Hey, There's A Dead Guy in the Living Room

Down the Rabbit Hole of Trivia

BENJAMIN LEROY

Today I read an article/factoid/holysh#tidbit about the family tree of John Tyler, the tenth President of the United States of America. It turns out that the guy, born in 1790, who took office in 1840, has two LIVING grandchildren. I didn’t say great great grandchildren or great grandchildren. The two men in question, Lyon Gardiner Tyler Jr. and Harrison Ruffin Tyler, are his plain old fashioned grandchildren.

Here are some things about this that blow my mind.

John Tyler was alive when George Washington was President. Between the three generations of the Tyler men in question (including John Tyler Jr., the father of Lyon and Harrison), they have been around for ALL 44 Presidents. By comparison, three generations of my family including me, have been around for a paltry 15.

I’ll admit that I didn’t know much about the Presidency of Tyler before doing some internet research earlier today. Tyler ended up in office after President William Henry Harrison died a month into his term, having succumbed to complications of pneumonia.

Tyler was on the USS Princeton when the tragedy occurred. What tragedy? Yeah, I didn’t know about it either, but it’s fascinating.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

All of these facts and historical footnotes are fertile ground for the imagination. And though they captured my attention today, something else will grab it tomorrow.

I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, but I think it’s important to be curious. As writers, we never know what obscure historical event(s) can be discussed or re-imagined or re-plotted to serve our stories. I can’t get enough of these things, and how often, much later down the road, they give context to something I wouldn’t have otherwise understood.

Do you have any favorite historical footnotes? Obscure, but real characters who fascinate you and that you hope to work into your writing?

 

What's in a name?

Lynne Patrick

I was going to post about this last week when the furore was still raging, but the death of one of my favourite authors pushed it to the back of my mind. Which, actually, is where it belongs. But it does serve to illustrate at least one valid point, so I think I’ll go with it anyway.

(Cries of, what’s she blethering about? and get to the point, woman!)

OK. If you live in the UK, you won’t have missed it. If you live in the US, you probably did.

Waterstone’s. Or more recently, Waterstones.

For the benefit of blog-followers across the water, Waterstones is as close as the UK comes to Barnes and Noble. Not as big, and these days a tad less like a supermarket and more like an old-fashioned bookshop, but nonetheless a large national chain of shops with a branch in just about every town.

It recently changed hands, and for the third time in less than six years is undergoing what the marketing guys call a rebranding.

And boy, have they caused a commotion. And all because of an apostrophe.

Don’t get me wrong. I can and do wax eloquent on the subject of misplaced apostrophes. The correct use of it’s and its is right at the top of my list of issues to address when I’m line-editing. And if there’s one thing guaranteed to make my teeth grind of their own accord, it’s the all-too-ubiquitous greengrocer’s apostrophe (APPLE’S 50p A POUND, POTATO’S 12p. You probably call it something else in the US – the Dan Quayle syndrome, perhaps) which seems to drop like litter into brochures, website text and all manner of public communication. There’s even a shop a few miles from us which welcomes customers with a board that reads WE ARE O’PEN. (Yes, really.)

But Waterstone’s, or Waterstones. OK, so they’ve decided to remove the apostrophe from the name, partly in a bid to make it easier to search for on the www, and partly, I’m guessing, just because they wanted to change something now they’re under new management, and the brand is so well established that changing anything major wasn’t an option. But honestly, what’s the problem here? Why is it such a huge issue for punctuation purists, including the National Society of the Prevention of Abuse of the Apostrophe, or whatever politically correct moniker they give themselves?

It’s a name, and the last I heard, the law said you could name yourself, or your child, or your business, whatever you like. I was reminded of a guy I knew many years ago, who used to get on his high horse about someone who worked for him whose name was Derrick. A derrick, he’d say, was a kind of crane; the ‘correct’ spelling of the man’s name was Derek.

I forbore to point out that the crane derrick was actually named for its inventor, who was called, yes, you guessed – Derrick. But I did (gently; he was bigger than me) suggest that the poor guy was entitled to call himself whatever he liked.

