualities that are rarer than -the merely literary quality. Mr. Henry James’s novels have what is -usually called the literary quality. Yet half the publishing houses in -the United States have lost money on them, while the publisher and the -author of “Richard Carvel” and “The Crisis” and “The Crossing” made a -handsome sum of money from these books, which have no literary style. - -This does not mean a whining confession that “literature” does not pay. -For my part I cannot weep because Mr. James and Mr. Howells do not -find many readers for their latest books. They find all they deserve. -Mere words were never worth much money or worth much else. But, while -Mr. Churchill is not a great writer (since he has no style), and while -few persons of the next generation of readers (whereby I mean those of -year after next) are going to take the trouble to read his books, yet, -for all that, they have a quality that is very rare in this world, a -quality that their imitators never seem to see. They have construction. -They have action. They have substance. A series of events come to pass -in a certain order, by a well-laid plan. Each book makes its appeal as -a thing built, finished, shapen, if not well-proportioned, substantial. -It is a real structure--not a mere pile of bricks and lumber. The -bricks and lumber that went into them are not as fine nor as good as -somebody else may have in his brickyard and his lumber pile. But they -are put together. A well shapen house of bad bricks is a more pleasing -thing than any mere brick-pile whatever. - -I recall this interesting experience of a man whose novels are now -fast winning great popular favor. He sat down and wrote a story and -sent it to a publisher. It was declined. He sent it to another. -Again it was declined. Then he brought it to me. (He told me of the -preceding declinations a year later). I told him frankly that it lacked -construction. I supposed that that was the last that I should see of -him. But about a year later he came again with another manuscript and -with this interesting story. - -“Like a fool,” said he, “I simply blazed away and wrote what I supposed -was a novel. Nobody would publish it. When you said that it lacked -construction, I went to work to study the construction of a novel. I -analyzed twenty. I found a dozen books on the subject which gave me -some help. But there are few books that do help. I constructed a sort -of method of my own.” - -That man yet has no sense of literary values, as they are usually -considered. The only good quality of his style is its perfect -directness and clearness. He writes blunt, plain sentences. But every -one of them tells something. He does not bother himself about style, -nor about literary quality. He fixes his mind on the story itself, to -see that it has substance, form, action, proportion. And he worked out -this new novel with these qualities in it. - -It was a dime novel in praise of one of the cardinal Christian -virtues--very earnest, very direct. But the persons in it were real. -They not only said things, they did things; and many of the things -they did were interesting. One of our salesmen was asked to read the -manuscript. “It’ll sell,” said he. Our literary adviser said that it -was a bald moral Sunday school play. “You could put it on the stage -by cutting it here and there,” he declared. “But it has no literary -quality.” Both were right. The book has sold well. It has amused and -interested its tens of thousands. - -The author’s next book after that was very much better. Having learned -something of the art of construction he began to think of such a -detail as style. He re-wrote the book to make it “smooth.” But the -point is, he first paid attention to his construction and made sure -that he had a story to tell. - -The enormous amount of waste work done by unsuccessful novel writers -is done without taking the trouble first to make sure that they have a -story to tell. - -Few persons have any constructive faculty. This is the sad fact that -comes home at last to a man who has read novels in manuscript for many -years. A publisher comes to look for construction in a novel before he -looks for style or literary quality. - -This confession is enough to provoke the literary journals to condemn -the publishers as mere mercenary dealers in sensational books. Yet, -while a book that is well constructed may not be “literature,” very few -books have a serious chance to become literature unless they have good -construction. - -I, for one, and I know no publisher who holds a different opinion, care -nothing for the judgment of the professional literary class. Their -judgment of a novel, for instance, is of little value or instruction. -It may be right--often it is. It may be wrong. But whether right or -wrong (and there is no way that I know to determine finally whether any -judgment be right or wrong) it is of no practical value. A literary -judgment of a new novel cannot affect the judgment that men will form -of it ten years hence. Therefore it is of no permanent value. Neither -can it affect the sales of a new novel. It is therefore of no practical -importance for the moment. I look upon reviews of novels as so much -publicity--they have value, as they tell the public that the book is -published and can be bought, and as they tell something about it which -may prod the reader’s curiosity. Further than this they are of no -account. Not one of the three publishers whose personal habits I know -as a rule takes the trouble to read the reviews of novels of his own -publishing. - -Novel making, then, is an industry, and the people who make them best -concern themselves very little about what is usually meant by “literary -values,” and very little about their popularity. The writers who -deliberately set out to write novels of great popularity have almost -always missed it. The industry is an art, also, but it is not an art -of mere fine writing. It is chiefly an art of construction--an art of -putting things in due proportion. This assumes, of course, that the -novelist has things to put. - -The truth is, the delicate and difficult art of finding out just what -the public cares for--the public of this year or the public of ten -years hence--has not been mastered by many men, whether writers or -publishers. If you find out what the great public of today wants, -you are a sensationalist. If you find out what the great public of -ten or twenty years hence will want, you are a maker or a publisher -of literature. And the public of the future is pretty sure to want -something different from the public of today. - -Within six months after the publication of a popular novel the -publisher of it (other publishers, too) will receive a dozen or a -hundred stories that have been suggested by it. Many an author of -such a manuscript will write that he has discovered the secret of -the popular book’s success and that he has turned it to profit in -his own effort. Such letters are singularly alike. The writers of -them regard success as something won by a trick, as a game of cards -might be won. These remind one, too, of the advertisements of patent -medicines--except that the writers of them are sincere. They believe -heartily in their discovery. Thus every very popular novel gives a -great stimulus to the production of novels. “To Have and To Hold” -brought cargoes of young women for colonists’ wives to hundreds of -amateur story writers. - -But stranger than the popularity of very popular novels, or than the -utter failure of merely “literary” novels, is the moderate success of a -certain kind of commonplace stories. I know a woman of domestic tastes -who every two years turns off a quiet story. She has now written a -dozen or more. They are never advertised. But they are well printed and -put forth by one of our best publishers. The “literary” world pays no -heed to her. Her books are not even reviewed in the best journals. They -lack distinction. But every one is sure to sell from ten to fifteen -thousand copies. No amount of advertising, no amount of noise could -increase the number of readers to twenty-five thousand; and there is no -way to prevent a sale of from ten to fifteen thousand copies. Why this -is so is one of the most baffling problems of psychology. But it is the -rule. Authors of novels are known and rated among publishers as ten -thousand, or twenty-five thousand, or fifty thousand, or one hundred -thousand writers. Book after book reaches a certain level of popularity -and--stops. Mr. Marion Crawford, Mr. Hopkinson Smith, Miss Wilkins--all -these have their more or less constant levels. - -The lay world has no idea of the number of novels that fail. There are -one-book authors all over the country. The publishers’ hope always is -that a new writer who makes a pretty good novel will do better next -time. Thus the first book is accepted for the sake of the next one. The -first fails, and the second is not wanted. There are dozens and dozens -of such cases every year. The public doesn’t know it, for the very -abyss of oblivion is the place where a dead novel falls. Nobody knows -it--that is the tragedy--but the publishers and the author. - -A case came to light a little while ago of a man who had years ago -written novels that failed. He had been forgotten. But he took a new -start. Yet he feared that his first failures would damn him with the -publishers. He took another name, therefore. Not even his publishers -knew who he really was. He succeeded and he concealed his identity -until he died. - -The publisher’s loss on an unsuccessful novel may be little or big. -All publishers lose much on unsuccessful ventures in fiction, chiefly -on young authors who are supposed to have a future, or on old authors -who have a “literary” reputation and have reached that ghostly period -of real decline when they walk in dreams from one publishing house to -another. - -But there is generally a reason for success or for failure. The -trouble is that the reason often does not appear soon enough. The -chief reason for the success of a novel is the commonplace one that it -contains a story. It may be told ill or it may be told well, but there -is a story. And the chief reason for failure is the lack of a story. -A novel may be ever so well written,--if it have no story, the public -will not care for it. - -I wonder if there be any light in this very obvious discovery. Simple -as it seems, it costs every publishing house a pretty penny every -year to find it out; and as soon as we find it out about one writer -we forget it about another! It is a great truth that does not remain -discovered. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -ARE AUTHORS AN IRRITABLE TRIBE? - - - _An Emphatic Answer in the Negative--They Are Gentlemen and Ladies - and Treat Their Publisher with Courtesy--Bonds of Friendship Thus - Formed That Endure--Some Amusing and Nettling Exceptions--Cranks - Among the Scholars--The Inconstant Author Who Is Always Changing - Publishers--Why a Publishing Trust Is Impossible._ - -The old and persistent notion that the writers of books are an -irritable tribe, hard to deal with, and manageable only by flattery--if -it was ever true, is not true now. During an experience of a good -many years I have suffered a discourtesy from only two. Both these -were “philosophers”--not even poets, nor novelists. They wrote books -that the years have proved are dull; and, when it became my duty to -disappoint them, although I hope I did it courteously, they wrote -ill-tempered letters. The hundreds of other writers of all sorts that -I have had the pleasure to deal with have conducted themselves as men -and women of common sense, and most of them are men and women of very -unusual attractiveness. I doubt whether a man of any other calling has -the privilege of dealing with persons of such graciousness and of such -consideration. - -But the women who write require more attention than the men. Their -imaginations are more easily excited by the hope of success, and few of -them have had business experience. They want to be fair and appreciate -frank dealing. Yet they like to have everything explained in great -detail. - -One woman, now one of our most successful novelists--successful both -as a writer of excellent books and as an earner of a good income--was -kind enough to seek my advice about one of her early novels. It was a -book that she ought not to have written; the subject was badly chosen. -I frankly told her so. The whole reading world has told her so since. -But naturally she did not agree with me. She took the book to another -publisher. Two years passed. She had a second novel ready. This was one -of the best American stories of a decade. To my great gratification I -received a letter from her one day asking if I cared to read it. Of -course I said yes. - -Then came another telling how she had never changed her opinion of her -former book--not a jot--I must understand that thoroughly. If that were -clearly understood she went on to say she would like to have me publish -the new book on two conditions: (1) That I should myself read it -immediately and say frankly what I thought of it, and (2) that I should -pay her a royalty large enough to repair her wounded feelings about -the former book. Subsequently she added another condition-- - -“You may publish it,” she said, “if you heartily believe in the book.” - -Very shrewdly said--that “heartily believe in the book.” For the secret -of good publishing lies there. There are some books that a publisher -may succeed with without believing in them--a dictionary or a slapdash -novel, for examples. But a book that has any sterling quality--a real -book--ought never to have the imprint of a publisher who is not really -a sharer of its fortunes, a true partner with the author. For only with -such a book can he do his best. - -I did believe in this book. As soon as it was in type I required every -man in my office who had to do with it to read it--the writer of -“literary notes,” the salesman and even the shipping clerk. When the -author next called I introduced to her all these. They showed their -enthusiasm. She was convinced. The book succeeded in the market almost -beyond her expectations. It is a good book. Everyone of us believes in -it and believes in her. - -She is not a crank, “but only a woman.” We have our reward in her -friendship and she is generous enough to think that we have done her -some service. We esteem it a high privilege to be her publishers. - -But God save me from another woman who has won a conspicuous success in -the market. The first question she ever asked me was: - -“Are you a Christian?” - -“Do I look like a Jew or a Mohammedan?” I asked. - -She never forgave me. Her novel had a great religious motive. It sold -by the tens of thousands and most maudlin emotionalists in the land -have read it. But I do not publish it. To do so, I should have had to -pay the price of being “converted.” Now this lady is a crank. But it -is not fair to call her books literature. - -The veriest crank of all is our great scholar. It is an honor to -publish the results of his scholarship (few parsnips as it butters), -for the man’s work is as attractive as he is odd. He thinks himself -the very soul of fairness. Yet he comes at frequent intervals wishing -so to change his contract as to make publishing his books an even more -expensive luxury than it was before. A contract is to him a thing to -make endless experiments with. When we were once driven to desperation, -one of my associates suggested that we propose half a dozen unimportant -changes in it, on the theory that change--any change--was all he -wanted. It was an inspired suggestion. A great scholar, a restless -child. But some day (we feel) he will break over all traces, and we are -all afraid of him. - -But very sane and sensible men and women are most of those who succeed -in winning the public favor. Some are grasping, as other men are. One, -for instance, whose book had earned $7,000 in two years, demanded -a prepayment of $8,000 for the next book. A compromise was made on -$2,000! That was the measure of my folly, for the book is waning in its -popularity and has hardly earned this prepaid royalty. - -An author came to my office one day indignant because his novel was not -more extensively advertised. There was the usual explanation--it would -not pay. He had money to spare and he proposed to advertise it himself. -He wrote the advertisements, he selected the journals in which the -advertisements should appear, and he inserted them--$1,000 worth. - -By some strange fate the sales of the book began just then greatly -to decline. They have kept declining since, and why nobody can tell. -When the public has bought a certain number of copies of a novel--of -one novel it may be 1,000 copies, of another 100,000 copies--there is -nothing that can be done to make it buy another 1,000 or 100,000. It -seems to know when it has enough. Take more it will not. The worst -“crank” that any publisher ever encountered is not an author; it is the -public, unreasoning, illogical, unconvincible, stolid! - -Odd persons are found in every craft. But I think that there are fewer -odd ones among successful writers than among successful lawyers, for -instance. And this is what one would naturally expect, but for the -traditional notion that writers are unbalanced. Who else is so well -balanced as the writer of good books? He must have sanity and calmness -and judgment, a sense of good proportion, an appreciation of right -conduct and of all human relations, else he could not make books of -good balance and proportion. - -Most writers have few financial dealings, and they often innocently -propose impracticable things. But this is not a peculiar trait of -writers. Most preachers and many women show it. I have known a -successful college president, for instance, to cut a paragraph out of a -proof sheet with a pair of scissors, imagining that this would cause it -to be taken out by the printers. - -They are appreciative, too; and they make the most interesting friends -in the world. Almost all writers of books work alone. Lawyers work with -clients and with associated and opposing lawyers. Even teachers have -the companionship of their pupils in the work. Men of most crafts work -with their fellows, and they forget how much encouragement they owe to -this fellowship. A dreary task is made light by it and monotonous labor -is robbed of its weariness. But the writer works alone. - -Almost the first man to be taken into his confidence about his work -is his publisher. If the publisher be appreciative and sympathetic -and render a real service, how easily and firmly the writer is won. -A peculiarly close friendship follows in many cases--in most cases, -perhaps, certainly in most cases when the author’s books are successful. - -And this is why a great publishing trust, or “merger” is impossible. -The successful publisher sustains a relation to the successful author -that is not easily transferable. It is a personal relation. A great -corporation cannot take a real publisher’s place in his attitude to the -authors he serves. - -This is the reason, too, why the “authors’ agents” seldom succeed -in raising the hopes of unsuccessful writers. As soon as a writer -and a publisher have come into a personal relation that is naturally -profitable and pleasant, a “go-between” has no place. There is no -legitimate function for him. - -Writers are as constant in their relations as other men and women. -As they acquire experience, they become more constant. Every one for -himself works his way to this conclusion--once having an appreciative -and successful publisher, it is better to hold to him. And the strong -friendships that grow out of this relation are among the most precious -gains to each. - -One publisher said to another the other day: “I see by your -announcements that one of my authors has gone to you--you are welcome.” - -“Yes,” was the reply, “I have in almost every instance made a mistake -when I have taken in a dissatisfied writer--one cannot make lasting -friends with them.” - -Every great publishing house has been built on the strong friendships -between writers and publishers. There is, in fact, no other sound -basis to build on; for the publisher cannot do his highest duty to -any author whose work he does not appreciate, and with whom he is not -in sympathy. Now, when a man has an appreciation of your work and -sympathy for it, he wins you. This is the simplest of all psychological -laws--the simplest of all laws of friendship and one of the soundest. - -Those who know the personal history of the publishing houses that in -recent years have failed or met embarrassments know that, in most -cases, one cause of decline was the drawing apart of publishers and -authors. When authors begin to regard their publishers as mere business -agents, and publishers to regard authors as mere “literary men” with -whom they have only business relations, the beginning of a decline has -come. - -I recall as one of the pleasantest days of my life the day on which -I accepted a book by an author I had never before seen. So pleasant -was our correspondence that I took the first occasion I could to go -nearly a thousand miles to see him. In his own house we talked about -his literary plans, and I spent a day always to be remembered. Our -friendship began then. Of course I was interested in his work--you -cannot long feign an interest that you do not feel. This friendship has -lasted now long enough to make it very much more secure a bond than any -merely commercial service could have become. - -Every publisher’s experience is the same--if he be a real publisher -and will long remain a real publisher. Else he would be only a printer -and a salesman, and mere printers and salesmen have not often built -publishing houses. For publishing houses have this distinction over -most other commercial institutions--they rest on the friendship of the -most interesting persons in the world, the writers of good books. - -The more formal cultivation of friendly relations such as the famous -dinners that some publishers used regularly to give to writers has -gone out of fashion. There are yet a few set dinners in the routine -of several American publishing houses. But every true publisher knows -the authors of his books--knows them as his friends; and the tradition -of irritability is false. It is usually the unsuccessful who are -irritable, whether they be authors or not. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -HAS PUBLISHING BECOME COMMERCIALIZED? - - - _A Charge Fairly Met and Its Truths Admitted--Many Features of the - Business in Which a Low Tone Prevails--The Literary Solicitor an - Abhorrent Creature--On the Whole, However, Commercial Degradation - Prevails Less with Publishers Than in Many Other Callings--The - Confidence Authors Have in Them Is Their Best Asset._ - -Authorship and publishing--the whole business of producing -contemporaneous literature--has for the moment a decided commercial -squint. It would be wrong to say, as one sometimes hears it said, that -it has been degraded; for it has probably not suffered as nearly a -complete commercialization as the law has suffered, for instance. But -that fine indifference to commercial results which was once supposed -to be characteristic of the great publishers does not exist today. -Perhaps it never existed except in memoirs and literary journals! But -there was a less obvious effort to make money in the days of the first -successful American publishing houses than there is now. - -The old publishing houses put forth schoolbooks; and many a dignified -literary venture was “financed” by money made from the sale of -textbooks and subscription books. But now the greater part of the -money made from these two special departments is made by houses that -publish nothing else. The making of schoolbooks and the making of -subscription books have been specialized, and almost separated from -general publishing. Two great textbook houses have made large incomes; -and they publish nothing but schoolbooks. These profits, which were -once at the service of literature, are now withdrawn from it. The -“general” publisher has to make all his profits on his “general” books. -The necessity is the heavier on him, therefore, to make every book pay. -This is one reason why the general publisher has to watch his ledger -closely. - -Another reason for greater emphasis on the financial side of literary -production is the enormously increased expense of conducting a general -publishing house. The mere manufacture of books is perhaps a trifle -cheaper than it used to be, but every other item of expense has been -increased enormously within a generation. It costs more to sell -books than it ever cost before. Advertising rates have been doubled -or trebled, and more advertising must be done. Even a small general -publishing house must spend as much as $30,000 or $50,000 a year in -general advertising. There are many houses that each spend a great deal -more than this every year. - -The author, too, it must be remembered, has become commercial. He -demands and he receives a larger share of the gross receipts from his -book than authors ever dreamed of receiving in the days of the old-time -publisher. All the other expenses of selling books have increased. -There was a time when publishing houses needed no travelling salesmen. -Now every house of any importance has at least two. They go everywhere, -with “dummies” and prospectuses of books long before they are ready for -the market. Other items of “general expense” besides advertising and -salesmen and ever-increasing rent, are the ever-growing demands of the -trade for posters and circulars; correspondence grows more and more; -more and more are special “window displays” required, for which the -publisher pays. All the while, too, books are sold on long time. As a -rule they are not paid for by many dealers till six months after they -are manufactured. - -All these modern commercial methods have added to the publisher’s -expense or risk; and for these reasons his business has become -more like any other manufacturing business than it once seemed -to be--perhaps more than it once was. Of course there are -publishers--there always were such--who look only to their ledgers as -a measure of their success. These are they who have really demoralized -the profession, and the whole publishing craft has suffered by their -methods. - -It was once a matter of honor that one publisher should respect the -relation established between another publisher and a writer, as a -physician respects the relation established between another physician -and a patient. Three or four of the best publishing houses still live -and work by this code. And they have the respect of all the book world. -Authors and readers, who do not know definitely why they hold them in -esteem, discern a high sense of honor and conduct in them. Character -makes its way from any man who has it down a long line--everybody who -touches a sterling character comes at last to feel it both in conduct -and in product. The very best traditions of publishing are yet a part -of the practice of the best American publishing houses, which are -conducted by men of real character. - -But there are others--others who keep “literary drummers,” men who go -to see popular writers and solicit books. The authors of very popular -books themselves also--some of them at least--put themselves up at -auction, going from publisher to publisher or threatening to go. This -is demoralization and commercialization with a vengeance. But it is the -sin of the authors. - -As a rule, this method has not succeeded; or it has not succeeded -long. There are two men in the United States who have gone about -making commercial calls on practically every man and woman who has -ever written a successful book; and they are not well thought of by -most of the writers whom they see. Every other publisher hears of -their journeyings and of their “drumming.” Sometimes they have secured -immediate commercial results, but as a rule they have lost more than -they have gained. The permanent success of every publishing house is -built on the confidence and the esteem of those who write books. When a -house forfeits that, it begins to lose. Its very foundations begin to -become insecure. - -Commercial as this generation of writers may be, almost every writer of -books has an ambition to win literary esteem. They want dignity. They -seek reputation on as high a level as possible. “The trouble with the -whole business” (I quote from a letter from a successful novelist) “is -that novel-writing has become so very common. ‘Common’ is the word. It -is no longer distinguished. What I want is distinction. Money I must -have--some money at least; but I want also to be distinguished.” That -is a frank confession that almost every writer makes sooner or later. - -Now, when a publishing house forfeits distinction it, too, becomes -common, and loses its chance to confer a certain degree of distinction. -And literary “drummers” have this effect--authors who can confer -distinction shun their houses. The literary solicitor, therefore, can -work only on a low level; and the houses that use him are in danger of -sinking to a low level. - -The truth is, it is a personal service that the publisher does for the -author, almost as personal a service as the physician does for his -patient or the lawyer for his client. It is not merely a commercial -service. Every great publisher knows this and almost all successful -authors find it out, if they do not know it at first. - -The ideal relation between publisher and author requires this personal -service. It even requires enthusiastic service. “Do you thoroughly -believe in this book? and do you believe in me?” these are the very -proper questions that every earnest writer consciously or unconsciously -puts to his publisher. Even the man who writes the advertisements of -books must believe in them. Else his advertisements will not ring true. -The salesmen must believe what they say. The booksellers and the public -will soon discover whether they believe it. They catch the note of -sincerity--the public is won; the author succeeds. Or they catch the -note of insincerity and the book lags. - -This is the whole story of good publishing. Good books to begin with, -then a personal sincerity on the part of the publisher. And there is no -lasting substitute for these things. - -The essential weakness in most of even the best publishing houses -of our day is the lack of personal literary help to authors by the -owners of the publishing houses themselves. Almost every writer -wishes to consult somebody. If they do not wish advice, they at least -wish sympathy. Every book is talked over with somebody. Now, when a -publishing house has a head--an owner--who will read every important -manuscript, and freely and frankly talk or write about it, and can give -sympathetic suggestions, that is the sort of publishing house that will -win and hold the confidence of the best writers. From one point of view -the publisher is a manufacturer and salesman. From another point of -view he is the personal friend and sympathetic adviser of authors--a -man who has a knowledge of literature and whose judgment is worth -having. A publisher who lacks the ability to do this high and intimate -service may indeed succeed for a time as a mere manufacturer and -seller of books; but he can add little to the best literary impulses -or tendencies of his time; nor is he likely to attract the best writers. - -And--in all the noisy rattle of commercialism--the writers of our own -generation who are worth most on a publisher’s list respond to the true -publishing personality as readily as writers did before the day of -commercial methods. All the changes that have come in the profession, -therefore, have not after all changed its real character as it is -practised on its higher levels. And this rule will hold true--that no -publishing house can win and keep a place on the highest level that -does not have at least one man who possesses this true publishing -personality. - -There is much less reason to fear the commercial degradation of many -other callings than the publishers’. - -A louder complaint of commercialism has been provoked by the unseemly -advertising of novels than by any other modern method of publishers. -Now this is a curious and interesting thing. A man or woman writes a -story (let us call it a story, though it be a mild mush of mustard, -warranted to redden the faded cheeks of sickly sentimentality) which, -for some reason that nobody can explain, has the same possibilities of -popularity as Salvation Soap. A saponaceous publisher puts it out; he -advertises it in his soapy way; people buy it--sometimes two hundred or -three hundred thousand of them. - -Behold! a new way has been found to write books that sell, and a new -way to sell them. Hundreds of writers try the easy trick. Dozens of -minor publishers see their way to fortune. But the trick cannot be -imitated, and the way to fortune remains closed. It is only now and -then that a novel has a big “run” by this method. The public does not -see the hundreds of failures. It sees only the occasional accidental -success. - -There is no science, no art, no literature in the business. It is like -writing popular songs: One “rag-time” tune will make its way in a -month from one end of the country to the other. A hundred tune-makers -try their hands at the trick--not one of their tunes goes. The same -tune-maker who “scored a success” often fails the next time. There is, -I think, not a single soap-novelist who has put forth a subsequent -novel of as great popularity as his “record-breaker,” and several -publishing houses have failed through unsuccessful efforts at the -brass-band method. - -This is not publishing. It is not even commercialism. It is a form of -gambling. A successful advertising “dodge” makes a biscuit popular, -or a whiskey, or a shoe, or a cigarette, or anything. Why not a -book, then? This would be all that need be said about it but for the -“literary” journals. They forthwith fall to gossiping, and keep up a -chatter about “great sellers,” and bewail commercialism in literature, -until we all begin to believe that the whole business of book-writing -and book-publishing has been degraded. Did it ever occur to you that in -the “good old days” of publishing there were no magazines that retailed -the commercial and personal gossip of the craft? - -As nearly as I can make out the publishing houses in the United States -that are conducted as dignified institutions are conducted with as -little degrading commercialism as the old houses whose history has -become a part of English literature, and I believe that they are -conducted with more ability. Certainly not one of them has made a -colossal fortune. Certainly not one of them ever failed to recognize -or to encourage a high literary purpose if it were sanely directed. -Every one of them every year invests in books and authors that they -know cannot yield a direct or immediate profit, and they make these -investments because they feel ennobled by trying to do a service to -literature. - -The great difficulty is to recognize literature when it first comes -in at the door, for one quality of literature is that it is not -likely even to know itself. The one thing that is certain is that the -critical crew and the academic faculty are sure not to recognize it -at first sight. To know its royal qualities at once under strange and -new garments--that is to be a great publisher, and the glory of that -achievement is as great as it ever was. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE PRINTER WHO ISSUES BOOKS AT THE AUTHOR’S EXPENSE - - - _A Heartless Pirate Who Preys Upon the Unsophisticated and Ambitious - Writer--The Contract in Which This Sort of “Publisher” Cannot - Lose--The Inevitable Disappointment--How the Publication by Even a - Responsible House of a Book That Sells Poorly Injures the House._ - -An innocent and ambitious good woman sent to me last year a form of -contract that a printer who pretended to be a publisher had sent her to -sign for the publication of a novel. In its unessential clauses it was -like the usual publisher’s contract; but it required the author to pay -in advance a fixed sum for the plates and for the manufacture of one -thousand copies; and this sum was just about twice what they should -cost him. Then he was to pay her not the usual ten or even fifteen -per cent. royalty, but fifty per cent. on all copies sold--as well -he might; and, if at the end of a year the book had ceased to sell, -she was bound to buy the plates from him at half cost. The meaning of -all this translated into figures, is this: The plates would cost him -$250, for he does cheap work; a thousand copies of the book would cost -him $200, for he makes cheap books; total, $450. She would pay him in -advance $900. He has a profit so far of $450. He does not expect to -sell any of the books. Her friends would buy perhaps as many as two -hundred copies. They would not be on sale at the bookstores--except in -her own town. At the end of the year she would pay him again for the -plates half what he charged her at first--which is just what they cost -him. By this time she would have paid just three times their cost to -him. His outlay in the whole transaction would be: - - For plates $250 - For 1000 copies 200 - ----$450 - His income would be: Her prepayment 900 - Her purchase of the plates a year later 250 - ----1150 - ---- - His profit $700 - -He would not have even to make any outlay of capital. She supplies the -capital and he makes his $700 profit by writing her a few letters. -If any of the books were sold he would receive also half what they -brought. She would have spent $1150, less what she received for the few -copies that were sold. Her book would not have been published--only -printed at an excessive cost. - -There are several “publishers” who seem to do a prosperous brief -business of this kind by preying upon inexperienced and disappointed -authors. It is only by accident they ever get a book that sells; and -they hardly pretend to put books on the market, for of course the -booksellers will not buy them. A really good book would, therefore, in -their hands be buried. The public would never find it out. They print a -large number of the novels that the real publishers decline. - -The long list of books--chiefly novels--that these pseudo-publishers -put out tells a sad tale of misdirected energy and of disappointed -hopes. A man--oftener it is a woman--conceives the notion of writing a -novel. She works alone. She shuts herself off from life about her. Any -human being who spends months at a self-imposed secret task becomes -profoundly, even abnormally interested in it. The story grows--or -flows; for the author becomes more fluent as she goes on. She is likely -to accept all the stories of extraordinary successes that she reads -in the literary journals as if they were common successes. She goes on -working by herself with no corrective companionship. At last she sends -it to a real publisher and gets a disappointing decision. She imagines -a thousand reasons why she is not appreciated. She sends it to another, -and so on. The story of the wanderings of “David Harum” in manuscript -has given courage to thousands of worthless novels--a courage to travel -to the last ditch, and the last ditch is the pseudo-publisher. “Yes,” -he writes, “it is an unusual story;” and he will be greatly honored to -publish it, and sends one of his remarkable contracts. - -To get the book published by anybody will bring her recognition, she -thinks. The public will be kinder than the publishers. She takes the -risk--sometimes goes into debt to do so. That is the end of the book, -and in most cases the end of the author’s career. The work begun in -loneliness has ended in oblivion--wasted days, wasted dollars, wasted -hopes. - -Yet what is an author to do who believes in his own work when it is -refused by the regular publisher? Publish it himself or let it remain -in manuscript. Never permit it to be brought out by a publisher to whom -any suspicion attaches. - -There is not much danger (I do not believe there is any danger) that -a manuscript of any value whatever will under present conditions fail -to find a legitimate purchaser. But one way out of the difficulty -that authors often seek is to propose to a legitimate publisher to -publish his book at the writer’s expense; and it is not apparent to the -layman why the publisher cannot afford to make such arrangements. “If -the author pays the bill,” he says, “the publisher will surely lose -nothing.” But the publisher does lose, and loses heavily, every time -he publishes a book that is not successful in the market. A publisher -cannot afford to accept a book that will not itself earn a profit. If -the author pay all the cost and a good profit besides, even this does -not change the case; for unsalable books clog the market and stop the -wheels of the publisher’s whole trade. He soon begins to lose influence -and standing in the book trade. The jobbers buy new books from him in -smaller quantities. The booksellers become suspicious of his judgment. - -Last year, to give a true instance, a publisher put out four new novels -by four new writers. His salesmen and his advertising man announced -them as good books. They made enthusiastic estimates of them. The -book dealers ordered liberally. Three out of the four failed to make -any appreciable success. The dealers had many copies of them left on -hand. This year, when the same publisher brought out two more new -novels by two more new writers, his salesmen met with incredulity and -indifference. The booksellers said to them with a sad smile, “We’ll -swap copies of your last year’s novels for these.” - -Now it so happens that both of these new books of this year are good -and popular. A demand for them was made as soon as the reviews appeared -and people began to read them. But the booksellers were ill supplied. -They would order only a few copies at a time--or none. Thus the good -books of this year suffered because the publisher’s dull books of last -year failed to bring profit or satisfaction to anybody. They stood in -the way of this year’s better books. - -While, therefore, no legitimate publisher wishes to reduce his -business to a mere commercial basis, and while he is eager to maintain -the dignity of his profession--must maintain it in fact--and do as -high service as possible to the literary production of his time; yet -he cannot load down his list with many books that have not a good -commercial reason for existence. - -The plausible proposition which is so often made in these days of -universal authorship--to publish books at the author’s expense--is for -these reasons not a sound proposition. If the book succeeds there is -no reason why the author should make the investment. If it fail, the -publisher loses, even though the author settle the bill; and he loses -heavily. - -A writer who asks a publisher to bring out a book that has no -commercial reason for existence is asking him to imitate the “fake” -publisher. The “fake” publisher could not make a living (since he has -no character and cannot sell books) except by cash payments from his -authors. As soon as the publisher begins to receive cash payments from -his authors (be the basis ever so legitimate) he begins to clog up the -outlets for his product. He has taken the first step towards “fake” -publishing. - -In a word, commercially unprofitable books may be printed, but they -cannot be published without ruining the machinery that they are run -through. He is the best publisher who has the largest proportion of -good books on his list (whether his list be long or short) that are at -the same time alive in the market. - -There are--let it be said as an exception--a few classes of books that -every publisher wishes to have on his list in spite of the fact that -they cannot be made profitable, such as works of great scholarship or -monumental works that have a lasting value. It is legitimate that the -writers or the societies or organizations under whose directions such -books were written should pay or share the cost of their manufacture. -But few such works yield a profit at last to either publisher or -author. And they are not made to clog the book market. They are sold -only to special classes of readers. - -A book is a commodity. Yet the moment it is treated as a mere commodity -it takes severe revenge on its author and on its publisher. - -These pseudo-publishers sometimes solicit manuscripts from ignorant -writers. They have veiled advertisements in the literary journals. -Ignorance and ambition is a susceptible combination. Several years ago -one of these plausible swindlers bribed a reader in one of the larger -publishing houses to report to him the names of all the writers whose -novels were declined there. The fakir then plied them with circulars -and letters. - -While I have been writing about publishing swindles I have been -reminded of the accusation brought several years ago against -publishers--especially English publishers--that the temptation to -fraud was too strong to be resisted by any but the most upright and -successful men. An author gives his book to his publisher. Twice a year -the publisher makes a report--pays royalties on the number of books -that he has reported as sold. There is no way whereby the author can -verify the publisher’s reports. He has to take his word for it. Even -if the author or someone who acted for him were to see the publisher’s -books, he could learn nothing, for the publisher’s bookkeeping is a -very complicated thing; and reports of book sales could easily be -“doctored.” - -The chance for fraud does exist. But the first wish of every normal -man in the business, even if he lacks vigorous honesty, is to make his -reports of sales to his author as large as possible. This wish is too -strong to be overcome by anything less than the most hopeless moral -depravity. A publisher who should commit the crime of making false -reports to his authors would be a monstrosity. Yet the contention -that Sir Walter Besant made in England for so many years, that the -publishing business was conducted without such checks and verifications -as are applied to other business transactions was true; and I, for one, -see no practical remedy for it. - -Moral: Select your publisher with care; make sure that he is honest -(by far most of us are); then trust him. But steer clear of all “fake” -publishers and “agents.