The Return of Print?: Contemporary Australian Publishing PDF Free Download
1 / 210/210
100%
THE RETURN OF PRINT?
THE RETURN
OF PRINT?
Contemporary Australian Publishing
Edited by Aaron Mannion and Emmett Stinson
© Copyright 2016
Copyright of this collection in its entirety is held by Aaron Mannion and Emmett Stinson.
Copyright of the individual chapters is held by the respective chapter authors.
All rights reserved. Apart from any uses permitted by Australia’s Copyright Act 1968, no
part of this book may be reproduced by any process without prior written permission from
the copyright owners. Inquiries should be directed to the publisher.
Second printing, 2017.
Monash University Publishing
Matheson Library and Information Services Building
40 Exhibition Walk
Monash University
Clayton, Victoria 3800, Australia
www.publishing.monash.edu
Monash University Publishing brings to the world publications which advance the best
traditions of humane and enlightened thought.
Monash University Publishing titles pass through a rigorous process of independent peer
review.
www.publishing.monash.edu/books/rp-9781925495294.html
Series: Publishing
Design: Les omas
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Title: e return of print? : contemporary Australian publishing /
Aaron Mannion ; Emmett Stinson.
ISBN: 9781925495294 (paperback)
Subjects: Publishers and publishing--Australia.
Electronic publishing--Australia.
Book industries and trade--Australia.
Other Creators/Contributors:
Mannion, Aaron, editor.
Stinson, Emmett, editor.
Dewey number: 070.50994
Printed in Australia by Griffin Press an Accredited ISO AS/NZS 14001:2004
Environmental Management System printer.
e paper this book is printed on is certified against the Forest
Stewardship Council ® Standards. Griffin Press holds FSC
chain of custody certification SGS-COC-005088. FSC
promotes environmentally responsible, socially beneficial and
economically viable management of the world’s forests.
Contents
Post-Digital Publishing: An Introduction ..................vii
Emmett Stinson and Aaron Mannion
1 General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction
Publishing 2000–13 ................................1
David Carter
2 Bookish Girls: Gender and Leadership in Australian
Trade Publishing .................................27
Sarah Couper
3 e Changing Literary Ecology ...................... 47
Mark Davis
4 Women, Akubras and Ereaders: Romance Fiction and
Australian Publishing .............................. 67
Beth Driscoll, Lisa Fletcher and Kim Wilkins
5 Deckchairs and Life Rafts: Australian Trade Publishing’s
Perfect Storm ....................................89
Tracy O’Shaughnessy
6 How to Read a Big Book: e Critical Reception
of Hannah Kent’s Burial Rites in the Context of
Contemporary Trade Book Marketing ................ 115
Critic Watch
7 Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award ........137
Emmett Stinson
vi
8 e Transition to Book: Problems of Narrative Structure
in Journalists’ Manuscripts ......................... 149
Sybil Nolan
9 Coming Out: Reframing the Public Face of Publishing ... 163
Anne Richards
Notes on Editors and Contributors ....................... 189
Editors’ Acknowledgments ............................. 193
vii
Post-Digital Publishing
An Introduction
E S A M
For a decade now, popular accounts of changes in the book industry
have tended to recapitulate uncritically Clayton Christensen’s account
of so-called ‘disruptive innovation’ (21–42). Examples of this ten-
dency abound: in 2012, e Guardian published an article entitled
‘Ebooks: e Giant Disruption’ (Filloux) while, even as late as 2015,
Digital Book World could publish an article whose headline claimed
that ‘Publishing’s Digital Disruption Hasn’t Even Started’ (Cuddy).
In Australia, there has been plenty of evidence to support the notion
that the publishing industry is undergoing great changes—one needs
only to consider the 2011 collapse of REDGroup Retail (owners of
Borders and Angus & Robertson) or the 2013 merger of Penguin and
Random House. Alongside such large-scale industrial shifts, there
are other significant changes in the way that books are produced,
mediated and received: readers have access to public forums (via
social media like Twitter and social reading sites like Goodreads) to
express their views, self-published authors working in commercial
genres find pathways to success outside of mainstream publishers
(Levey), and new digital platforms, such as e Sydney Review of
Books, seek to re-establish highbrow book discourse (while literary
reviewing in newspapers continues to shrink) within what Simone
Murray has recently termed the ‘Digital Literary Sphere’ (331–39).
