AUTHOR AND PUBLISHER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3870, 15 May 1928, Page 74

AUTHOR AND PUBLISHER.

We have written before in these pages on the relations of the publisher with the public and the bookseller. The relations of author and publisher have been dealt with not at all. It is delicate ground hedged round with all sorts of difficulties as each contact of author and publisher is different. It is often a subtle and intimate relation, and is sometimes complicated by the intervention of a third party when the author has an agent who negotiates for him. Here, then, are three parties to the transaction whose points of view are different if only the short view is taken, hut whose interests are closely identified if the long view is aerated. They should

have in mind one object, that being a successful publication. If the book is successful, each benefits, the agent no less than the author, as usually the agent’s share is a tenth part of the author’s income.

To-day if a book is published and success attends its publication there are a number of by-products and additional revenues which accrue to the author. Very seldom does the publisher partici--pate in these profits, as most publishing agreements restrict the publisher’s interest to the right of publication, in book form. Yet these additional rights may be said not to exist until publication in book form has been undertaken. They are the direct result of publication, and in equity some share in them should belong to the publisher if he has underwritten the entire risk of production and publication. Too often is the publisher’s contribution forgotten when the book is on the high road of success. Often all causes of success are attributed to the book, aryl to the publisher all reasons for failure.

. le general run of publishers are divisible roughly into two classes, the experimental and the commercial. The first are characterised by their appreciation of promise and their willingness to give a new author his chance of publication. The commercial publisher will look at nothing new, and apparently is incapable of recognising or appreciating quality if the author’s name is unknown to him. “ How can I tell vou if it is good unless I know the 'name of the author,” is not too cynical a summingup of their attitude. An author’s success is usually hardly come by, and his first four or five books may be well received and very favourably reviewed, but the critic’s appreciation is in ad- ' ance of the event. Lasting reputation comes tardily and sales have a.disconcerting habit of lagging behind and failing to measure up to expectation. The public at large refuse to be stampeded into buying unless the author is “popular ” and unliterary. The publisher who has locked up much money in the author’s early work is usually willing to go on and to wait for success which he believes will eventually come. It is about this stage that the commercial mass production publisher wakes up. He never wastes time or money in sifting new MS. What is offered to him “out of the blue” is returned with thanks. He has no money locked up in new authors who have failed to arrive and justify their early promise. He therefore has his capital free, and he wants to invest it in a rising market. An author has no interest for him unless he is already “ quoted ” on the literary stock exchange. Once however, an author has secured some success or recognition, this type of publisher begins his operations, and will move heaven and earth to persuade the author to enlist under his banner. Starting from “ scratch ” this publisher is more favourably placed than his fellow who has perhaps lost money on the same author’s earlier books, and who is not averse to experimenting with ’prentice work. His policy is sound from a business point of view, but if all publishers were like-minded the beginner would never get a start at all. Good for business, yes, but bad for literature certainly.

The commercial publisher’s policy is rendered easy by the existence of the literary agent. An agent does not, as a rule, find the beginner profitable. The rising author is much more to his taste. Such new work as drifts into his office may be offered by him to two or three publishers, and if it finds a home, well and good. If it does not stick somewhere fairly quickly it is packed up and sent back. It follows then that the beginner often has to dig around and place his work for himself.

If the author should then get attention from the reviewers and from the public he will be beset by both agents and publishers seeking the chance of handling his future work. His position is then difficult. Attractive offers and flattering attentions are showered on him. His publisher’s report of sales are disconcertingly small and his proposals for the next book are depressingly moderate. So far his book has netted him only pounds, but here is X the agent, asserting that he will get him hundreds; has, indeed, an offer from a publisher already! He is on the horns of a dilemma: a desire to be loyal to his publisher on the one hand and the very attractive financial inducement on the other. His publisher, if the ease is put before him, is a little bitter. He sees his rival seeking to reap where he has sown; his account with the author is considerably on the wrong side; he has probably paid in advances to the author more than the book has earned in royalties—the favourable notices have had such nice quotable lines, and he has splashed a bit in advertising—while sales to justify his outlay have not and probably will not materialise. His travellers report that apart from the larger libraries and one or two bookrsllers who have bought a few copies the book trade is indifferent to the book’s

existence. Still, he hopes for a steady improvement in his author’s sales with future books which will eventually repay him for his investment and labour. But now in order to keep the author he must add heavily to his already very considerable commitment by paying an advance on account of royalties which the new book is never likely to justify, or to sec the author leave him altogether. „ And the author? The reviews are laudatory, his friends admiring. His relatives and friends knowing nothing of literary values in terms of cash, believe him to be famous and immediately prosperous. It it to wondered at that the piuthor grows impatient and dissatisfied? It must be that B the publisher, good fellow and friend though he may be, is not a good business man: doesn’t advertise enough; doesn’t know how to sell books. After all, X are a big firm with a high-powered selling machine, and look what they offer! These arguments are, of course, endorsed by the agent, who has everything to gain and nothing to lose by the author- switching to the new publisher. And the sequel? Well, if the author is just a best-seller who comes off quickly he will be turned by the commercial publisher into a “ wofsmith ” (“ wof,” meaning work of fiction). If he is an artist he will find himself in the wrong list, and after his contract is fulfilled he or the agent must find him a new home. Usually he feels diffident about returning to the publisher who gave him his start because that publisher was sore at his leaving in the first place, and has now lost interest in him for good and all. Thus the author’s books get scattered among many firms, none of which are interested in his work as a whole. The most successful authors find their public slowly, and they do best financially who are prepared to wait. Advances on account of royalties are pleasant, but they have to be wiped off some time. They are borrowed money which the author’s books will repay when he is established. Many promising authors have failed to measure up to their early promise and not seldom the reason can be traced to their impatience. They have anticipated and underwritten their success, and in so doing have killed and cooked their own goose. The publisher, unsympathetic though he may sometimes appear to be, does realise that this waiting game is infinitely discouraging to the author. But the author should realise that the publisher too has his disappointments. He is constantly backing his opinion of a book’s merit by good hard cash, and it happens not infrequently that not only does he make no profit, but has to face a loss.—Now and Then.