And so are Waterstones. Removing that apostrophe isn’t setting a bad example to customers whose understanding of the apostrophe is a tad hazy. Nor is it an illustration of falling standards in the correct use of grammar and punctuation.

It’s an exercising of a democratic right to spell your name exactly as you choose. Or a big fuss about nothing at all from some people who need to get a life.

State of the Union

Josh Getzler

I just spent the last hour and a half watching the State of the Union address (and pregame, and DVRed the postgame show), and I have to say, I simply love the pomp of the event. We are an amazing political experiment in the country, and while the system is broken in so many ways (regardless of what side of the aisle you sit), this is one of those nights that transfixes me amidst the political mishegas of congressional gridlock and an election year.

This time, for the first time, we watched with the kids, two of whom have the strep I generously shared with them last week. As is the case with all kids, they were very impressed with the entrance and the introduction and the first, oh, ten or so words of the speech, then wanted to know if they could switch to Victorious. But then I told them I used to work there, and they perked up (albeit briefly).

"You worked in the United Nations?"

"Congress, Sweetie, this is the Capitol Building."

"My class visited the UN last year." Then she turned back to J-14.

There was a notable, if subtle, change in the look of the House chamber this year: No teenagers kneeling near the podium in polyester ties and grey slacks (or skirts). That's because a few months ago, the congressional page program, expensive and long since redundent from the use of cell phones and email, had been abolished. And it was one of those understandable shames.

I worked as a page in the House during the summer of 1985, before my senior year of high school. I lived in a dorm in one of the House Office Buildings with 17 year-olds from all over the country, and spent my days running from the House floor to assorted office buildings, carrying messages and (much of the time) boxes containing folded American flags to be raised on top of the Capitol. (Actually--spoiler alert!--there is a little flagpole on the side of the Capitol roof where a fellow spends his entire day raising and lowering flags in order to send them back to assorted districts with certificates that the flag few "Over the Capitol." And you know what? I think that's just fine.)

I spent those eight weeks meeting and becoming friends with kids from all over the country, from my West Virginia-bred roommate who'd never met a Jew before to the page from Utah who was the first Mormon I'd met. The entire gamut of political views was represented, and we spent huge numbers of hours geeking out over whose office was nicest, which Members were most respected (Jack Kemp in the House, Ted Kennedy in the Senate, judging by the number of people who showed up when they spoke, as opposed to the nearly empty chambers most of the rest of the time). It was a program that was only incidentally valuable in terms of actually running the Capitol efficiently (it WAS 17 year-olds!), but there was something else great about it: It was an incubator for future public servants, a first step for the politically interested (or just well-connected...). It was an unforgettable summer.

I've stayed in touch with several of my fellow pages over the ensuing 26 years (Jeez!), and when the announcement came that the program was going to be disbanded, the budget saved, we posted for a while on Facebook and were wistful. Because while, of course it was a relic of a bygone era, it's sure a pity to see it go.  

 

 

Just Skip the Legalese

Jeff Cohen

I'm working on something now that I'm not going to tell you about, but let's say that one of the things it deals with--and I have no idea if you'll ever get the chance to read it--is the relationship between entertainers and those who appreciate the entertainment.

I have written very few fan letters in my life. To Mickey Mantle, when I was six, or maybe seven. To Paul Simon, around 1980. Not sure if there's ever been another. (Mr. Simon was nice enough to have his assistant answer; Mr. Mantle, not so much). So I sort of understand the impulse, but haven't really felt it in a very long time.

But it leads to the question when a fan gets in touch with an author, for example. What does the entertainer owe to the people who read, watch, or listen to his/her work?

There are many schools of thought. A book I'm reading now describes the procedure that went into answering Groucho Marx's fan mail in the 1970s. Groucho responded to all the mail he got, through an assistant, but with a handwritten autograph each time. I could have been one of those fans. I wasn't, but I could have been, and would have appreciated his philosophy.

