The truth about publishing

Front matter

bya one of the most scat tl of the younger British publishers, this amazingly frank’ and

5 ‘comprehensive book is. the first complete textei _ book of publishing practice. Calculated to be of - greatest practical value to publishers, authors, . : and booksellers, it_is made especially interesting

Bir to the American public by. the inclusion of pungent editorial notes by Mr.. Ferris Greenslet: of : Bnehton, Mifflin: coxa swith | ee in-

Preface To The American Edition

In Tue TRUTH ABOUT PUBLISHING Mr. Stanley Unwin, one of the most successful of younger British publishers, presents for the first time anything approaching a complete textbook of sound publishing practice. The methods of Mr. Unwin’s own House, upon which his book is in the main based, differ but slightly from those of the larger American Houses. In preparing the American edition for the press, it has therefore been only necessary to translate pounds, shillings, and pence into dollars and cents in certain instances, to omit passages of exclusively British application, and to append a few footnotes to paragraphs dealing with matters in which there are significant divergences between British and American customs. FERRIS GREENSLET

Preface

*Foots rush in where angels fear to tread!’ Whether past generations of publishers were angels may be doubted, but it is certain that they would never have dreamed of exposing the inner workings of a publisher’s business, and they would unquestionably have thought any one who did so a fool. Probably their judgment was sound: whether it still holds good will soon be decided.

In the meantime, whether this attempt proves premature or not, the indications are clear that the days of ‘secrecy’ and ‘mystery’ in publishing are past, and that in the near future, at any rate, all business activities will be increasingly thrown open to the light of day.

As a first attempt, this book will, I trust, receive the indulgence granted to maiden efforts. I hope, indeed, that it may be regarded as a rough draft, and that I may receive suggestions for its improvement. It was, of necessity, the product of odd moments, and I am conscious of its deficiencies.

It has been my endeavour to examine controversial questions as impartially as possible, and always with the hope of finding common ground, rather than points of disagreement.

The growing commercialization of literature — inevitable though it may be — does not tend to promote more harmonious relations between authors and publishers. It xii PREFACE

~~ is based on the assumption that manuscripts and books are mere commodities; dead, not living things. Such an assumption ignores the peculiar and indeed parental relationship of the author to his work, the realization of which is the beginning of wisdom in a publisher.

I hope that in my zeal to explain the publisher’s diffculties I have not shown any lack of sympathy with authors. I can truthfully say that this book would have been a good deal easier to write had I not seen their point of view so clearly.

It was primarily in the hope of helping inexperienced writers to understand some of the technicalities of publishing and thereby to assist them that I allowed myself to be persuaded by several of their number to provide this brief account of book publishing.

If I have succeeded in making the path of the beginner a little smoother, and contributed in any way towards the promotion of pleasanter and more intelligent relations between authors and publishers, I shall be well rewarded.

I should like to take this opportunity of thanking the many friends who have helped me with their encouragement and suggestions in the preparation of this book, and, in particular, the Reverend Ernest Charles, of Malvern Link, to whose constant stimulus its early completion is due.

Contents

INTRODUCTORY

I

i

Til.

IV.

VI.

THe ARRIVAL OF MANUSCRIPTS

Their receipt and acknowledgment — Their conditions — ‘Sifting’ and ‘reading’ them — Publishers’ ‘readers’ and their reports — The publisher’s casting vote.

Necessity of knowing exact costs — Two methods of estimating — ‘Casting off’ — Points raised by the printer we ‘House style’ — Specimen page — Completing the estimate.

THE PRICE OF BOOKS AND OVERPRODUCTION

Chief factors — Cost of manufacture — Of distribution — Of advertising — Of working expenses — Overproduction — Unwanted books — Overprinting — Insufficient sales.

Authors’ Society’s warning — Necessity of a contract — Outright sale — Profit-sharing — Abuses — Royalty system — Agreement forms — Commission agreements.

