Discounted Till We Die

I’m just on the train back from a very interesting (if you are a publisher) Q&A session with James Daunt of Daunt Books and Waterstones (I really miss that apostrophe) fame. In it I learnt three things that got me thinking about the way that we, as publishers, approach publishing, and have come to the conclusion that we may be doing it Poorly.

What follows is a short summary of those three points, followed swiftly by my horribly utopian vision of a better way of doing things (perhaps). I’d really like to hear your thoughts on this, so please do give them to me through comments below, or via Twitter (@robbieguillory).

Hiatus

It seems we’ve been rather quiet of late. But never fear, we’ve been working hard at Freight Books HQ and even managing to fit in time to read some great books. I’m (not that) new to the Freight office but certainly new to this blog and will hopefully be getting involved with the ramblings here. Expect some new activity very soon!

Under the Covers

You’ll notice that there’ve been more book cover posts than reviews recently – I’m currently plodding my way through Lauren Beukes’s The Shining Girls (not the easiest read of my life) and trying to avoid reviewing books from last year. But anyway, I thought this new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory cover warranted a mini post since everyone seems to be talking/complaining about it.

I think a lot of the criticisms of this cover are just knee-jerk responses: ‘It’s not as good as Quentin Blake’, ‘What does it have to do with the story?’, ‘It’s pornographic!’, ‘It’s supposed to be a children’s book, this isn’t appropriate’. There’s obviously some basis to these critiques, but mostly they seem to be coming from old Roald Dahl fans – those familiar with the old Quentin Blake version. Some people just don’t like change. Certainly, it’s different to the covers illustrated by Quentin Blake, but is different always bad? It’s arguably a more mature cover, but, as many people have said already, the content of the book is very mature. Instead of trying to downplay the explicitness of the content with a younger cover, we need to be more aware of the ability for young readers to digest mature content. This can be seen across all kinds of media: film, music, books and games. But anyway, that’s a topic for another day…

As for it having ‘nothing to do with the story’, I disagree. The story explores the nature of children who have been spoiled and ruined by their parents – it’s about children, family and the relationship between the two. The cover represents that perfectly. Also, I don’t see how this could be inappropriate, and people who think it’s more closely linked to Lolita are out of their minds. Just because there’s a little blonde girl on the cover. Sigh.

All that being said, I don’t particularly like it. I prefer the Quentin Blake covers. But this all just comes down to modernisation, and targeting new readers and new markets. If you don’t like the cover, you don’t like the cover. I think this one just comes down to personal taste. Like it or lump it.

The Man Booker Longlist – why are we waiting for publication?

The longlist of thirteen titles has been announced, but we can only get our hands on eight of them? Is this a prize for the public, or just for publishers?

It doesn’t seem entirely fair that the public aren’t able to get fully involved with the Man Booker this year, and what’s more unfair is that certain publishers are choosing to purposefully not bring forward publication for their titles. This is despite the fact that HarperCollins imprint Fourth Estate is to bring forward its publication date for Joseph O’Neill’s The Dog to 31st July since it was longlisted for the prize. It just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me…

From a publisher’s point of view, surely being longlisted for the Man Booker is phenomenal for sales – most people will be desperate to get their hands on a copy so they can make their own mind up about who should be shortlisted, and who should eventually win. Isn’t that what book prizes are all about? Generate a bit of publicity, a bit of chatter and buzz about a book and an author, provoke discussion and debate and then ultimately crown a victor to the combined cries of celebration and commiseration? How does any of this work if people can’t read four of the books on the list? What happens if they’re shortlisted? It’s just ridiculous. It’s just squandering free publicity. How frustrating for the public, and undoubtedly for the authors too.

From a personal point of view, I often supplement my reading with these book prize longlisted titles, and it’s extremely irritating to have a book flaunted in my face and in the media when I can’t read it. A cynical part of my brain tells me that this is just an elaborate way for the big publishing companies to pat each other on the back about how well they’re doing. It’s a bit of competition between publishing houses, and seems a bit elitist and alienating to everyone else. Is the Booker just a prize for publishers, or for everyone? I really don’t know any more.