On the other hand, celebrities will often complain--some less fervently than others--about being bothered while eating dinner in a restaurant, or while in the restroom. I can see their point, as well.

So I think that, with my fan base now boasting well more than six people, I'd like to detail precisely the responsibilities I think author and reader have in this odd relationship.

Author/Reader Contract

Author: Jeffrey Cohen/E.J. Copperman

Reader: Your Name Here

 

Author promises:

1. When you read my work, you will always get my best effort. Maybe you'll think one book or another is better or worse than the rest, and maybe you'll be right, but it won't be because I wasn't trying. That was the best book I could write at that moment.

2. When you get in touch with me, I will treat you with respect. I might be sarcastic, but to a certain extent, I think that's expected of me these days. I'm from New Jersey. Suffice it to say, I appreciate every reader.

3. If you think I won't be taking your email address to send you future news on my work, you're just being naive. I will. If you prefer I don't, say so and I will remove your name from any email list. I also won't send a newsletter very often.

4. I will not give you something you don't expect. I'm not saying all my work will be the same, but when I vary from what you're used to, I'll make sure it's clear I'm doing so. I'm not trying to trick anybody.

5. If we meet at a convention or a signing, I will be thrilled to see you and hear that you've read my work. I do not promise to remember your name. This is because I'm terrible at remembering names. It is absolutely not personal.

6. I will not present a murderer who appears for the first time in the last chapter. For one thing, it would piss me off if someone did that in a book I was reading. For another, my editor wouldn't dream of letting me.

7. I will endeavor to give you fully realized characters, interesting plots, sharp dialogue and even catchy titles. The key word here is "endeavor". If your opinion is that I didn't succeed, see promise #1, above.

Author requests of reader:

1. Please read the books. 

2. Don't suggest what should be in the next book. For one thing, by the time you read this book, the next one's probably written, so that can't happen. And besides, this is my job. I won't tell you how to do yours, and I don't want to steal your ideas anyway. Write them in your book.

3. If you see me at a convention, please come over and say hello. Just not in the restroom.

4. If I'm going to be signing at a bookstore/library/convention/street corner near you, please try to come by. It gets lonely when you don't. And it doesn't help me make friends with the booksellers.

5. Buy the book. Don't ask me for a free copy because "you must have a lot of them." I love libraries, and use them myself for expensive hardcovers, but my stuff is published as paperback originals. I realize money is tight, but the thing is $7.99, usually discounted, and I have two kids in college. At the same time. 

6. If I'm signing your book and you want me to write something in particular as an inscription, please speak up. I honestly don't know by looking at you that you'd like it to say, "Yours in Wicca, E.J. Copperman."

7. Feel free to email me, but let's make it about the book, okay? I don't have any recipes to share. And if you really hated the book, well, you can still email, but seriously, why would you want to? Do you think I'm going to take your argument to heart and quit the writing business?

8. Please don't blame me for a cover you didn't like, or typos in the book. The cover: I don't get to decide (see previous tirades on the subject of a black cat). I happen to think the cover of OLD HAUNTS (left) is terrific, but I sure as anything didn't design it; look inside to find out who did. Typos: Yes, I look over the proofreading after the copy editor gets to see it, but you know what? We're human. We miss stuff. We're not trying to get it wrong, and we really do know the English language. It was a mistake.

9. Don't ask me to write faster. I write pretty fast. They don't publish that fast. It's out of my hands. 

10. Please, go out (or stay in) and buy OLD HAUNTS in 15 days. I prefer you buy it at an independent bookstore, but any purchase is, believe me, greatly appreciated.

Signed on this date: Jeffrey Cohen

Reader: 

Okay, please sign that and get it back to me ASAP, okay? If there's language you don't care for (that is, if you think authors owe you more), please comment below with your revisions. I'll have my people call your people.

P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in 27 days.