And yet, for all of these changes, the core functions of con tem-
por ary book publishing remain remarkably similar to those it pos-
sessed throughout the twentieth century. Publishers work to source
potentially profitable manuscripts, function as banks who take on up-
front risk (such as author advances, printing, and file-formatting costs),
e Return of Print?
viii
edit and market them to increase their chances of finding a favourable
reception, and ultimately disseminate these works to booksellers—
whether bricks and mortar or online—who then sell them to the
public. While forecasts several years ago pre dict ed that ebooks would
rapidly overtake print (Greenfield), many reports have argued that
ebooks’ growth in market share has been slowing since 2013 (Digital
Book World). Moreover, younger readers overwhelmingly appear to
prefer print—which suggests that predictions of an entirely digital
book industry are overstated (Bellis). From a practical standpoint,
print has remained the industry’s core business, and most publishers
now have well-established in-house practices for producing and
selling ebooks in ways that are generally profitable.
Instead of experiencing ‘innovative disruption’, the contemporary
publishing industry seems to be caught between constant digital
change and business paradigms that are still, at heart, entirely tradi-
tional. In this regard, contemporary publishing might be best thought
of as a ‘post-digital’ mediascape. Here, the term post-digital does not
describe literary culture after the digital, but rather refers to the ‘messy
and paradoxical condition … after digital technology revo lu tions’ in
which ‘old’ and ‘new’ media have been blurred (Pold et al.). As a post-
digital phenomenon, contemporary publishing is neither straight-
forwardly old or new, disrupted or stable, but in a state of constant flux,
shifting between old and new media practices in paradoxical ways that
simultaneously reinforce and undermine aspects of traditional print
culture. Indeed, the common use of digi tal technology to deliver print
books (through Amazon or the Book Depository) represents precisely
this blending of forms, in which digital technology both disrupts and
supports the centrality of the codex as a form.
Although no scholars in the collection apply the specific term ‘post-
digital’, many of the investigations within consider issues that—in
addressing both new media and traditional publishing structures—
reflect an inherently post-digital outlook. In ‘General Fiction, Genre
ix
Post-Digital Publishing
Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13’, David Carter
revisits and revises previous research he’s done on publishing trends
in Australian fiction. He notes that his more recent research suggests
that the ‘decline’ in literary publishing noted by Mark Davis and
others is less clear given recent results, which suggest that Australian
literary production can vary wildly from year to year. He also
identifies a developing body of novels that sit between the traditional
categories of literary and genre fiction, and constitute a significant
percentage of Australia’s output of book-length fiction.
Sarah Couper’s ‘Bookish Girls: Gender and Leadership in
Australian Trade Publishing’ provides an excellent analysis of the
gender breakdown of leadership positions in the industry—a timely
intervention that resonates with the work on gendered representation
in book reviews done by the annual Stella Prize count. Here, Couper
notes a correlation between the size of publishing firms and the
percentage of women employed in leadership positions: the smaller
the firm, the more likely that women will be placed in leadership
roles. Indeed, while publishing remains a female-dominated industry,
leadership positions in large firms are still mostly held by men.
Mark Davis’s ‘e Changing Literary Ecology’ considers recent
scholarly interventions that have sought to argue for literature’s central
role in supporting democratic modes of governance, and then goes
on to examine how the digital dissemination of and discourse around
books affects their relationship to open or democratic paradigms. In
particular, he demonstrates how data collected by ebook retailers—
which is then fed back to authors to assist them in creating books
that will reflect popular tastes—may have populist intentions but can
produce exclusionary results. He concludes with a reflection on the
power of literature in a time of neoliberalism.
In ‘Women, Akubras and Ereaders: Romance Fiction and Aus-
tralian Publishing’, Beth Driscoll, Lisa Fletcher and Kim Wilkins
provide an overview and analysis of Rural Romance or ‘RuRo’
e Return of Print?
x
publishing. As their analysis attests, RuRo is not only one of the most
significant commercial areas for contemporary publishing but an
interesting and diverse field unto itself. is presents a significant
first foray into an area of publishing and a foundational study sure to
influence further research in this burgeoning area.
Tracy O’Shaughnessy’s ‘Deckchairs and Life Rafts: Australian
Trade Publishing’s Perfect Storm’ uses BookScan data to offer
an analysis of the years 2011–13, which, following the demise of
RED Group Retail, constituted a particularly difficult commercial
environment for the local industry. O’Shaughnessy’s insightful analysis
examines the effects of this industrial downturn on authors, pub-
lishers and other parts of the supply chain.
In ‘How to Read a Big Book: e Critical Reception of Hannah
Kent’s Burial Rites in the Context of Contemporary Trade Book Mar-
keting’, Critic Watch (a moniker used by Dr Ben Etherington for an
eponymous column in the Sydney Review of Books) performs an analysis
of book reviews and book marketing in relation to Kent’s breakthrough
debut novel. In particular, he notes that the marketing in relation to
the book appears to have had relatively little influence on its reviews.
