DISCLAIMER – I do not work in the publishing industry. I am writing this piece out of curiousity and to stimulate conversation around these issues, and I am happy to be told where I am getting things wrong. I am certainly not trying to cause offence or insult in any way.
I think there’s a massive perception gap between different parts of the publishing industry at present. It’s not just around diversity, although that’s critically important. I think much of it may be that the industry is moving so fast that everyone is struggling to adapt to the changes going on….
So below, I imagine the possible perspectives of two people in the industry to highlight some of what I think might be going on.
THE PUBLISHING SALES MANAGER
You started in the industry in the year 1980 as a 15-year old. You loved books, and you thought that being part of the process that brought them to life was both amazing and glamorous (even if you actually discovered that the reality of the industry was less so). You started off fairly low-paid, but it was a fairly social industry, and over time, you developed strong relationships with people at every level of the industry – bookbinders, agents, authors, booksellers, editors. And it was busy, but also fun – lots of long lunches where you got to learn how things really worked, and where the deals were actually agreed to.
By 1995, you’d been headhunted and promoted in a larger firm, and some of the people you’d started with were on a similar trajectory. This was all fine. You were good at what you did, and proud of it. People respected you.
And then things started to change. Amazon went from being a curiousity to a behemoth. The GST was introduced in 2001, complicating the entire supply chain and its cost base. Social media arrived and suddenly anyone could review a book – and worse, any errors your firm made could be publicised at the speed of light. Mobile phones became electronic balls and chains; work no longer finished at 5pm.
You had to go back to study, because the generation under you all had degrees, and what’s worse, they better understood all of the changes occurring. Then the Global Financial Crisis hit. Many of your colleagues lost their jobs, and you commiserated with those who were left. Why did it suddenly feel as though none of your prior experience counted anymore? Much of the joy you previously had in the role started to fade, but as a 45-year-old, where else could you work? Most of the industries you’d look to move into (education, journalism, etc) were downsizing too.
Now, in 2020, you are 55. There’s lots of talk about diversity, and you think it’s a good idea. But you’re busy just trying to keep your job, and those of your colleagues. Head office in London or New York don’t want excuses, they want results.
At some stage, you lost the zeitgeist. Your historical market was generally considered to be a white, middle-class person in their 50’s – just like you! And they have continued to buy books, so what’s the problem? You don’t have time to go chasing new customers. Besides, your firm has been around for decades, and you still get heaps of manuscripts sent in by aspiring writers. You’ll publish the best ones, and those are the ones that will sell. That’s just how it works, isn’t it? Why would you bother changing who you marketed to, or the channels you did it through, if it’s got you this far?
How do you talk to younger people anyhow? They’re always wearing headphones, when they’re not looking at their mobile phones. They haven’t read many of the classics. And what they DO read is horrible, mass-market pap, and they don’t care where it comes from. Many of them don’t read the newspaper, and they’ve never heard of your friend’s literary journal.
And as employees – what a pain in the backside they are! They demand everything under the sun, and openly accuse you of not getting it. They think they deserve a pay rise every year, and they jump ship to find it. They want you to pay for them to go to the UK office so that they can have a working holiday. They must be joking – not only is the UK office in worse shape after a decade of austerity – but these staff are not actually all that productive as yet. You’re not going to embarrass yourself by offloading these wet-behind-the-ears kids onto colleagues you respect until they have earned their stripes. The way you had to….
You don’t know what to do anymore. Change keeps coming faster every year, and it’s all you can do to just deal with the spot fires as they arise.
THE ASPIRING AUTHOR
You were born in 1990, grew up in humble circumstances, and you were an outsider at school. Your parents don’t read much, but you found salvation in the school library. Here was a world where you could escape to, and follow your favourite characters becoming whatever they wanted to. And you had two adults in your life who made a massive difference when things got hard.
The first one was a teacher librarian. She got to know you, and pointed you towards progressively harder books. She’d answer your questions , and when you were 10 or 11, she asked you questions in return that really got you thinking. Like “Why do you think the author wrote about this topic?” or “What do you see in your head when you read that paragraph?”
The second one was a local bookseller. He knew what you liked, and put books aside that he thought you’d enjoy. On quiet days, he’d tell you about great books in different genres, introducing you to worlds well beyond your own.
That was great, until you got to high school. Suddenly, life was a lot busier, and you had less time for reading. At some stage during this six years, budget cuts meant that primary school teacher-librarian lost her job, and you didn’t learn about it until later. Likewise, by 2005, your favourite bookseller had to close up shop; he couldn’t compete with Amazon. And the books they talked about at high school didn’t connect with you. What did stories set in colonial Australia or Regency England have to do with you and your life?
The Internet bought both blessing and curse. You could chat with your friends at all hours of the day and night, but others from your class bullied you online until your parents got wind of it. You could see so much cool stuff from all over the world. Japanese manga and anime, movies from the Korean Wave, and of course Harry Potter, the Da Vinci Code and the Twilight series.
So you studied English and thought hard about what you wanted to do for a career. You loved books, and you’d been keeping a diary for a while. Your high school teachers said that your writing showed promise, so you studied a writing-related course at University. You ached to write, to talk about what showed up in your dreams on a regular basis.
Then, in your first year of University, the Global Financial Crisis hit. You lost your casual job at a bookseller, and all of a sudden, you had plenty of time to write. You got good marks, and then, in 2012, you graduated. But every time you went for a job, there were other candidates who got the internships etc ahead of you…and there were precious few of them to compete for in the first place.
So you worked as something else for a while, but your passion never dimmed. Like any other writer, you could plaster your bedroom walls with your rejection letters. You volunteered at writer’s festivals, and helped other friends going through the same thing. You met and talked to people from across the industry, who were invariably polite, but the answer was always the same. “I’m sorry, it’s just not what we’re looking for”. And it’s never said, but by extension, neither are you. After all, actions speak louder than words.
By 2018, as you see your friends in more established careers get pay rises, you still get paid not much more than you did straight out of Uni. They see you as a deluded, Peter Pan-like figure, who can’t see the wood for the trees. Never mind that most of them haven’t read much of anything since high school. They also laugh at the fact you tried to self-publish in 2016, and have sold a grand copy of 6 books, 5 of them to your family members?
You can find bits and pieces of work here and there, but nothing long-term, nothing permanent. You won’t work for nothing, and you’re fed up with working 12-hour days for ‘the love of it”. You’re even more fed up with your manager saying that “you have to pay your dues, just like everyone else did”. So you have no problem with sharing your thoughts on what you think about that….
And your passion turns to anger.
- Why did my classmate, who happened to live in the right suburb, and have a family member already in publishing, get all the breaks?
- Why don’t they publish something that’s not set in London, New York, or Sydney?
- Why are the lead characters always white, and any other characters just bit players?
- Why is it always the same (white) faces who are always hosting the conferences, and getting the prizes and commissions?
What is wrong with the publishing industry? Can’t these old farts get with the times? All they have to do is to walk down the street in most of Australia to see how multicultural it is. Don’t they want to sell books to all these different people?
I’d love to hear your thoughts or comments below. Thank you.