Some more random thoughts about television and books

Dale Spindel

    I just finished watching season 2 of Justified, the FX television series based on Elmore Leonard's short story, "Fire in the Hole,"  before sitting down to write this and I've suddenly come to realize what has probably been obvious to almost everybody else - that there is a definite affinity between literary and television series.   First and foremost is that each is character driven; to be successful, there must be a strongly compelling central character who is surrounded by supporting characters whose quirks and eccentricities provide additional strokes of color and interest to the story.  For the series to be successful, there must also be a specific setting, be it geographic, occupational or a combination of the two.   Think Minneapolis and the newsroom for Mary Richards, Sherlock Holmes and Baker Street,   and Miami and vice for well, you know.  ( By the way, for those of you who, like me, had only a lukewarm response to season 1 of Justified, all I can say is that season 2 was exponentially better and I can't wait to start watching season 3 which just premiered this week.)

    Now that I have gotten this all figured out, I'm mystified that Janet Evanovich chose to opt for a feature film  rather than go the premium cable  series route for her Stephanie Plum books.  A good cable series can run for six or seven years but movie sequels are rarely successful after parts 2 or 3 and very often take significant nosedives in quality after that  - Rocky 5, anyone?

    Which leads me to the subject of the Jersey Shore (no, it's not what you think this time), a certain beach side guest house, and a couple of ghosts.   Yes, I decided to read Night of the Living Deed, the first  in a  series of three "Haunted Guesthouse Mysteries" written by E.J. Copperman, a writer who is not totally unfamiliar with the goings on at Dead Guy.   If I am not mistaken, by naming one the main character Alison Kerby, E.J.'s intent was to pay homage to  Topper, a series of three classic movies spanning the years 1937-1941 and followed, not coincidently, by a television series which originally ran from 1953-1957 but which had an extended life in reruns for several years after that.   It was during Topper's  non prime time rerun years that I became acquainted with the show; I had forgotten how much I had enjoyed it as a kid, even though there were so many aspects of the show that I was  really too young to understand.

    But back to Night of the Living Deed.  Alison Kerby, the proprietor of the soon to open guesthouse in the fictional NJ shore town of Harbor Haven certainly qualifies as a sympathetic character around which to base a series.  In the aftermath of her divorce from her ex-husband (usually referred to only as "The Swine"), Alison is counting on the operation of the guest house to bring financial stability - if not security -  for herself and her nine year old daughter Melissa.   Other characters include a couple of  Alison's friends, an attractively single elementary school history teacher, a couple of obnoxious realtors and Paul and Maxie (short for Maxine), a couple of ghosts who inhabit the guest house and who enlist Alison's help in trying to find out who killed them and why.  Although I have not yet read the next two books in the Haunted Guesthouse series, I can see that the door has  perhaps been left open for the intriguing possibility of a human/ghost romantic attraction which has the potential to be great fun.

        As a Jersey native, I do have some quibbles with E. J. regarding the affordability  of even a rundown piece of beachfront property for a person in Alison's circumstances; I also found an act of extreme altruisim that comes late in the story  to be almost reckless given the circumstances of the donor.   Other than that, Night of the Living Deed proves that it is possible for an author to provide a fun reading experience without having to rely on either snark or double entendres of the "wink wink" variety. 

        Also, kudos to E.J. for this example of what I refer to as "cross writing" - that is writing from the perspecitve of the gender of which the author is not a member.

        Finally, it occurs to me that Haunted Guesthouse would be a great foundation on which to base a television series - are you listening HBO?

 

The Hard Sell

Marilyn Thiele

An urgent need for new eyeglasses (urgent because I have put off the task for as long as safely or comfortably possible) brought to mind the many styles of retail selling we are all faced with each day. My reluctance to shop for eyewear has nothing to do with the actual eye exam; I like my eye doctor and the exam is easy and pleasant. But choosing the new glasses is torture. Every time I enter the store attached to the doctor’s office I am pounced upon by a cheery young woman whose sole job seems to be to keep me from browsing. She takes one look and begins thrusting “suggestions” toward my face. Over the years, the individual has been different but the selling style is the same. This time, a few weeks before I even had a new prescription, I tried stopping at the store just to browse. I hoped that the fact that I would not actually be buying that day would allow me to look on my own at what was available. By the time I left, three possible frames were on hold for me, none of which I had chosen. I acquiesced just to be able to leave.