Emmett Stinson’s ‘Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award’
examines the lack of success that small publishers have had in being
nominated for or winning the Miles Franklin. Stinson examines
the reasons behind what is arguably an under-representation of small
publishers and argues that this has negative effects on small publishers’
public visibility and the diversity of literary prize-winners.
Sybil Nolan’s ‘e Transition to Book: Problems of Narrative
Struc ture in Journalists’ Manuscripts’ identifies an interesting trend
in Australian publishing—the increased output of book-length
manu scripts by Australian journalists. In particular, she notes how
rhetorical aspects of journalism training can make the transition
to writing books quite difficult; Nolan uses discourse analysis to
illustrate her claims.
xi
Post-Digital Publishing
Anne Richards’s ‘Coming Out: Reframing the Public Face of
Publishing’ presents an extended response to the persistent narrative
that the publishing industry is dying. She examines different national
book cultures and uses methods of analysis derived from business
studies to argue that publishers’ passion for their work provides a
decisive commercial advantage that could ensure the longer-term
security of the industry.
As John ompson has noted, book publishing, despite being one
of the oldest sectors of the creative industries, has also remained one
of the least studied (vi). Certainly, publishing studies has become a
far more established area in Australia, with a variety of monographs
and edited collections on the topic appearing over the last decade, as
well as an annual academic day as part of the national Independent
Publishing Conference. e scholarly investigations in this book
seek to extend this analysis of what continues to be one of Australia’s
most important and dynamic cultural industries.
Works Cited
Bellis, Rich. ‘Young Readers Say No anks to Enhanced E-Reading.’ Digital
Book World. F+W Media, Inc., 27 Mar. 2015. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
www.digitalbookworld.com/2015/young-readers-say-no-thanks-to-
enhanced-e-reading/>.
Christensen, Clayton, Michael B. Horn, and Curtis W. Johnson. Disrupting
Class, Expanded Edition: How Disruptive Innovation Will Change the Way
the World Learns. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2010. 21–42.
Cuddy, Gareth. ‘Publishing’s Digital Disruption Hasn’t Even Started.’ Digital
Book World. F+W Media, Inc., 23 Apr. 2015. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
www.digitalbookworld.com/2015/publishings-digital-disruption-hasnt-
even-started/>.
Digital Book World. ‘New AAP Figures Show Ebook Growth Mostly Flat.’
Digital Book World. F+W Media, Inc., 10 Jun. 2015. Web. 15 Apr. 2016
<http://www.digitalbookworld.com/2015/new-aap-figures-show-ebook-
growth-mostly-flat/>.
e Return of Print?
xii
Filloux, Frédéric. ‘Ebooks: e Giant Disruption.’ e Guardian, Guardian
News and Media Limited, 27 Feb. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
www.theguardian.com/technology/2012/feb/27/ebooks-giant-disruption-
publishing>.
Greenfield, Jeremy. ‘Ebook Growth Slows to Single Digits in U.S. in 2013.’
Digital Book World. F+W Media, Inc., 1 Apr. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
<http://www.digitalbookworld.com/2014/ebook-growth-slows-to-single-
digits-in-u-s-in-2013/>.
Levey, Nick. ‘Post-Press Literature: Self-Published Authors in the Literary
Field.’ Post45 2 Feb. 2016.
Murray, Simone. ‘Charting the Digital Literary Sphere.’ Contemporary Literature
56.2 (2015): 311–39.
Pold, Søren Bro and Christian Ulrik Andersen. ‘Post-Digital Books and
Disruptive Literary Machines.’ Formules/Revue Des Creations Formelles
(2014).
ompson, John B. Merchants of Culture: e Publishing Business in the Twenty-
First Century. Cambridge, UK: Polity, 2010. vi.
1
C O
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and
Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
D C
In 2007, in the midst of a good deal of public noise about the fate
of Australian literature and its apparent decline in publishers’ lists,
school curricula and universities, I published an essay examining
the state of Australian literary fiction publishing over the previous
decade and a half, from 1990 to 2006 (Carter). My analysis was
based on available statistics, although it also involved a good deal
of creative massaging of the numbers given the paucity of reliable,
publicly available records. I want to return to the same terrain now
and to ask whether Australian fiction publishing in general looks in
better or worse shape than it did at the beginning of the twenty-first
century, and in particular to examine how the publication of literary
fiction stands in relation to the full range of fiction publishing. My
focus is on novels by Australian authors first published in Australia
in the years 2000 to 2013.