Printing — Preparation of manuscript — Size of page — Kind of type — Type sizes — Type area — Galley proofs — ‘Prelims’ — Headlines — Modern printing machinery — Notes and cross-heads — Paged proofs — Author’s corrections — Imposition — Revises — Machining — Paper — Illustrations — Half-tone — Line — Offset — Reproducing books — Warehousing — Binding — Lettering — Imperfections — ‘Cases’ — Jackets — Alternative bindings — Binding for U.S.A. — Time production takes.

Tue ACTUAL SELLING

The difficulties — The daily orders — The town traveller — Trade terms — The wholesaler — Educational books — Circulating libraries — The country traveller — Representatives overseas — Continental market — The U.S.A. — Remainders — Net book agreement — Special editions — Caravan bookshop.

xiv

VIL.

VIII.

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CONTENTS

The history of the organization — The ‘clearing-house’ system — Its application to Great Britain — The ‘On sale or return’ system.

PUBLICITY, ETC.

‘Blurbs’ — Review copies — Press cuttings — Other free copies — Newspaper advertising — Other forms of publicity — Catalogues, etc. — Insets — Authors’ portraits — Posters — Cost of advertising — Codperative publicity — The future of book advertising.

British Act of 1911 — Berne Convention — Serial rights — American book rights — Piracy — Translation rights — Dramatic and cinema rights — Broadcasting rights — Anthologies, etc. — The literary agent.

Coérdination of departments — Labour troubles — Finance — Authors’ accounts — Stock-taking — Liens — Valuation — Correspondence and callers — Titles — Translations — Series — Censorship — Methods of attracting new business — Unprofitable books.

Qualifications — Endowment of businesses — Starting new businesses — Educational and juvenile books — Controversial literature conclusive.

Where are you going to, my pretty maid? © ‘I’m going to publish, sir,’ she said. Perhaps yow’ve a fortune, my pretty maid? ‘My verse is my fortune, sir,’ she said. Then you'd better not try it, my pretty maid; There’s an item for printing, and, when it is paid, There’s ‘Commission on sales,’ oh, innocent maid! In your rural retreat have you heard of THE TRADE? Oh, where are you going to, my pretty maid. From ‘Measured Steps,’ by Ernest Radford

INTRODUCTORY

PUBLISHERS are much-abused people. It is doubtful whether, in proportion to their numbers, any other class in the community comes in for quite so much criticism, or has so much publicity given to its every shortcoming. The sins of the blackest of the flock are visited on the whitest, and until recently a study of the columns of the ‘Author’ left one with the impression that all publishers, at all times and upon all occasions, were actuated wholly, solely, and necessarily by evil motives. The case for the publisher was never heard. Recently, however, with the advent of that interesting hybrid, the author-publisher or the publisher-author, and the founding of the Society of Bookmen, a slight reaction has set in. It is no violent swing of the pendulum, and there is no danger of any excess of virtue being attributed to publishers in general, but writers have been found ready to point out that if publishers are no better than their fellows, they are not, as a whole, any worse. In view of their environment, it would be surprising if they were, for it would be difficult to maintain that an atmosphere of books and the company of authors and booksellers were demoralizing.

This welcome change of attitude adds a further reason for removing what has rightly been described as the air of mystery which surrounds publishers’ activities. There is, in fact, nothing very mysterious about a publisher’s office,

XxViii INTRODUCTORY and the contrary impression tends to breed suspicion and is unquestionably responsible for some quite unnecessary misunderstandings. There is urgent need for a greater knowledge, both by authors and public, of the problems that have to be faced.

The publisher’s task is no simple one, and the whole process of book publication is vastly more complicated than it was even a generation ago. It calls to-day for technical knowledge of a much wider range than heretofore, and for a very much higher standard of efficiency. A flair for what the public wants (or can be made to think it wants), sound literary taste and critical judgment, a keen desire to publish good literature, are all most excellent and desirable things; but other qualities are even more essential for the day-to-day routine work of a publisher’s office.

This will, I think, become clear if I set forth as I propose to do, as simply as possible, the whole process of book publishing from start to finish. My object is not to teach publishing (it cannot be learnt so easily as that!), but to giveinformation to those outside the trade, and particularly to all devoted to literature, whether as writers or readers.