I realize that I can go elsewhere; but experiences of friends and family indicate that this is a universal selling style in the eyeglass world. Are they afraid that if they do not hover over me, I will run off with a frame filled with clear glass? I practically need to put my nose on the mirror to see how frames look on me, so I am not shopping for glasses to make a style statement; without the correct lenses, they are useless to me. The constant, aggressive attention generates a desire to leave, not buy.

Then there are the stores (and yes, even small independent ones) where the customer feels like she is intruding; no greeting, no eye contact, annoyance when asked a question. This treatment doesn’t generate a desire to buy or return either.

My own shopping experiences influence my selling style, in what I hope is a balance between the two extremes. I don’t want a customer requesting that I hold a book, or even buying one, just to escape the pressure. Nor do I want them to feel that no one cared that they were there. I want them to feel appreciated but not smothered, and that the environment is a comfortable one to return to.

After the initial warm greeting when a customer enters the store, listening and watching are the most important skills for a bookseller. A new customer who “just wants to browse” is given a quick verbal tour of the store; if they specify a genre or subgenre, I can provide more direction. I then try to stay available, shelving or straightening books quietly. Corner of the eye observation indicates the next step. The shopper avidly picking up books and reading the cover summaries or the first few lines wants to be left alone. The one staring at the shelves with a glazed look now needs more help.

Customers come in many varieties. A gentle “Do you need some help?” elicits anything from “I don’t know what I want to read” to “I’m looking for that book that was on TV this morning.”  The assumption is that the bookseller is both a mind reader and able to watch every morning talk show while listening to several radio programs. Trying to be an omniscient psychologist is the most enjoyable part of owning a book store. Customers want to know that the person talking to them sincerely wants them to find the perfect book. And I do.

The omniscience required is provided by the computer: a little patient searching usually yields the unknown title and author. What is surprising is how often the customer, when given more detail, realizes the book holds no interest for her; she was listening to an enthusiastic interviewer while getting the kids off to school. But she has taken the time to come to a bookstore, wanting something to read, and a little chat about her interests will lead to a sale and a repeat customer.

More questioning is required in response to the plaintive “I don’t know what I want to read!”  Lately, hearing that someone wants to read is enough to put me in a positive frame of mind. Simple questions about what the customer has read recently, what they have enjoyed, and what they haven’t, yields information that further distinguishes readers. Those who haven’t read anything for a while are open to many ideas, and are often lost if too many are presented. (They are also usually getting ready to go on vacation.) Suggesting two or three authors that seem to fit their taste and allowing them time with the books is the best approach. Then there are the challenging ones who don’t know what they want because they have read everything by their favorite authors; every suggestion gets the response, “I already read that.” Fortunately, there is no shortage of good literature. Not being able to read everything, I have learned that listening to customers chat about books gives the seller a good background for finding that perfect new author for this reader; it just takes a little time.

Some readers have very specific criteria: only cozies, only needlework or gardening or cooking (never all three); only U.S. (not even Canadian or British) writers; only medieval, etc. They have usually read everything available that fits their requirements.  I have succeeded in convincing some needlework fans to try bookstore backgrounds, (or movie houses, or guest houses), or lovers of the middle ages to try another historical period, and they were able to expand their horizons a bit. For someone like me, who can enjoy the warmest cozy, the darkest noir, or the most heart-pounding thriller, set in any time or place, it is hard not to say “You’re missing so much!”  Here is where a sincere desire to find the right book for the customer takes precedence over the mystery fan who wants to praise books outside the reader’s comfort zone.

Probing to find out what a reader liked in a specific book or series often leads to surprising answers.  “Did you enjoy the humor? The characterization? The complexity of the puzzle? The setting?” “Well, no , it had a dog in it, and I like dogs.” This preference, of course, leads to suggestions, but not the ones the listener originally had in mind.