What my analysis indicated back in 2007 was that the raw
numbers of new novels published each year had risen and fallen
but without any dramatic or sudden changes. After peaking in the
years 1998–2000, however, there were signs of a significant decline
from 2003 (Carter 238–39). Literary titles had followed a similar
trajectory, with a strong showing in the second half of the 1990s
followed again by steadily declining numbers after 2003. Despite
the fluctuations in raw numbers, the proportion of literary titles
to general fiction had remained fairly consistent across the period.
e Return of Print?
2
Although there was a significant gap between the highest and lowest
percentage figures—32% in 1990 and 50% in 2005—in general there
were only minor variations in the proportion of literary titles to all
new fiction titles, with most years distributed in the 42–46% range.
Overall the figures suggested a relatively stable situation for liter-
ary fiction, with only minor or temporary deviations from a norm of
around 130–140 titles annually. But while this seemed to point to
something less dramatic than a crisis for Australian literature or liter-
ary publishing, it also gave no indication of an industry or market
expanding significantly, despite the rise in market share that local titles
were claiming.1 Indeed it could have indicated a shrinking investment
in literary fiction publishing. Output had fallen below the norm in
the two most recent years surveyed, 2005 and 2006, while Australian
Bureau of Statistics (ABS) figures indicated that revenue from sales
of locally published fiction had contracted, from $118.5 million in
2002–03 to $73.1 million in 2003–04 (Carter and Galligan 3).2
A note on methodology is necessary at this point, not least
because of the slippery category of ‘literary fiction’ at the centre of
my analysis. My intention is to use the term without any evaluative
dimension. In producing my figures I’ve paid no attention at all to
my own or general critical estimation of the worth of particular
novels or authors. Of course, in practice, the idea of literary fiction
can scarcely be separated from a sense of cultural value, but within
the institutions of publishing and bookselling it is used on a daily
basis as a quasi-generic term. As Jim Collins has suggested, literary
fiction has itself become ‘a kind of category fiction … Lit-lit’ (225). For
a publisher to assign a particular novel to either a literary imprint or
a general fiction list—as opposed to an imprint reserved for crime,
romance or fantasy—is to make a judgement about kind, rather than
1 e share of Australian publisher revenue accounted for by Australian books rose
from 44% in 2001 to 48% in 2010 (PricewaterhouseCoopers 54).
2 e ABS has not kept detailed statistics on the book industry since 2004.
3
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
quality, whatever evaluative assumptions might also be in play. e
marketing department makes similar judgements when deciding
how to, or even whether to, promote a book, as do booksellers when
deciding how, where and whether to shelve and display individual
titles.
Despite all the fuzziness of the term, Literary Fiction or General
Fiction, and sometimes simply Fiction, will almost always be sep ar-
ated from other kinds of novels in publishers’ catalogues and in the
bookstore, from Crime, Romance, Science Fiction, War Literature
and other clearly marked genres. Although it is impossible to repro-
duce these industrial categories precisely—they vary widely in any
case across different actors in the field—I’ve used the methodologies
of the AustLit electronic resource in order to assign individual titles
to generic categories.3 AustLit records novels using a set of gener-
ic tags, including ‘adventure’, ‘crime’, ‘fantasy’, ‘mystery’, ‘romance’,
‘science fiction’, ‘thriller’, ‘war literature’, ‘western’ and ‘young adult’
(YA). Individual titles can be assigned more than one such tag
(‘science fiction’ and ‘thriller’, for example). Other works—in general
those without a clear generic identity—are merely recorded under the
heading ‘novel’, and this will include the bulk of literary fiction titles.
us, exactly as I did for the 2007 exercise, numbers for literary fic-
tion have been generated by subtracting titles that have been assigned
one or more genre tag from the total number of novels published each
year, with a small number of exceptions. e categories not excluded
are ‘historical fiction’, ‘satire’ and ‘humour’, for these terms are applied
to a significant number of literary as well as genre titles.
I’ve concentrated on fiction for adults and have thus eliminated
children’s books. Totals with and without YA titles will be compared,
though I’ve ignored the fact that the genre/literary distinction also
operates within the YA field. By focusing on first Australian publication
I’ve also eliminated reprints from the primary analysis, although
3 I’ve focused on novels, excluding a small number of novellas from the count.
e Return of Print?
4
these too will be considered in passing.4 Numbers for the years
2000–06 will vary slightly from those recorded back in 2007 because
of additions and corrections to the AustLit database, especially with
more comprehensive recording of YA and genre fiction titles.
e potential shortcomings of this methodology should be clear.