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Chapter I The Arrival Of Manuscripts

LET us begin at the beginning: the arrival of the manuscripts — the solicited and the unsolicited — which pour in daily upon the successful and the old-established publishers, at times in almost overwhelming numbers, For that is the real beginning, as I never cease to tell prospective authors, and not, as is generally assumed, an interview with the publisher at which the author holds forth — often at great length — about the merits of his work. Such interviews are almost invariably a waste of time, and should be deferred until the publisher has had an opportunity of studying the manuscript. An unknown author, who insists upon a personal interview beforehand with a principal of the firm, is prejudicing, not advancing, his cause. The best and the only introduction needed to a book publisher is a marketable manuscript, or, if not readily marketable, a work of intrinsic merit. If any explanations are called for, they should be stated as concisely as possible in a letter accompanying the manuscript. That letter, which will probably be handed or sent to the ‘reader’ with the manuscript, and will subsequent'y be attached to his report, affords an opportunity to summarize any relevant facts likely to influence the publisher’s judgment. A statement. that the author’s aunt thinks him a budding genius is not helpful, but the information that she could ensure the adoption of the work as a textbook in several important schools or colleges might be.

The fact that Mr. Smith has promised to review the book (if published!) in the ‘Daily Blank’ is probably not worth mentioning at that stage, because the publisher is accustomed to having most of his books noticed by Mr. Jones, if not by Mr. Smith, in the ‘Daily Blank,’ and is therefore not impressed. But the statement that 2457 copies of the author’s previous book were sold in India in the first six months following publication, because of his wide connections over there, would be of great significance.

Now as to the manuscript itself — first and most essential, it should have the author’s name and address clearly written upon it, preferably both at the beginning and the end. If there is a folder or outer case it should also bear the title of the manuscript and the author’s name. This sounds obvious, but more than half the manuscripts that reach a publisher bear no address upon them, and an appreciable number no author’s name; still more remarkable, some have no title or title-page. |

I have said that an author’s manuscript is the best introduction, but that presupposes that some little attention has been given to the condition of the manuscript. An author would not, I imagine, feel it essential to visit a publisher in a new silk hat and a coat of the latest cut, but most authors at least would consider it undesirable to approach

THE ARRIVAL OF MANUSCRIPTS 5 a publisher in a dirty and incoherent condition. But that is, in effect, what they do when they submit a dirty and dilapidated manuscript, in bad writing, or so besprinkled with corrections and alterations as to be indecipherable. Any manuscript that has been much handled is bound to show signs of wear, but if the first and last sheets are occasionally retyped — and all manuscript should be typed, unless the handwriting is unusually copperplate — there will be nothing to prejudice a reader. Theoretically, of course, nothing concerns the reader except the substance of the work; but he would scarcely be human were he not influenced, unconsciously at any rate, by the illegibility of the manuscript. It is a purely utilitarian standard I advocate for manuscripts, i.e., fitness for their purpose. A spotless, typed manuscript is a nightmare to all who handle it, if it consists of several hundred unattached sheets or if it is on paper of some awkward size. Ordinary quarto paper is the recognized size, and there would seem to be no need in most cases to depart from it. Stiff, slippery paper or thin tissue paper should be avoided, and the typing should, of course, be on one side of the paper only and be in double spacing. It is wiser to fasten together each chapter, not binding the whole manuscript up in one tight fastening, which makes the book irksome to read and tiresome to turn over. A complete manuscript tastefully bound in morocco would fill me with as much distrust as would an overdressed dandy. I should feel confident that that was the only form in which the manuscript was destined to be preserved.

In many publishing businesses the receiving of manuscripts and the recording of their dispatch to readers is entrusted exclusively to one assistant, because divided responsibility would be fatal. It is this assistant’s function —

(1) to acknowledge receipt of the manuscript on a form setting forth that, whilst every care is taken of manuscripts, the publisher does not hold himself responsible in case of accidental loss, etc.;

(2) to record the day of receipt and the name and address of the sender;

(3) to enter any special instructions regarding the return of the manuscript, e.g., whether sufficient postage had been prepaid to cover registration;

(4) to fill in the name of the reader to whom it is referred;

(5) to record the date on which it is referred to the reader, and the date of his report;

(6) to make an independent record of any illustrations which accompanied the manuscript as it is wiser to treat them as a separate item.