One exception to my way of dealing with customers who seem to need assistance is children. I learned long ago that suggestions from either parents or the bookseller are generally met with an automatic and emphatic “No!” The rejection appears to have nothing to do with the book or the person recommending it; children want no interference in their selection. I applaud their independence and that they feel they can exercise it when searching for books. Other than guarding against inappropriate material (no, manga is not a comic book for an 8-year-old), I am pleased to let them make their own choices. Yesterday I watched a six-year-old seriously and studiously look through a shelf of books. His face lit up and he pulled out one about pirates. I know he’ll be back.

The reward for listening to, observing, and chatting with customers is more than the pleasure of the interaction, or the joy of discussing books. It is the return customer, the one who says, “I loved that book you recommended. Are there any others by that author? Or any others like him?” And of course, he tells his friends about your wonderful book store.

Maybe the problem with eyeglass stores is that they know:  a) you have to buy glasses sooner or later and b)you won’t be back for two years anyway. The rest of us need to nurture our customers more carefully.

 

Ode to the Press Kit

by Erin Mitchell

Yesterday, Publishing Perspectives decided, in their infinite wisdom, to publish one of the stupidest essays relevant to book marketing that I’ve ever read. It’s a tirade by one Drew Nellins, a self described “writer living in Austin” who “is is [sic] researching a book about Simon and Garfunkel’s Concert in Central Park in September of 1981,” about the press kit he received with a galley.

While I don’t generally like to drive traffic to stupid content, if you’re inclined to read the essay, it’s here.

If we believe Nellins, when a book publicist sends an extravagant press kit with a galley, this is tantamount to “intellectual bullying.”

Wow. Really? I guess his trash bin is broken.

Reaction to the essay on Twitter was fast and furious. Two of the smartest comments were:

Dear Publishing Perspectives: There are ACTUAL problems facing the bookIndustry. The lowly press kit, however, isn't one of them.

— Colleen Lindsay (@ColleenLindsay) January 19, 2012

and

If a press kit (folder, etc) is sent, it positions the book as a "big book." Would you rather the publicist show up at your office?

— Kathleen Schmidt (@Bookgirl96) January 19, 2012

The truth here is that there is no one right way to create a press kit for a book. The form, format, and content depends on the book itself, and also on the resources available to create and distribute the kit. Sometimes, as was likely the case with HOPE: A TRAGEDY, the publisher decides to invest in more kit materials and printing. Sometimes the author does. And sometimes that’s appropriate.

What is it not, under any circumstances, is intellectual bullying. And if anyone has “gone too far,” it’s not the publicist. Few decisions about book marketing are made in a vacuum.

Also, it is possible—just possible—that the nefarious publicist knew that Nellins is a fan of the author’s work, and therefore included more pieces than s/he might otherwise have done. Perhaps the publicist thought Nellins would appreciate the 11” x 17” color print as a nice cube decoration.

Regardless, none of the pieces in the kit Nellins derides should absolutely not be there. The purpose of a press kit is to provide additional relevant and useful information. Sometimes this information is repetitive, yes, but since when is repetition in marketing offensive? Makes me wonder whether Nellins has ever seen a television advertisement.

So here’s the takeaway:

Press kits are not evil, and the publicists who send them will not be the downfall of publishing. And I hope that Publishing Perspectives considers printing essays from people who have a valid and considered, um, perspective in the future, rather than vapid, mean-spirited and unhelpful rants such as this one.

The Opportunity in Shipwreck

BENJAMIN LEROY

Those of us in the publishing and book world sure are living in exciting times!

It’s been a little more than ten years since I started my first publishing company (Diversity Incorporated, later to become Bleak House Books), and to say that things have changed in the publishing world, would be an understatement.

Whether or not people choose to read it or can even understand the language the handwriting is on the wall—the way things were ain’t the way they are today and even further removed from how they’ll be tomorrow. In talking to some of the people I know—authors, agents, and publishers—it’s sad to see some of them stubbornly clinging to their deck chairs on the Titanic.