In an article on The Bookseller site, Simon Key from the Big Green Bookshop is quoted as saying:

It is just stupid that nearly half the books aren’t even out yet. The Man Booker Prize is trying to stand out from the Folio, why doesn’t it do that by being inclusive and selecting books which are already published so that the public can get involved? What’s the point in keeping it just for the publishing industry? How are booksellers able to make a song and dance among customers when we can’t offer them the books? They have changed the rules so that Americans can enter, why don’t they change the eligibility to ensure the books have to be published?

The word ‘inclusive’ jumps out at me. It should be inclusive, of smaller, independent publishers, as well as the public. The problem with a lot of these big book prizes, and I’m probably the zillionth person to harp on about this, is their exclusivity. As Simon says, the Booker seems as though it’s trying to fight against this criticism by including American titles, but that’s only a small fragment of the whole picture. All we’re asking for is the ability to read the books that we’re being told we should read, isn’t that what you want, Booker Prize? Isn’t that the whole point of you? Sigh.

Under the Covers (HP part 2)

So I wasn’t planning on writing a blog post today, but then I stumbled upon yesterday’s Guardian article about Bloomsbury’s new Harry Potter covers, designed by Jonny Duddle. It seems like only yesterday that they redesigned them – maybe the radical modernisation of acid green and fuscia pink covers didn’t do much for sales figures and they thought they should retrace their steps.

There are things I like and things I don’t like about this. On the one hand, I like the original style best. I like the reproduction of scenes from the book. I like how they bring the book to life with magic and colour, and I appreciate the fact that they stimulate the imagination of young readers – the original audience of the Harry Potter books. That is to say, I like it when it’s done well, and I’m not entirely sure that these covers fit the bill. Especially when paired along with the Scholastic US covers. I’ve already written at length on these covers, but here’s an example if you haven’t read it:

This isn’t the best example, but Google them and have a look. There’s something about them that couples imagination and magic with the more mature voice that Harry adopts as the story progresses. Really wonderful stuff!

I can’t help but think that the new Bloomsbury covers are a bit bleh (technical term). Harry looks like a child in these covers – even the later ones where he’s a bit older and wiser.

Look at his wee face! That isn’t the Harry that I’ve come to know and love, sorry Bloomsbury. Even though I didn’t particularly like the neon covers that were just recently published, I still admire the bravery of taking such a different approach, and I like that there’s something different out there for new, older readers. With these books, I feel like Bloomsbury are just returning to an old formula but some ingredients are missing or muddled.

One last thing I’ll say about the covers (maybe ever on this blog, as I think we’re getting a bit HP heavy…) is that I like how we haven’t just been punted books with film stills on the cover. At least, I haven’t seen any. If they exist, please let me know in the comments! I think it’s pretty great that the publishers are so innovative with the HP covers, still designing and creating and imagining. So let me just finish by saying that, although I don’t love the new Bloomsbury covers, I still appreciate the effort. Thanks Bloomsbury and Scholastic for being brilliant!

(I’m honestly not obsessed with Harry Potter, just appreciate a good bit of book cover art!)

 

Last week, Freight Books read…

Sorry we’ve been away for so long! It’s been an extremely busy July at Freight Books, and I’m afraid we were so preoccupied with creating some fabulous new reads that we forgot to keep on top of all the brilliant books that are already out there! Forgive us!

Head for the Edge, Keep Walking by Kate Tough (Cargo, 2014). I very much enjoyed this book. It’s the first book in a long time that I felt I could actually relate to, which is nice considering the main character is so charming and witty! It’s the kind of character that you hope to see a glimmer of yourself in, though it’s not always the case…

Jill’s story begins with the end of a long-term, serious relationship with a man who has, seemingly, chosen his career over her and moved abroad to pursue it. If you’ve only read the first ten pages, you can be forgiven for thinking that the character is a bit of a relationship martyr, and annoyingly obsessed with this guy. It would have been tedious if the author wasn’t able to explore Jill’s distress in such a poetic, beautiful, and witty way. It was genuinely really, really, funny! Despite the book beginning on such a downturn, the character’s personality shines through and you find yourself wondering how anyone could dump this girl! She’s brilliant! But then she starts unraveling the details of the break-up, and the classic ‘it’s all his fault’ mantra starts to creep in, and you find yourself doubting Jill’s logic, which actually just makes the book more interesting. She’s flawed, but so is everyone.