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE ADVERTISING OF BOOKS STILL EXPERIMENTAL - - - _Publishers Are Uncertain as to the Amount of Sales Made in That - Way--How the Book Business Differs from the Shoe Trade, for - Example--The Problem of How to Get the Books Before the People - Is at the Root of All Other Book Trade Questions--Why the Book - Canvasser Is Still Necessary--A Vast Field Waiting for Development._ - -About the advertising of books, nobody knows anything. The most that -can be said is that some publishers are making very interesting -experiments. But nobody has yet worked out a single general principle -that is of great value. The publishers themselves frankly confess that -they do not know how to advertise books--except a few publishers who -have had little experience. - -The fundamental difficulty of course is that hardly any two books -present the same problem. Find a successful advertising plan for -one book--it will not be a good plan for another. This fundamental -difficulty marks the difference, for instance, between books and shoes. -When a shoe merchant finds out by experiment how to describe his -shoes and in what periodicals to print his description, his problem -is solved. Recently several publishers discovered a successful way to -advertise a novel. They tried the same plan with another novel and -another. But it’s hit or miss. I, for one, would give much to know how -often it has been “miss.” - -The old-fashioned way was to insert a brief, simple, dignified -announcement of every book, as is still done in The Spectator, of -London, for example. Good; but such an announcement doesn’t go far. -A very few thousand persons see it. They wait until the books are -reviewed or till some friend or authority speaks about them. For this -perfectly good reason some publishers do not insert many advertisements -in those publications that go only to the literary class--they are to -a degree superfluous. Those that are inserted are inserted to give the -publishers and the books a certain “standing,” and to keep pleasant the -relations between the publishers and these journals. - -Then come, of course, the monthly popular magazines. They reach a -very much wider class of readers, and to advertise books in them is a -logical procedure. But their advertising rates are almost prohibitory. -The margin of profit on books is very small. There is not money -enough in the business to warrant extensive and expensive magazine -advertising. The result is the publishers put their announcements -of perhaps a dozen new books on a single advertising page of the -magazines, and they cannot, in this restricted space, say enough about -any particular book to make the advertisement effective. - -Then there are the daily papers. One or two of the best dailies in -every large city are used by the publishers for announcements of new -books. They cannot afford more--except in the case of those novels -which may reach enormous editions. Given a novel that will sell 100,000 -copies or more, and you have enough possible profit to warrant a good -deal of advertising. But during this calendar year only two novels -(perhaps three) have new editions of more than 100,000 copies. What is -a publisher to do, then, who has a novel that will sell 10,000 copies, -or 20,000 copies and no more? Can he make it sell 50,000 or 100,000 by -spending a large sum in advertising it? Perhaps, once in ten times, or -once in twenty times; but not oftener. - -Five or six publishing houses spend more than $50,000 a year, each, -in advertising. Two spend a good deal more than this sum; and one is -reported as saying that he spends $250,000. These are not large sums -when compared with the sums spent for advertising other wares. But -an advertisement of a shoe published to-day will help to sell that -shoe next year. The shoemaker gets a cumulative effect. But your -novel advertised to-day will be dead next year. You get no cumulative -effect. When I say, therefore, that no publisher has mastered the art -of advertising books, I tell the literal truth. They all run against a -dead wall; and they will all tell you so in frank moments. - -The study of the problem of advertising books takes one far afield. -What quality in a book makes it popular anyhow? Even if you are wise -enough to know that (and you are very wise if you do know that) the -question arises whether advertising is necessary. There have been -as many popular books sold in large editions without advertising as -with it. If your book is really popular it may sell anyhow. I could -make a long list of such books, and a still longer list of books -that extensive advertising did not sell--books which seemed to their -publishers to have the quality of great popularity. - -The question carries us further back still. Let us take the analogy -of the shoemaker again. He has shoe stores within reach of the whole -population. There is not a village in the land where there is not a -store in which shoes are sold. The manufacturers’ salesmen find this -distributing machinery ready to their hands. If a man in Arkansas or -in Montana or in Florida wants a pair of shoes, he is within reach -of a place where he may buy them. Not so with books. There are few -bookstores. Two or three per cent. of the population (perhaps less) -live within convenient reach of bookshops. True, a book may be ordered -by mail. But so may a pair of shoes. But this is not a good substitute -for a store, where a man may see the book. The mail-order business will -always be secondary to direct sales. But, since bookstores are so few, -the book-distributing machinery is wholly inadequate. The publisher has -no effective way yet to reach his normal public with his wares. - -There is nobody to blame, perhaps. Surely, it would not be a profitable -undertaking for any man or woman to buy a stock of books and to open a -store in a small town. What is the remedy, then? - -The simple truth is, here is one of the problems of distribution that -have not yet been solved. There are throughout the land another one -hundred thousand persons who would buy any novel of which one hundred -thousand have been sold, if they could see the book and hear about -it--if it were intelligently kept for sale where they would see it. -This is a self-evident proposition. But nobody has yet found a way thus -to distribute a book. And (this is the point) until better distributing -machinery is organized, it will not pay publishers to advertise with as -prodigal a hand as shoemakers and soapmakers use in making their wares -known. - -It is this lack of proper distributing machinery that has made -possible the career of the book-agent. There are no shoe peddlers. -Almost all the publishing houses--all the important houses--employ -book peddlers. The business is generally regarded as a--nuisance, to -say the most for it. But, from the publisher’s point of view, it is a -necessity. And this is the crude way whereby it is sought to remedy the -radical deficiency of proper distributing machinery. Of course, the -book-agent method has its obvious disadvantages. It is not a dignified -occupation, as most agents practise it. The most dignified members of -the community, therefore, do not take it up. In every case it is not -even the trustworthy members of the community that take it up. Again, -the agent must be paid; and this is a very costly method (to the -purchaser) of buying books. The purchaser pays half his money for the -books; the other half for being persuaded to buy them. - -And (to take a broad, economic view of the subject) the book peddler -surely cannot be considered the final solution of the problem of a -proper distribution of books. At some time in the future, when the -country is three or four times as densely settled as it now is, there -will be book stores in all towns. There may still be need for the -persuasiveness of the agent, for some of the most successful of them -now do their best work in cities within sight of good book shops. But -the point is, few book-agents sell new books, and few of them sell -single books: they usually sell books in sets. The problem, therefore, -of the proper distribution of the four or five really good books that -my publishing house has put out this fall still remains unsolved and, -though I advertised them in all magazines and newspapers, I should -not effectively reach the attention of one-fifth or one-tenth of the -possible buyers of them. I should simply spend in advertising the -profit that I may make on the copies that I sell with a reasonable -publicity through the regular channels. I do insert advertisements of -them for three or four reasons--with the hope of helping their sales; -to keep the public informed of the activity of our publishing house; -to please the press; and--to please the authors of the books. But I -know very well that I am working (as every publisher is working) in a -business that has not yet been developed, that is behind the economic -organization of other kinds of manufacturing and selling, that awaits -proper organization. - -Figure it out yourself. Here is a book of which eighty thousand copies -have been sold through “the trade;” that is, through the book stores. -Our salesmen have visited every important bookseller from Portland, -Me., to Portland, Ore., and from Duluth to New Orleans. We have spent -quite a handsome sum in advertising it. Four-fifths of these eighty -thousand copies were sold in a few months after its publication. The -booksellers said that they could sell many more if we would advertise -it more. We did so. By this time our salesmen were making another trip. -No, they would not buy more, thank you; it is a little slow now. The -second effort at advertising did not cause it to “move” in the market. -The demand is slow yet. In other words, the demand for it that could -be supplied by the existing book stores was practically exhausted. -Our second advertising effort was a waste of money. We have frankly to -confess that we do not know how to sell more copies of this book until -the time comes when it may be put into a “set” and sold by book agents. -This is the same as to say that, the few existing book stores utilized, -there is no organized machinery for finding more buyers except the book -agent. - -Yet it is obvious that a wholesome book (as this is) which eighty -thousand persons have bought would please eighty thousand other persons -of like minds and taste if we had any way to find these second eighty -thousand persons. They exist, of course. But they live out of easy -reach of the book stores. The book agents will find them several years -hence. - -I have (I think) shown why there can never be a publishers’ trust, -or “combine,” because the relation of the publisher and the author -is a personal relation as intimate and personal as the relation of -a physician to his patient or of a lawyer and his client. But, after -a book has been sold and has become a commodity, the problem is a -different one. The booksellers have perceived this; and they have made -ineffective efforts to “combine.” They have failed because they have -not made plans to widen the existing market. An organization of those -that exist is not enough. The real problem is to extend their area, to -find book-buyers whom they do not now reach. - -Perhaps all this is very dull--this trade talk. But a publisher who is -worthy of his calling regards himself as an educator of the public; -and he has trade reasons and higher reasons as well for wishing to -reach as many buyers of his good books as he possibly can. He knows -(and you know, if you know the American people) that the masses even of -intelligent folk have yet hardly fairly begun to buy books. Go where -you will among the people and you will find few books--pitifully few. -We are just coming into a period when book-buying is even beginning to -become general. The publishers of a generation hence will sell perhaps -ten times as many good books as are sold now--surely, if they find in -their day distributing machinery even half adequate. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE STORY OF A BOOK FROM AUTHOR TO READER - - - _The Divers Problems Which Constantly Arise--Every Step of the Way - Beset with Expense, So That the Publisher Is Amazed When He Finds a - Surplus--Why Books of Large Sale Are Hard to Get--The Publisher as - Anxious as the Public to Print Better Books._ - -The wonder is (and in my mind it grows every year) how the publishers -of books make enough money to keep their shops going. When I look at my -own ledgers (ledger, by the way, is become a mere literary word, for we -now all keep accounts on cards and not in books)--whenever I look at my -own cards and see a profit, I am astonished as much as I am gratified. -Every other publisher in America, if he have a normal and simple mind -such as fits the calling, has the same emotion. Let me say, lest I -appear “simple” in another sense, that our cards have, miraculously -enough, generally shown very satisfactory profits, but the astonishment -never becomes less. - -See what a long series of processes, or adventures, if you will, a book -must go through between the writer and the reader; every step costs -money; and the utmost possible profit is small. Suppose it be a novel. -“Book” means “novel” these days in “literary” circles and journals. -Heaven bless our shallow gabble called “reviews.” A novel comes to -the publisher in fairly good English. The English doubtless is the -author’s, but the punctuation and capitals are the “typewriter-lady’s” -own. It must be read by one person; and, if that person’s report have -a ray of hope, it must be read by another; perhaps by a third. These -“readers” cost money--alas! too little money. They are generally -literary persons who have failed, and there is something pathetic about -their occupation. Then, after two or three readers have reported on -it, I have to read it--in our particular shop, in any shop, somebody -“higher up” must read it--especially if it come from a new writer. - -Then we have to correspond with the author or have interviews with -h--er. All this takes time, and the cost of this service rolls up. -Somebody must next go over the manuscript to prepare it for the -printer--to make sure that the heroine’s name is spelt the same way all -through and so forth and so forth. With the processes of manufacture I -need not weary you. Only I must say that a bad manuscript can be put -into legible type, and that type cast into solid metal blocks ready for -the press with a rapidity and cheapness that rank among the mechanical -wonders of the world. - -By this time the artist has appeared, if the novel is to be -illustrated. Book salesmen will tell you that pictures help to sell -novels, and they ought to know. But I venture to say that you haven’t -seen three new novels in ten years whose illustrations conveyed -anything but confusion to your mind. The conventional illustration of -the conventional novel marks the lowest degradation of the present-day -publisher. We confess by these things that we are without character -or conviction. But the artist has the benefit of the commercial doubt -on his side. He has also the vanity of the author. And he gets his -fee--200, 300 or 500 good dollars or more--and the publisher pays the -bill. Another artist makes a design for the cover. - -Paper, printing, binding--all these are commonplaces, worthy of mention -here only because they roll up the cost. But there are other steps in -the book’s journey that the public knows less about. For instance, -as soon as the first chapter has been put into type and a cover made, -“dummies” of the book are got ready. A “dummy” of a book is a sort of -model, or sample, of it. The cover is the cover that will appear on the -finished novel; the titlepage is the novel’s titlepage; and the first -chapter is as it will be when the book is published. But the rest is -blank paper. This “dummy” shows the physical size and appearance of the -book. - -The travelling salesmen take these dummies and begin their work. They -go to all the jobbers and book dealers, explaining to them the charming -qualities of this newly discovered novelist, and taking orders for the -books. By the time they come home and their advance orders are added -up, the book is ready to go to press; and the publisher knows what his -“first sale” will be. Meantime (not to lose the thread of my story) -all this travelling and soliciting of orders have cost a good deal of -money. The public has not yet seen a copy of the book nor even so much -as heard of it nor of the “talented young author.” - -But now the machinery for publicity is put in action. Sly little -literary notes about the book and the author begin to appear in the -newspapers. These, too, have come from the publisher. From whom -else, pray, could they come? But they mean that the publisher has to -maintain a literary bureau. The man who writes these news notes and the -advertisements of the book and other things about it is a man of skill, -if he do his work well; and he, too, costs the publisher a good salary. -When he begins to put forth advertising--how much shall he spend on -this new novel by an unknown writer? How much shall you risk at Monte -Carlo? Your upright man will risk nothing at Monte Carlo. I have -sometimes thought that your upright publisher, if there be one, would -risk nothing in advertising a new book by an unknown writer, until the -book began itself to show some vitality in the market. - -But--to go back--as soon as the book is ready, review copies, of -course, are sent to the newspapers and the literary journals (to appear -a little later in the second-hand book-shops for sale at reduced -prices.) All this activity requires clerks, typewriters, bookkeepers, -postage-money--a large office, in fact. There are many posters, -circulars--there is as much machinery required to sell a book as to -sell a piano or an automobile. - -From the starting-point, where the book was an ill-written manuscript, -to the delivery of it to the bookseller, the publisher has less than 50 -cents a copy to pay for this whole journey and to save something for -profit if he can. Therefore I say that publishers who do succeed are -among the most astute managers of industry. - -Lest I seem to “boast rather than to confess,” I come back to the -starting-point, which was this--that the publishers’ calling is not a -very profitable one; not a profitable one at all except in fair weather -and with a good skipper. - -The truth is, publishing is too important a profession and our -publishing houses are too important as institutions to be at the mercy -of present conditions. The making of schoolbooks and the vending of -standard old books in sets, which are useful vocations, but are not -publishing proper, are now done best by firms and companies that -do nothing else. Hence publishing proper--the bringing out of new -books--must find a safer basis than the present conventional profit. It -will find this safer basis in two ways. - -The first and obvious way is to secure books that have an enormous -popularity. This is the effort of nearly all the publishing houses -to-day. If a novel reach an edition of 100,000 copies, there is a good -profit in it as matters now stand. And a novel, or other book, that -will be bought by 100,000 persons ought not to be sold for more than -such books now fetch. But there are not enough such books to go around; -and the least worthy publishing house is as likely to secure them as -the most worthy. A permanent institution, therefore, cannot be built on -these or on the hope of them. They are the accidents of the calling. - -The other way to maintain a worthy publishing institution is to publish -worthy books, to manufacture them well, to do every piece of work that -is done on them or that is done for them in the most conscientious -way--to keep bookmaking as a fine art, to keep bookselling a dignified -profession, to keep the selection of books to publish on the high -level of scholarly judgment. This done, a publisher may set his prices -higher--must set his prices higher, for he does a higher and more -costly service to society. Excellent and worthy of all praise as is -some of the publishing work of this sort that is now done, a beginning -has hardly yet been made. There is a demand, or a dormant demand can -be awakened, for books that have merit (I mean new books as well as -old) of better manufacture than we now often see. They must be sold for -higher prices, of course. - -This is the same as to say that just as a three-dollar shoe is made -for most feet that tread this weary continent, but a five-dollar shoe -is made for an increasing number of feet that prefer ease to economy, -so we are becoming rich enough and wise enough to pay two dollars, or -three dollars, or five dollars for a good new book that shall have -large and beautiful type, good paper, good margins, good binding--shall -be a work of art in its manufacture as well as in the quality of its -contents. The public gets its good books too cheap; and the reason is -plain. - -It was only the other day that the publishers discovered the -possibility of securing book after book that would run into large -editions. A novel-reading democracy--a public-school democracy--is a -new thing. It is an impressive thing. It made new and big markets, and -we all rushed after it. Cheapness and great editions became the rage. -Writers wrote for the million; publishers published for the million. -Cheap books became the fashion. All very well--this widespread effort, -this universal reading. But it has not radically changed human nature -nor even the permanent foundations of the profession of publishing. We -shall come back to higher and better work--some of us will, at least. - -Bring the subject home to yourself. What do you want for your book -money? Not the latest “big seller.” You may buy that to entertain you -on a railway journey. But if you bring it home at all, you send it -away at Christmas to some country library. What you want in your own -library for your book-money are good books, made at least as well as -the furniture in the room; and you want the new books of permanent -value. You are sometimes disgusted when you look over the publishers’ -catalogues to find so few books of this kind. - -Your publishers, too, are becoming weary of having such catalogues; -and as soon as we rediscover the old truth that there is a permanent -demand for just the kind of books that you want, we shall turn to a -more generous encouragement of them. Men who might do better work will -then cease trying to write “best sellers.” But you must pay the price. -Since you have become accustomed to buy new books at $1.50 a volume, -you are somewhat reluctant to pay $2 or $4 for a new book. You must -break yourself of that habit. In a word, you must become at least as -generous to your publisher as you are to your shoemaker; and then the -change will take place. - -By a similar course of reasoning (and it is sound) you may discover -that you are yourself to blame for what our writers write and our -publishers publish--in a measure at least; and, whenever you want -better books, better books will be ready for you. For the publisher -and even the author are but human after all; and in the mood that has -possessed us all for a decade or two--since presses and paper became -so cheap--we have perhaps worshipped mere numbers. I have published -some books only because thousands and thousands of persons would read -them. You have read them simply because thousands of other people were -reading them and for no better reason. Perhaps our sins have not been -heinous. But, if you are so stubbornly virtuous as to cry shame at me, -I promise you this: I will reform on the day that you yourself reform; -but you must first signify repentance. For you--the public--are after -all our masters. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE PRESENT LIMITS OF THE BOOK MARKET - - - _In Spite of the Many Books Issued and the Many “Large Sellers,” - the People Are Very Poorly Equipped with Good Books--Circulating - Libraries and the Sale of Books--Many Neglected Subjects on Which - Successful Books Could be Written--The Lack of Good Writers the - Main Source of Poor Sale of Books._ - -How large the book market is, nobody knows. Still less does anybody -know how large it may become, say, in another decade of our present -prosperity and spread of intelligence. Beyond any doubt more books are -bought in the United States than in any other country. Yet it is a -constant surprise to discover how ill supplied the mass of the people -are with good books. But the enormous increase of the market in recent -years gives hope of a still greater increase to come. The number of -books published every year in the United States and in the United -Kingdom is about the same, but more American than English books run to -large editions. - -Leaving out fiction, which is the spectacular and sensational part of -publishing, books of reference, of standard literature, of history, of -applied science and even of poetry are sold in constantly increasing -quantities. The public hears little of these because the literary -journals pay little attention to them. There is, for instance, one -publisher of subscription books who now adds few books to his list of -which he does not expect to sell 100,000 copies. He has agents in every -part of the United States, and they probably sell more books in a year -than all the publishing houses in the United States put together sold -thirty years ago--excluding textbooks, of course. Last year a literary -man went to a remote railway station, 1,000 miles from Boston or New -York, to shoot quail. One day he saw men unloading boxes of books from -a freight car on the side track. The wonder was that there should be -even a freight car in that corner of the woods; and that the freight -car should be filled with books was simply incredible. But there were -wagon loads of Thackerays, of Dickenses, of Eliots, and even of sets -of the poets, fairly well-printed, fairly well-bound volumes which had -been sold to the country folk for miles around. Perhaps there has been -more money spent for encyclopædias and dictionaries than Noah Webster -could compute, these last ten years. The book market, therefore, is -very much bigger than persons who live outside the book selling world -are likely to think. - -Still, relatively it is small. The largest retail book store in the -country is a department store in New York or Philadelphia; but the -book department is not considered one of the important parts of the -store. The much-abused department store, by the way, has done much -to bring a new class of persons to acquire the book-buying habit. -It has made books common merchandise for the first time. Since the -“Century Dictionary,” to take a definite example, was thus made common -merchandise, the sets of it that have been sold are incomparably more -than were ever sold in any other way. Yet how small the book market yet -is, is shown by this fact--that a novel of which one hundred thousand -copies are sold reaches only one person in every eight thousand of the -population. - -Do circulating libraries lessen book sales? Yes, I dare say they do. -But you will find that the publishers do not complain of them. They -are disposed to accept the comforting doctrine that everything which -encourages the reading of books in the end helps the sale of them. In -the end--yes. But for the moment probably no. - -One man will tell you that he used regularly to buy a novel a -week--sometimes two novels. He was a pretty good customer of the -publishers; for fifty-two novels a year is about as many as the most -avaricious publisher could reasonably expect one man to buy. But now -he says he does not buy three a year. A circulating library will for -$5 bring him all he wants. The publishers have, therefore, lost him as -a good customer. On the other hand it is a working theory that every -subscriber to a circulating library who reads a novel and talks about -it at the woman’s club may induce somebody to buy a copy who otherwise -would never have heard of it. At any rate, the total number of novels, -or of books of other sorts, now sold is not less than the number that -was sold before the libraries found subscribers. The discussion is, -after all, a vain one. The publisher and the author must do the best -they can by the help of the libraries or in spite of them. - -Yet I am sure that the great widening of the market for which we -are all looking will be found, when it is found, not by any special -machinery or mechanical device; but the person who will really find -it--or make it--will be a great writer. Whenever books are written that -are interesting enough to compel the attention of the whole people, the -poorest publishing house can sell them. The secret of success, after -all, is the secret of writing books that touch masses of men deeply -and directly. We have much to learn from the careers of such books as -“Progress and Poverty” and “Looking Backward.” They reached their great -sale not by the ingenuity of their publishers, nor by their literary -merit, but only because they carried messages to many minds. However -delusive these messages may be, they were sincere. The truth is that -the publisher (exalt him as I am trying my best to do) is, after all, -only a piece of machinery. The real force that makes itself felt in the -world that has to do with books is the initial force of the men and -women who write. Whenever a great mind, or a great sympathy, be found -which puts forth an appeal or a hope in the form of a book that has -the power to touch those emotions or aspirations that all men have in -common--then the trick’s done. The mechanical plans that we make have -power to carry only as far as the book has strength to go. If I had -five great living writers on my list, my publishing task would be easy. - -For the broadening of the book market, then, what we need is -writers--writers of the proper quality. Of novels, we have enough and -to spare, such as they are. But not of good books of other sorts. -Let us take a hint from the novel writers. Twenty years ago or less -the American public was amusing itself with novels written by English -writers. But about that time came those story tellers, a whole army -of them, who began to write about life in different parts of our own -country. Of New England, Miss Jewett and Miss Wilkins and Mrs. Austin -and many more; in the Middle West, Mr. Garland, Mr. Churchill, Mr. -Tarkington and half a hundred more; in New York, the author of “David -Harum,” Mr. Frederick, Mr. Bacheller and others; of the South, Mr. -Page, Miss Johnston, Miss Glasgow and more; and there are California -stories in profusion. In other words, an army of men and women began -about the same time to write stories of local history and manners. - -Now there are other subjects that need to be written of just as much. -One such subject is science. The world is flooded with popular books -about science, but nearly all of them fail either in being accurate or -in being popular. There is a better opportunity now than there ever -was before for a man who really knows the most recent and scientific -achievements, and who can write in the language of the people. To many -people, “authoritative books” are dry books, but this is not what I -mean. Such books as I have in mind can be written only by men of the -best scientific equipment, but they can be written only by men who have -also a great deal of literary skill. - -Another great subject about which good books are needed is--you may not -believe this--American history. Our political history has got itself -pretty voluminously written, and there is no lack of slapdash books in -distant imitation of Green’s “Short History of the English People.” -But most of these have been prepared out of newspaper files by men -who would not take their task seriously or who were not well prepared -either in matured knowledge or in literary skill to produce them. Then, -too, geographically considered, the history of less than one-fourth of -our territory has not yet been written. Southern history, for example, -is utterly unknown. - -It would be easy to name a half-dozen other great subjects which -writers who now bring their manuscripts to the publishing houses are -neglecting. If, therefore, men and women who have the literary gift, -even to a reasonable degree, and who have literary ambition, would -frankly seek those two or three publishers who are real publishers and -would prove their ability to do serious work of this sort they would -be almost sure to find satisfactory careers before them. Of course, -one disadvantage of such work is that during its early stages no very -large financial returns can be expected. But if the work were done -well enough it would pay in the end--pay more money by far than a -professorship in science or in history or in literature pays. - -All this leads me to this general remark--that the writing public does -not take the trouble to find out who the real publishers are. There is -a lack of coöperation between publishers and writers in what may be -called the formative period of the writer’s lives. A man who writes -a book sends it to some publishing house that is chosen by accident -or by personal acquaintance or by whim. The public seems to think -that one publishing house is as good as another. If a writer’s first -volume in this way falls into the hands of a publisher who does not -make the acquaintance of the writer, or who cannot make an appraisal -of his ability and promise, and who does not understand him, then the -writer, after an initial failure, of course, becomes discouraged. On -the other hand, all the publishers are so eager to get books that they -accept work which is not properly done, and on their part fail to put -themselves into such a relation to young authors as would help them to -their normal development. - -If a man or woman, therefore, proposes to enter upon a literary career -his first duty is to make the acquaintance of a real publisher, to be -as frank with him as one must be with one’s physician or one’s lawyer. -If two such men work together seriously and without too great haste the -best results will be achieved for both, and the best results are not -likely to come in any other way. - -If you start, then, to gossip intelligently about the book market or -about anything else with which a publisher has to do, and if you gossip -long enough, you will come back to the starting point of the whole -matter. What do we do or can we do to encourage the writing of good -books? And now we’ve run on a subject as deep as a well and as wide as -a door. In the multitude of counsellors about it there is confusion. In -the only other “confession” that is to follow this I shall try to show -how ignorant and mistaken all those are who differ with me about this -fundamental subject. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -PLAIN WORDS TO AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS - - - _It Pays the Author to Be Honest and Frank with His Publisher, - Who Is, After All, His Best Friend--Some Recent Instances of a - Discouraging Sort--The Need of Greater Dignity and Statesmanship - Among Publishers--The Obligation of Ministering to the Higher - Impulses of the People._ - -I am flattered by hearing that a prominent publishing house wishes to -print these rambling “confessions” in a pamphlet, to send to persons -who write books; “for,” says this house, “they tell some plain facts -that authors ought to know.” I hope so; and, for my part, I am not -averse to publishers knowing them either. For instance, the wretched -smallness of one sinner among the publishers came to light to-day. -Here is the unpleasant story: - -A year and a half ago I published the first novel by a young author. -He is a promising writer and his story was a good one. We sold it in -fairly satisfactory numbers. We advertised it, “exploited” it--did the -best we could. We invited the author to come and see us. We took him -into our confidence. We have regarded him as our partner, so far as his -book is concerned. We have had a continuous correspondence. We have -exchanged visits a time or two. He paid me the compliment to ask my -advice about his next story. We have become good friends, you see; and -we are as helpful to each other as we know how to be. Now his second -novel is finished. In a letter that came from him to-day he informed me -that another publishing house (I have a great mind to write the name -of it here) has made him a very handsome offer of serial publication, -provided, of course, that they may also publish the book! - -Now, if the young author wishes to go browsing in these new pastures, -I have no power or wish to prevent him. I cannot serve him--or do -not care to serve him--if he is unwilling that I should. But I was -nevertheless very grateful when he wrote, “Of course, I prefer you. I -hope you have never thought me unloyal.” - -If publishing his first book had been a mere job done under contract, -a commercial job and nothing more--that would have been one thing. But -that’s not publishing. What I did was to give the man the unstinted -service of our house, as publishers, as advisers, as friends. We -print and advertise and sell his books--yes, to the very best of our -ability. But we do more. We try to make friends for his book and for -him throughout the reading world. We all take a personal interest in -him and in his future. We invest our money, our good will, our work, -our experience, our advice, our enthusiasm in him and in his future. -This service (except the investment of money) is not a matter of -contract. It is a personal, friendly service. If the service had not -been successful, he would have had a perfect right to come and say -that he feared that we did not serve him well and to go away from us. -That would have been frank and honorable. Even, since we did succeed -and have become friends, he could still go to another publisher. Yet, -I maintain, if he had, he would have shown himself a man of blunt -appreciation and dull honor. And the publisher who tried to win him -away did a trick unworthy of the profession. - -This is my last story about a publisher; and the moral is plain, alike -to publisher and to author. - -And now I will tell my last story about an author, the moral of which -also is plain: - -There is an author for whom we have published two books, and they have -been uncommonly successful. A little while ago he finished his third -book. He wrote that many publishers had solicited it, that he had had -several handsome offers, that he needed a large sum of money. Would we -make a big advance payment? He disliked to mention the subject, but -business was business after all. Now I had been at that man’s service -for several years. Day and night, he had sought my advice. - -Well, we were cajoled into making a big advance payment--about half -as big as he first asked for; and the contract was signed. Two days -later, I met another publisher under conditions which invited free and -friendly talk; and I told him this story. The publisher smiled and -declared that that author had approached him and asked how much he -would give for this very book! - -Men and brethren, we live in a commercial age. I suspect that, if -we knew history well enough, we should discover that all ages have -been commercial, and that all our predecessors had experiences like -these. For ungrateful men have written books for many a century, I -have no doubt; and we know that Barabbas was a publisher. But let us -lift an honorable calling to an honorable level. Hence these frank -“confessions.” And, if any publisher wishes to reprint them to send -to authors, or any author to send to publishers, they both have my -permission. For dignity and honor thrive best in an atmosphere of -perfect frankness. - -Thinking over the behavior of authors and publishers to one another, I -am obliged to confess that, while the peanut methods that I have just -described are not common enough to cause us to despair, the truth is -that the whole business is yet somewhat unworthily conducted. I mean -that it is conducted on too low a plane. For what is it that we are -engaged in? - -The writers of good books are among the greatest benefactors of -society; and the publishers of good books, if publishing be worthily -regarded and properly done, is a necessary and complimentary service. -The publisher is the partner, the helper of the author and his high -servant or minister to the people. It is work worthy of large men and -of high-minded men. Honest men we are--those of us who conduct the -publishing houses that are in good repute. But I sometimes think that -we miss being large men; for we do not do our business in (shall I -say?) a statesmanlike way. We imitate the manners of tradesmen. We -speak in the vocabulary of tradesmen. We are too likely to look at -small projects as important--to pay our heed to the mere tricks of our -trade--and to treat large enterprises, if we have them, as if they were -but a part of the routine. A good book is a Big Thing, a thing to be -thankful to heaven for. It is a great day for any of us when we can put -our imprint on it. Here is a chance for reverence, for something like -consecration. And the man or the woman who can write a good book is a -form of capital infinitely more attractive than a large bank account -or a great publishing “plant.” Yet, if we regard an author simply as -“capital,” we are not worthy to serve him. The relation leads naturally -to a friendly and helpful attitude. We know something about books, -about the book-market, about the public, that no author is likely to -know. With this knowledge we can serve those that write. And with our -knowledge of the author and of his work, we can serve the public. It is -our habit to keep our accounts with authors accurately, to pay them -promptly, to receive them courteously when they call, to answer their -letters politely and sometimes to bore them with formal dinners at our -clubs, before they sail for Europe. But how many of us really know -the intellectual life of any author whose books we print and supply a -stimulus to his best plans? - -And the authors? How little they know about us or about publishing! -They seem to select publishers by whims and not often by knowledge. I -know a writer of good books who is at this moment seeking his third -publisher. One of the others failed. The other displeased him. And now -he is thinking of giving his next book to a third publisher who also -will fail within five years, or I am no prophet. Yet I am hindered by -courtesy from telling him so. Why the man has not by this time found -a personality among the publishers who has a soundly constructed -business and at the same time a helpful intellectual appreciation of -his work, I cannot understand. He, too, is looking at a great matter in -a small way. - -Therefore I am led to write down these rules for an author to follow -when he looks for a publisher: - -Find out whether the publishing house that you have in mind be -financially sound. The commercial agencies will tell you, or will tell -any commercial friend who may make inquiry for you. And find out who -the real owners of the house are. - -Then find out who conducts it. If it is conducted by a lot of hired -“literary” men, avoid it. They are, most of them, men who have failed -at authorship; they “read” and “advise” for salaries; and most of them -know nothing about the houses that they serve. They are not principals, -but (as Henry George once called them) “literary operatives.” I mean to -say nothing harsh about a well-meaning, hard-working class of men. But -if you have a good book, you wish to find not a “literary operative,” -but a real publisher. - -Having found a real publisher, you will expect him to read your book -himself. I am assuming that you have an important book. When he has -read it, he will talk to you about it frankly. When I say frankly, I -mean frankly. If he is himself a real man and knows men and books, he -will not retail hack literary phrases to you. He will talk good English -and good sense straight out of his intelligence to your intelligence, -with no nonsense such as reviewers write in the “literary” magazines. -He will become your intellectual friend. - -Having found such a man, give him your book and leave him to work out -the details of publishing. He will be proud to serve you. You will -discover as your acquaintance ripens, that he has your whole career as -a writer in his mind and plans. He will shape his whole publishing -activities to your development and to the development of other writers -like you. - -Then--if you are capable of writing great books--you will discover -that you have set only natural forces at work for your growth and for -your publisher’s growth; and the little artificial tricks of the trade -whereby a flashy story has a “run”--into swift oblivion--will pass from -your mind and from his. You will both be doing your best work. - -After all, the authors of any generation generally have the publishers -that they deserve to have; and this axiom is reversible. For my part, -while I am as glad as Podunk, Exploitem & Company to have novels -that will sell 100,000 copies, provided they give clean and decent -amusement, I take no permanent interest in anything that comes this -month and goes the next; nor does any serious man. My wish and aim -is to become a helpful partner of some of the men and women of my -generation who can, by their writings, lay the great democracy that we -all serve under obligations to them for a new impulse. By serving them, -I, too, serve my country and my time. And, when I say that this is my -aim and wish, I could say with equal truth that it is the aim and wish -of every other real publisher. But, as every good physician constantly -wonders at the ignorance and credulity of otherwise sensible men who -seek quacks, so I wonder at the simplicity of many respectable writers -of books in seeking publishers. Of downright quacks in the publishing -world, there are not many. But there are incompetents a-plenty and a -fair share of adventurers. - -We shall both--authors and publishers--get the proper cue if we regard -the swarming, eager democracy all about us as a mass of constantly -rising men and women, ambitious to grow, with the same higher impulses -that we feel in our best moods; and if we interpret our duty as the -high privilege of ministering to these higher impulses and not to their -lower senses, without commercialism on one side and without academicism -on the other, men among men, worthy among the worthy, we may make our -calling under such a conception a calling that leads. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not -changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced -quotation marks retained. - -Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. - -Redundant chapter titles were removed by Transcriber. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Publisher's Confession, by Walter Hines Page - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PUBLISHER'S CONFESSION *** - -***** This file should be named 54892-0.txt or 54892-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/8/9/54892/ - -Produced by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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