There’s a lot of uncertainty going around. And it’s not limited to publishing. Scientifically speaking, a million things effect the evolution of books—emerging technologies, consumer habits, global economics, the threat of military conflict (both real AND ginned up), on and on, etc.

So when I see people tether themselves to the ship pretending that icebergs haven’t been struck and ignoring the reality that the navigational charts the captains of our industry have been consulting for  years aren’t going to offer them a path out of danger, I’m not sure what to make of it.

On the one hand—I’m sympathetic. There are, no doubt, many of us who figured the reality of what we knew might shift, but certainly not in the seismic ways that it has. It is frustrating and disorienting to be humbled by things like that.

However, significant change has come and each second spent ignoring it is one second closer to obsolescence.  There will be no miracle patch job. There isn’t a quick epoxy and duct tape solution for this one. Either learn to swim, row a life boat, or get really good at holding your breath.

If you love books, if you love the idea of stories being told in a way that brings us all closer (see the big issues above)—now is an exceedingly exciting time to be alive and involved. Throwing away old maps allows us to plot new courses.  Sure, we might get scraped in the bramble, but think of how good it will feel to see the new communities sprout up and know that we were involved.

Also of note—if you’re in the NYC area and plan on attending either the Writer’s Digest conference or Digital Book World, I’ll be speaking at both events.

At the Writer’s Digest conference I’ll be on a panel called “Ask the Editor.” Here is the description:

In this special session, we’ve gathered four publishers who are well known and highly respected for the fiction they publish. Attendees will listen to discussions on what publishers are looking for, how they decide who to publish, what they see as the digital future of fiction, what writers should expect from a publisher once their book gets accepted and much more. The floor will also be open to questions from the audience. SATURDAY 21^st, 9:00 a.m.

At Digital Book World I’ll be on a panel called “Talking to the Genre Fiction Reader: Publisher-driven genre communities” moderated by Sarah Weinman. Description is as follows:

The most obvious verticals for big publishers are genre-based: romance, science-fiction, and crime. In genres, publishers already have a title output large enough to build a community around. But does it make sense for many large publishers and some smaller ones to be building “communities” of science-fiction or romance readers, or does that strategy just leave the field open for a third party super-aggregator to take everybody’s business? A panel of large publishers with genre-based vertical efforts will discuss the development and future of communities built around genre reading habits. WEDNESDAY 25^th, 10:30 a.m.

 

A gentleman and a gentle man

Lynne Patrick

When someone famous dies, lots of people have their own story about him or her.

Reginald Hill, one of the most brilliant crime writers that ever lived, died last week, far too soon, (seventy-five is absolutely no age at all these days), and this is my story about him.

About four years ago I decided to put together a collection of short stories with a crime theme, and publish it in support of two breast cancer charities, one in the UK, the other in the US. Publishing was always a steep learning curve for me, and I stumbled around this particular project without much idea of how to begin.

First off was to approach a whole lot of authors, to ask them to donate stories: some were hardly known at all, others known to crime fiction aficionados, a few very well-known indeed.

Reginald Hill came top of the third list – and he was the first to reply. By return e-mail. He liked the sound of the project, but he wanted more information.

And quite right too. I could have been anyone, asking him to give away his work for no fee. At that stage I hadn’t even finalized which charities the book was going to support. I told you I was stumbling around. Everything in the wrong order.

Reg Hill’s first contribution to the project was to force me to look at what I was doing and focus my thoughts in the right direction. The information he wanted was pretty basic stuff: which charities, how much would they get, that kind of thing. That tells you how woolly my thinking was.

The next part tells you that he wasn’t asking questions to be difficult, but because he was more clear-sighted that I shall ever be: as soon as I was able to give him the answers he wanted, he replied by return e-mail again – this time with a short story attached.