So important is it that this record should be both complete and accurate, that many publishers would never handle a manuscript until it had been properly entered. The first thing I do after the departure of a visitor who has left a manuscript with me, is to send it to the proper department, so that it may start its journey aright — and I should do this, even though I intended taking the manuscript home with me that evening. Even when the utmost punctiliousness is observed, manuscripts go astray; and, in view of the number that pass in and out of a big publisher’s office, it is astonishing, not that a few are temporarily mislaid, but that it is a rare event in a well-managed concern for one to be irretrievably lost.

THE ARRIVAL OF MANUSCRIPTS 7

The most frequent cause of trouble is two manuscripts being treated as one in the packing department — a thing that is liable to occur in rush hours, when two short manuscripts which resemble one another happen to be placed together. On the only two occasions when I really thought a manuscript was lost, this had occurred, and in both cases it took over three months and more than a hundred letters to track down the missing manuscript. Every one to whom the manuscript could conceivably have been sent was written to. In one of the cases, the recipient was abroad, and our letter and the parcel had remained unopened; but in the other — will anybody believe it? — the author who received the strayed manuscript deliberately kept it and said nothing; in order, as he boasted, to see how long it would be before we found out!

The manuscript, having been duly entered, has now to be read, and the exact procedure varies according to the publisher’s organization and the nature of the manuscript. Some publishers keep a permanent reader or readers on the staff, others have outside readers. Some manuscripts require no ‘reading’ at all in the ordinary sense. If Professor Einstein writes a new book on ‘Relativity,’ his publisher does not need to inquire whether he is an authority on the subject, or to take advice about the scientific competence of the work. Similarly, manuscripts by established clients of the firm, or solicited manuscripts, do not need any ‘sifting.’ They are usually accepted without more ado, and are generally looked through at once by one of the heads of the firm.

Where there is a reader on the staff, the task of sorting the manuscripts is apt to fall upon him — those on special subjects are sent to specialist readers; e.g., works on philosophy would be sent to some leading professor of philosophy in whose judgment the publisher had learnt to place confidence. :

In the case of my own firm, every manuscript which comes in is actually handled by one or other of the directors. In almost every case there is in addition a written report from, at any rate, one independent outside reader. In doubtful cases there may be as many as three or four written opinions. These reports are filed with the relevant correspondence, so that they are readily available years later, if need be.

The quality of the unsolicited manuscript is not high. The large proportion of hopeless and indifferent material makes any merit stand out. Under present conditions, it is improbable that any really promising manuscript would fail to find a publisher in the long run, for the competition to detect any signs of genius is:far too great.

The idea that publishers return manuscripts unread is a delusion that I suppose will never be eradicated from some minds; but that it is a delusion a day spent in any competent book publisher’s office would effectually demonstrate. Some authors have most elaborate devices whereby they can prove that such and such a page has never been read. They overlook Dr. Johnson’s wise remark that ‘it is unnecessary to eat the whole ox to find out whether the beef is tough.’

Others are sufficiently foolish to submit a brief article on, let us say, ‘Should a girl’s hair be shingled?’ to a publisher

THE ARRIVAL OF MANUSCRIPTS 9 of learned historical and philosophical works. How long, I wonder, do they think it takes that publisher to decide that the manuscript is unsuitable?

My own firm publishes no magazines, but scarcely a week goes by without our receiving manuscripts much too short for anything but magazine publication. Even some literary agents, who obviously should know better, are not altogether immune from similar absent-mindedness, though in their case it is more often failure to single out the particular firm or firms most likely to be interested in any given class of book. I recall, in particular, a manuscript by a very distinguished novelist, whose name is a household word, which was never published merely because his very autocratic agent offered it to almost every publisher in London except the two who would have taken it. The author’s views were unpopular (it was during the war), and the two firms publishing for the unpopular minority were never approached. When they learned of the existence of the manuscript the time for publication had gone by. I would therefore take the opportunity of impressing upon authors the wisdom of Mr. W. B. Maxwell’s advice to study publishers’ lists and to take pains themselves to choose a suitable firm for their work.