I don’t even take off my coat. I beeline for the walk-in cupboard in the living room. Moving a portable heater to one side, I can access a large cardboard box to reach inside. Both blind hands are required to lift out a smaller box placed there in July; when I swore I’d never do this.

Cross-legged on the rug, my coat-seams cut into my armpits as I hold him.

My lungs remember air.

I slip-stop through the glossy stack: him alone, me and him, headshots, full-length family groupings. Set against: landmarks and landscapes and sun-loungers and celebrations.

Today has been a subway train rumbling towards this point, now arrived – I have to hear his voice. Just for a moment. The sound of it. I need to. I must.

I guess the point I’m making is that Jill is a real woman. She isn’t perfect, but that isn’t a problem. And the author feasts on every aspect of Jill’s life, not just the relationship stuff (which reeks of anti-feminism in my book). The author delves into Jill’s relationships with her friends, her parents, her health, as well as her career and desire and actions to progress within a company – trying to achieve her goals and improve her life! It made me laugh every time I read something and thought ‘that thought has definitely crossed my mind before’.

The funny stuff lies mostly in her forage into online dating, where she meets a host of interesting characters (one of whom asks her to treat his penis like a gear stick – I’ll let you make up your own mind about what that could possibly mean).

I found this book to be a really enjoyable, easy read. Totally perfect for reading outside in the sun. The story is gripping, emotional, honest, funny and little gems of poetry glitter throughout. I was hooked. I want to hear more from Jill and her friends!

Last week, Freight Books read…

The Original of Laura, by Vladimir Nabokov (Penguin Modern Classics). This is my first blog post in a wee while. and I’m ashamed to say that it’s because I’ve been drawn into the world of young adult fiction. Namely the Divergent trilogy: Divergent, Insurgent and Allegiant. I thought that, after my Hunger Games post, folk might not be interested in reading another review on a teenage angst trilogy. If I’m wrong, by all means let me know and I will write that review! But anyway, today I will be rambling on a bit about The Original of Laura by Nabokov, his last, unfinished novel about the seductive Laura, or ‘Flora’ as is her real name. She is immortalised in fiction by one of her many lovers, and the knowledge of her infidelity drives her husband to self-destruction.

A short description of her appears at the beginning of the book, and it beautifully highlights the way that the reality of Laura intermingles with the fiction that has been invented:

She was an extravagantly slender girl. Her ribs showed. The conspicuous knobs of her hipbones framed a hollowed abdomen, so flat as to belie the notion of “belly.” Her exquisite bone structure immediately slipped into a novel – became in fact the secret structure of that novel, besides supporting a number of poems.

I don’t know if, had Nabokov had more time to finish the novel, he would have revealed more of this woman to us, or if the whole point is that she never gives herself wholly to any one person. She seems fragmented, illusive. Not entirely likeable, but that’s not the point.

The novel has been published, admittedly, against the author’s will, as he requested that the work be destroyed if he were to die before completion. His wife agreed to this, but never managed to fulfill the promise. Nabokov’s son, Dmitri, writes extensively in the introduction to the book on his decision to publish against his father’s will. He explains that it was entirely likely that his father did not believe that Vera, his wife, would be able to destroy the manuscript (as she had rescued an early draft of Lolita from the fire in the past) and that he knew that the book would eventually be published. I feel torn with regard to this. On one hand I think that the author should decide whether or not their work ever sees the light of day, but on the other hand I can’t imagine a world without Lolita, and it would have been burned if Vlad had had his way. It’s so tricky to know what the right thing is.

Having read The Original of Laura, I can see why Nabokov might have made such a request. His writing style is not one that lends itself to a posthumous publication. He seems to just write things as they come into his head, constantly adding notes to himself, and reproducing copy at different stages in the manuscript to work out where it should appear in the final piece. Solely taking this into consideration, I would argue that Dmitri had no right publishing the book at all, as it isn’t an accurate representation of Nabokov’s work and skill – the final piece pales in comparison to Pale Fire and Lolita.

However, there was another reason to publish the book. Dmitri has given an insight into his father’s life as a writer, and has also reproduced the index cards with Nabokov’s scrawled notes and writing. It’s fascinating to be able to closely inspect his writing process, to see the words scrubbed out and replaced with better alternatives, the underlined phrases that he deemed important for some reason or other. It adds a whole new layer to textual analysis. The book even has serrated pages, so you can remove the index cards and rearrange them as Nabokov probably did.