His was the first contribution I received. Like every wonderful book of his I’ve ever read, especially the incomparable Dalziel and Pascoe series, and the gentle but incisive humour of Joe Sixsmith, it bears re-reading; each time there’s something, some nuance, some detail, some clue, which I missed every previous time. And the quality of his writing is an object lesson; forget the great divide between literary and genre fiction, he should be required reading on every creative writing course.

I never met Reg Hill, though after making contact through the short story collection we did exchange e-mails from time to time, and he gave one of ‘my’ authors a great cover quote. He mostly stayed away from the conventions and festivals at which people like me get to rub shoulders with people like him, and if he engaged in any of the controversies the book trade throws up from time to time, I never heard about it. The closest was during one of his rare public appearances, when he said that given the choice between writing a Booker Prize winner and a new crime novel, he’d take the crime novel. I heard that secondhand and don’t know if he said why; I’d like to think it was because the crime novel would be more fun.

I knew him best through his books. There I perceived a man with a keen but kind eye, a positively scary intelligence and a refusal to compromise on things that mattered to him. Everyone I know who did meet him says the same: he was one of nature’s gentlemen, and a gentle man.

Organizational Behavior, take 2

Josh Getzler

Last week, while cleaning up our apartment for a party, my wife and I did a little bit of thematic organization of our bookshelves. We have five floor-to-ceiling built-in units, which were the cornerstones of the renovations we did on the apartment when we moved into it nine years ago. (We also have units in each of our kid rooms.)

Clearly, for us the having of books, and the displaying of them, is a vital element of our aesthetic sense. When my wife and I started dating--16 years ago today, in fact--I was living in a studio apartment, just graduated from business school and trying to figure out whether to go into minor league baseball or back into publishing, whence I came before the MBA.

The most striking thing about that apartment, which I loved until Donald Trump took away my view of the Hudson River, was not the fact that I could get 80 people into it every third Saturday night for parties. Rather it was the wall of books I had, which I'd lugged first from my room at my folks', then from my college dorms/apartments/houses, then to West End Avenue.

I'd increased the number of books in my library by at least a third during my three years at Harcourt. I also had developed a new way of organizing my books. Because I had spent some time learning how the sausage is made, as it were, I'd become fascinated by the trim size of books; whether they were 6x9, 5x8, Trade paperback or mass market pb. I'd learned that a thriller was larger and boxier, a literary novel smaller and sleeker--and closer in look and feel to a trade paperback.

So I began to organize my books by publisher and by trim size. It was, in a word, ridiculous. At least to everyone but me. Histories were next to mysteries, novels next to philosophy texts, Ball Four next to Absalom, Absalom, because their books were the same size. Then I started dating Amanda, and then married her. And we needed to merge our stuff. And we almost got divorced when I started to put her books into piles by size, and she stopped me. And not gently. I believe she might have called me a lunatic. Certainly she rolled her eyes. And then pointed out that while she would indulge me by letting me organize them at ALL, it would make a lot more sense to be thematic, rather than, well, random but, you know, neat.

So as we put our books away before the party--now we double row, five years back in publishing and all these years together having made even our abundant shelves bulge--we saw our sections. The business school and MEd books are now in a corner; the British history books dominate, the mysteries are in their place, the Judaica and Penguin Classics near the dining room table. There are still a couple of shelves nearly in trim size order, but that kind of project no longer makes sense.

This isn't a blog post about the fact that I am simply grateful to have all these books; that they are beautiful and smell good, like must and coffee and red wine and suntan lotion, depending on where I read them; and that isn't it a pity that future generations will have less and less of it as ebooks predominate. While romantic, if you know me and my collection of gadgetry you know that that's not where my sentimentality lies, entirely.

Rather, this is about the feelings I had when cleaning up about these books as representatives of stages of my life, and that now, at 43, I was having a new party, cramming too many people into my apartment. There are now guides to child-rearing and World History textbooks alongside my shelf of books I edited or represented. As in my bachelor pad with the well-organized shelves 16 years ago, when I went out with an old friend to see Restoration and soon found myself in love, engaged and married, I am happy in my life.