Few authors, I imagine, realize that on an average each manuscript received by a publisher, whether rejected (as the majority are bound to be) or accepted, costs the publisher at /east ten dollars; and, indeed, a great deal more, if the working expenses could be accurately computed. If the manuscripts summarily rejected on the ground of hopeless illiteracy, unsuitability of subject or length, were disregarded in arriving at the average, the cost per manuscript would be still larger. But, despite this fact, it is rarely that a publisher will refuse to consider a manuscript that sounds at all possible. There could, I think, be no better evidence of the keenness of the competition to secure good literary material.

The number of people who consider themselves fully qualified for the post of publisher’s reader is unlimited. The number of those really competent to fulfil that function is extraordinarily small. It is not easy to define precisely what is required. Some firms would say ‘ability to spot winners,’ and leave it at that; but a list consisting of nothing but Tarzans and Rosaries, though highly profitable, would be a depressing business. To most publishers who are keen on their job, the sound literary judgment of an Arnold Bennett would be the first and chief ingredient in an ideal reader, though they would not underrate both the necessity and desirability of throwing in a little of Bennett’s commercial acumen and flair.

I imagine that the best and most successful readers, almost without exception, have either had actual experience in a publisher’s office, or have acquired an intimate knowledge of publishers’ needs. Absence of such experience greatly lessens a reader’s value and involves endless additional work for the publisher in explaining why this is © practicable and not that, and, in fact, in teaching the reader his job, which is governed by technical and commercial, as well as literary considerations

The late Mr. Henry Holt prepared a most elaborate ‘report form’ for the guidance of his readers, containing

THE ARRIVAL OF MANUSCRIPTS II minute instructions as to how many marks might be awarded for any particular quality in a manuscript; e.g., Clearness of Style 9, Originality of Subject 7, Originality of Treatment 7, Holding Power 7, etc. It is an extremely interesting document, but nothing so complicated is ever likely to be taken into general use.

Publishers’ readers seldom, if ever, get the praise they deserve. The public knows little or nothing about their conscientious and exhausting work, and few are the authors who are prepared to recognize publicly the benefits they have derived from their friendly suggestions and criticisms. The number of manuscripts completely recast, or improved out of all knowledge, at a reader’s suggestion is far greater than is commonly supposed. Usually his advice is accepted and acted upon, as was the case with one of the most successful first novels of this century, and that is the last one hears about his assistance. Occasionally, to recall a recent experience of my own, the author rejects with scorn a long list of suggested additions and amendments to his manuscript on the ground that not a comma needs altering, and then a few months later proceeds to publish the book elsewhere with every single suggestion incorporated, and, needless to say, without any acknowledgment. If authors were as prompt to recognize the services of publishers’ readers as they are to criticize them, the public would learn with surprise how much it owes to a group of conscientious workers, of whose existence it is barely aware. I had occasion recently to show one of our reader’s reports on a first novel to Mr. Compton Mackenzie; to his letter in reply, he added the following postscript:

I wish reviewers would write as good criticism as publishers’ readers!

Encouragement of that kind does not come the way of the publisher’s reader as often as it ought.

The number of reports on any given manuscript naturally depends upon its character. The very good and the very bad give little trouble, but there is so much that comes between: the competent, but uninspired; the manuscript that is brilliant in parts; the book that is too good to pass by, but not quite good enough to take. On all these the publisher is called upon to give his casting vote — and how often the publisher’s reader thanks Heaven that the final decision rests with his employer and not with him! The considerations which weigh with a publisher are manifold. If his business is a personal one, his list will, in the long run, reflect his own temperament and character. If there are many influences at work, the list will be like one of those composite photographs which are produced from time to time. But there are other factors; the tradition of the House, which influences the character of the manuscripts that are submitted; any sudden success, which will instantaneously give the publisher a reputation for books of the character of the successful one; the enthusiasm of travellers or senior members of the staff for any particular class of book; and, above all, chance, which may bring the most unlooked-for favours. Every publisher hopes that to-morrow will bring him a ‘Jane Eyre’ or some equally undisputed masterpiece.