It’s definitely worth a read, not only for the romantic and delectable turns of phrase so unique to Nabokov, but also for the fascinating insight into the author’s thought process. Any Nabokov fan should have Nabokov’s last novel on their bookshelf.

Last week, Freight Books read…

After the Fire, a Still Small Voice, by Evie Wyld (Vintage). There are many covers to the book, but I think this is my favourite, especially for the way it ties in with my favourite book of 2013. This is Wyld’s first book, and it has made me inconceivably content because it proves that All The Birds, Singing was not a one-off, and Wyld will be writing many more excellent books in the years to come. ‘Prove it,’ you say, and so I shall.

‘At least he’s getting out of the house, chicken,’ his mother said to him as they watched his father lope down the street, away from them, his towelled bread held tightly to his body. He would go out until lunchtime and then come back, so that his mother could run her fingers through his hair, straighten his collar and sit him down for a sandwich or a piece of cake. After lunch he would go out again, mumbling something about looking for work, but the work was never found, and with Leon running the place they had no need of extra money anyway. When his father returned he’d be wobbly and thick-mouthed, looking at his tea as though it were dangerous, picking and sorting through the food rather than eating it. Then the routine became worn and thin in the middle so he returned later and later for lunch, glassy-eyed and drunk, and then not at all, only for supper, when he would be anxiously and darkly stared at by his wife, and he’d look at the floor, his eyes as wide as they could open, his breath hard in the back of his throat. Those nights he had to be herded up to bed by Leon’s mother and she said quietly, ‘hp, hup,’ as they climbed the stairs. Leon watched out of the corner of his eye as his mother touched his father’s face, only to have him flinch away; then her sad look made him pat her hand, but quickly like she would burn him.

This is a long extract, but I wanted to reproduce it in full because it exemplifies one of the crowning features of this novel, and that is the treatment of PTSD in the novel. The novel covers the Korean War and the Vietnam war, which many Australians were dragged into through aggressive recruitment and conscription. We are shown how a community attempts to reabsorb those damaged by the conflict, to begin to heal, only to be confronted with yet another war, and yet another generation of men coming back without a sense of place. This part of the novel is concentrated on Leon, the son of Jewish refugees, whose father is a wonderfully skilled baker. Descriptions of making sugarwork into wedding figurines are worth savouring.

The second story thread running through the novel is that of Frank, a man broken by childhood trauma, who can find solace (or something close to it) in solitude. He escapes  to his dead grandparent’s house, surrounded by sugarcane and scrub, and attempts, slowly, to rebuild his life. Naturally, this proves difficult. I really don’t want to give away anything, because this novel deserves to be read fresh, as a debut from an hitherto unknown author.

So all I will say is this: both strains of this story are utterly necessary and utterly brilliant.

Ciao!

So, you haven’t heard from me (Robbie) in a while, because I’ve been on holiday, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t seeking out interesting gobbets of information to feed you with, one of which to follow. I’ve also got reviews up my sleeve for a whole plethora of books, including Evie Wyld’s debut novel, Judith Schalansky’s The Giraffe’s Neck, and the 1180 page epic tome by Michael Schmidt, The Novel, A Biography (I admit, I haven’t read it all yet, but I will make that clear) and many others that I can’t bring to mind at this moment. For now, though, let me tell you about an Italian publisher who is doing something rather special.

There are a lot of sea urchins in Italy (I think this is a different species, however)

Whilst I was on my version of the Italian Grand Tour (going to as few places as possible, and only if they are very quiet) I came across a bookshop, and being of a mothlike bookish persuasion I was drawn inescapably in, even though I struggle to find enough Italian to ask for a glass of white wine. Inside I saw a lot of books, some of which I liked the look of and some that I didn’t, but one particular imprint caught my eye for three reasons: they were brightly-coloured enough for my sun befuddled eyes to be able to see them clearly, they were by ‘canonical’ authors I could recognise easily, and they were cheap. Seriously cheap, and for reasons I will go into in the following paragraph-but-one I will tell you why this is praiseworthy, and why it should be held up as an example to the publishers of so-called classic literature in this country. But before I do that I should give you a picture of one of these books, because so far all I’ve given you is a sea urchin, and tell you a bit about the publisher (I only know a bit).

Newton Compton Editori may not seem like the most Italian of names (without the helpful Editori, anyway) but it is Italian through and through, having been started by a Vittorio Avanzini in Rome in the 60s. NC is primarily interested in publishing classic fiction, but have recently moved into contemporary translations, which we thoroughly approve of. They produce two forms of Classic – their paperback, which sells at 1.90€ (about £1.50) and a hardback (3.90€ // £3.10). They have only just put up the prices on their paperbacks, so if you fly out quick you can still swipe copies for only 99 cents (like I did).

The reason I feel like this is noteworthy is that these books are not poorly made, are not going to discolour in a week (I’m looking at you, £2 Penguin Popular Classics). I tested my paperback copy of Bulgakov’s Cuore di Cane in Italy by leaving it in the baking sun whilst taking my siesta, holding it in my armpit whilst walking along the sea wall of the port, and it also spent quite some time lightly folded over in the bottom of my bag on the flight home, where it came out looking pretty healthy. What I am alluding to here is that Classic can be cheap (more on this in a moment) and well made, because you will sell hunners of them so they can be printed in bulk, which reduces the cost of production massively. Right, cost. I have talked about this in passing before, but this gives me the opportunity to have a good rant. For many of the cannonical classics there is no living author, and often no rights either. Thus, if I wanted to, I could typeset, print, bind and sell a copy of Great Expectations tomorrow and wouldn’t have to pay anyone (If I did all the production). So how is it that companies (Cambridge Modern Classics and Penguin Classics being the big players here) can rationalise a £9.99 price tag (going all the way up to around £17 in some cases) for a book where there is no advance or royalty needing covered?

Now of course, occasionally you will change the cover, or order a new translation, or even deign to actually pay an academic to write a forward, but largely these texts haven’t changes for decades. Just imagine the money being taken, and (in my opinion) taken unfairly.

I would like to hear any defense of the extortionate prices involved for out of copyright text, so if you have one please let me hear it. I have heard it said that a cheap classic will put people off buying modern fiction, but it just doesn’t wash with me, because what is on offer is a completely different experience.

Last week, Freight Books read…

The Hunger Games, Catching Fire and Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (Scholastic).I’m back from my holiday! I can tell you all missed me terribly (unless you didn’t notice, in which case fair play, but also shame on you). I’ve been in Turkey for a little while doing some exciting water sports, but also, most importantly (and relevantly), I’ve been reading.

When I go on holiday, I don’t like to read anything too challenging, or really in any way ‘literary’ (forgive me for using this term, but it hopefully illustrates my meaning). I like to be carried along by an exciting plot, not assessing the author’s use of language or rhythm (although, admittedly, it’s difficult to switch this off when reading anything). Now, I’m going to stray as far away from the term ‘trashy’ reading as possible, but again, you all know what I mean by this. Easy reading. Holiday reading. Some of us veer towards romance, some mainstream fiction (i’m just wildly throwing around terms now, apologies). I lean towards teenage fiction, and this is why I decided to take all three Hunger Games books with me – The Hunger Games, Catching Fire and Mockingjay.

First, I’d like to say that even though I read these on holiday, I in no way mean to suggest that these books are ‘trashy’. I think they’re brilliant. Easier to read because they’re targeting young adults/teenagers, but not lacking in depth. The characters experience real traumas – like, bad things happen to these people. It’s hard going in places, and the dystopian subject matter isn’t dealt with in a subtle way. There is true oppression at work, and society’s fight for political change has real resonance with today’s world. I found myself completely shocked in places, not expecting the violence to be so graphic in what is, essentially, teenage fiction (if you disagree, please let me know, this is just my opinion).

I know The Hunger Games books have been done to death in the media, particularly with the new films, but I don’t really care. I spent nearly two weeks reading these books so I’m going to let people know what I think about them. Verdict: incredibly awesome, though simple language and description in places reminds you that you should probably be reading something else. Why are some of the best books for teenagers? It hardly seems fair…Next stop: the Divergent books! (though I don’t have the excuse of being on holiday for reading these ones… hmmm, when’s the next bank holiday?…)