Chapter II ‘casting Off’ And Estimating

In most publishing offices, the next procedure is to negotiate with the author. That is probably due to the fact that in so many cases businesses are built up on the publication of novels; and with fiction issued at a uniform price and in a uniform style, rule-of-thumb methods can be followed without great risk. To me this has always seemed an instance of ‘putting the cart before the horse,’ because, until one has made out a fairly accurate estimate of the cost of production and publication, it is impossible to tell what margin there is to share with the author. In theory, it is, of course, possible to have any margin you want by increasing the published price; but, in practice, there are sharp limitations to any such increase. Frequently a book is worth publishing if it can be issued at not exceeding such and such a price, but most certainly destined to failure if issued at a higher price. It has always seemed to me necessary, therefore, and, in fact, a quite obvious procedure, to ascertain at this point exactly to what extent the publication is commercially worth while. This involves delay, but leaves one in the happy position of knowing the facts instead of guessing at them. Many propositions which appear very tempting before they are tested in this fashion, cease to be attractive thereafter. I could cite plenty of concrete examples, but perhaps it is sufficient to point out that many a good book cannot be published except at a loss solely because of price limitations. This is even more often the case now than in pre-war days. For example, $1.75 is generally recognized as the top price at which any ‘12mo0 juvenile’ can be expected to have a substantial sale. There are, of course, exceptions, but, generally speaking, it would be fatal, as some of us know to our cost, to publish a book intended for children at even such a slightly increased price as $2.00. This is typical of books in many categories. Very occasionally the reverse is true, and one can fix a higher price than is really essential without, in any way, impeding the sale, but this is much more rare now than it used to be. (Were it a more frequent occurrence, publishers would have greater justification for issuing books which show an insufficient margin.) In brief, there is often a ‘right price’ for a book, and in such cases publication at any other figure would spell failure.

Recognition of this fact often prompts publishers to meet it by the simple but unwise expedient of printing a larger first edition than the probable sales warrant. It must be borne in mind that the cost of composition remains the same whatever the number printed; therefore the larger the number printed, the smaller the share of the initial cost of composition to be borne by each individual copy. The production manager probably points out that if double the number were printed, or even if only an extra thousand were printed, there would be no difficulty about publishing at the desired price.

The production manager may well be correct; but to let the desire to publish at a given price determine the number to be printed, instead of the probable demand, is both a snare and a delusion. The amateur publisher constantly makes this mistake and even the most wary publisher is occasionally led into it.

In the long run, the sounder policy is to base all estimates upon the probable number required, and to let the cost per copy control the published price regardless of other considerations.

This presupposes a definite and precise ratio between the cost per copy and the published price, and the strength of mind resolutely to pass by any publications where that ratio is unobtainable. Obvious as this method may sound, it is adopted by few, even in theory, and I know of only one publisher who systematically and consistently puts it into practice.

Preparing estimates. Clearly, whatever method be adopted, it is wise to ascertain the exact cost of production.

There are two methods of preparing estimates: the one which I believe is most usually adopted is for the calculations to be made in their entirety in the publisher’s office. The more satisfactory plan, if the publisher is on sufficiently intimate terms with his printers to warrant it, is to pass the manuscript on to the printers for ‘cast off.’ ‘Casting off’ technically means calculating how many pages a given quantity of matter that has been set up in type will make; but the term is now generally used in a wider sense as covering an estimate of the number of pages a manuscript will make, if set in such and such a style. This isa very laborious task, if it is to be accurately done, and a ‘cast off’ that is not accurate may be very misleading. If the work is done in a publisher’s office, it is seldom that more is attempted than to provide approximate figures, a process that is very simply accomplished by counting the number of words in a few typical pages and multiplying the average by the total number of pages in the manuscript, and then basing the calculations upon a previous publication of the same length, etc. It is a rough-and-ready method which may suffice in some cases, but it contains pitfalls for the unwary. A ‘cast off’ on the lines of another volume may be all very well, if the other volume is by the same author and on a similar subject, but might otherwise be very wide of the mark. One man (say a novelist) writes in monosyllables, whilst another (say a psychoanalyst) uses so many long words that he fills five pages to the novelist’s four, with a given number of words.