It will eliminate from consideration as literary those crime, science
fiction and other genre novels with serious literary claims, but to
make these judgements is not important for present purposes. On the
other hand the inclusion of historical fiction, satire and humour no
doubt picks up novels that are at best marginal in literary terms. As a
consequence the number of titles included as literary fiction is almost
certainly inflated, but for the present exercise this is preferable to a
narrow definition of the term. Indeed the advantage of my approach
is precisely that it picks up novels that might not be considered
literature in the restricted sense of the term but that also do not
belong in any of the more clearly delineated genre categories—the
middlebrow or popular novels that are not obviously genre fiction
but that might never be considered literature, say in Roland Barthes’s
sense of the term (‘Literature is what is taught’ (22)). e majority
of these novels will almost certainly not get taught or reviewed, and
many will never be displayed in bookstores, but they are published
and read, if sometimes in very small numbers. Others will be high-
selling commercial successes, probably hovering on the borders of a
life in genre but making broader claims as well—one example, close
to romance but not confined to it, is commercial women’s fiction
such as Di Morrissey’s, Judy Nunn’s or Fleur McDonald’s novels
(AustLit tells me that one of Morrissey’s novels is in fact taught in
one university course with the revealing title ‘Australian Literature:
Classic and Popular’).
4 To include reprints the search is conducted according to ‘date of publication’
rather than ‘first known date’, in AustLit terminology. e latter figures have
been adjusted to accurately record first known book publication in Australia.
5
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
e methodology, of course, depends on the skills and knowledge
of AustLit indexers and the resources and methodologies available to
them at different periods—and assigning genre categories is anything
but a precise science. But the record of published titles in AustLit
is the most comprehensive available and certainly the most easily
manipulated as a large data set. As such it enables comparisons of
similar data year by year across the period under consideration. It
offers a high level of reliability for mainstream publishers and a
good level of reliability for self-publishing and, in more recent years,
digital-first, print-on-demand publishing and ebooks.
is essay will also focus on the publishers of Australian fiction:
who are they? How are titles distributed among large and small,
local and multinational publishing houses? And how has the array of
publishers and outputs changed over the 14 years being examined?
e 2013 merger of the two global giants Penguin and Random
House—already the ‘two largest consumer book publishers in the
world’ (Dohle qtd. in Publishers Weekly),5 and the second and fourth
largest publishers of Australian literary fiction in the 1990–2006
period—is only the most dramatic in a series of mergers, takeovers
and disappearances that have continued to characterise the industry
over the last two decades.
First, though, what do the numbers show through to 2013? Figure
1.1 shows the total number of new fiction titles published annually in
Australia compared to literary fiction titles.6
5 Dohle was speaking as the new CEO of Penguin Random House.
6 While AustLit sometimes records an Australian place of publication for
their books, titles from the two ebook publishers Amazon’s CreateSpace and
Harlequin’s Carina Press have been excluded in this and subsequent charts
because they are not Australian-based (XLibris, by contrast, does have an
Australian footprint.) However, place of publication will become increasingly
difficult as a term of exclusion/inclusion as ebook publication expands, and
perhaps this is about the last point in time when such exclusions will be
justifiable.
e Return of Print?
6
Figure 1.1 Literary ction as a proportion of total new novels 2000–13
For the present I will concentrate on the 2000–12 period and turn
later to what looks like an anomalous result for 2013. e 2000–12
figures, like those from 1990–2006, show a pattern of recurrent rises
and falls within what seems overall to be a relatively stable publishing
industry at least in terms of output. In most years the number of new
Australian novels published is between 350 and 400, at an average
of 379.4 new titles annually. Nonetheless, given the modest over all
totals, the rises and falls are significant enough to warrant close
atten tion, especially the four consecutive years of below-average
output from 2005 to 2008, a pattern that was just beginning to be
seen in the earlier study.7 Indeed the relatively high figure of 400 new
titles in 2000 is matched only once—with 403 titles in 2004—until
2011, and all but two of the eight years from 2001 to 2008 are below
average.8 Totals fluctuate downwards to a low of 325 in 2006, before
beginning a steady climb from 2009.
7 e new numbers based on updated AustLit records slightly alter the picture pre-
sented in 2007 in that the total for 2004 (388) is now higher than that for 2003 (353).
8 e 2002 total of 381 is just above the average of 379.4; 2004 at 403 slightly more so.
e 2010 figure of 398 obviously just falls short of the 2000 and 2011 totals of 400.
7
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
e patterns are much the same if we exclude YA titles (Figure
1.2): an extended dip from 2005 to 2009 in this case, bottoming out
in 2006 with 234 titles and returning to high numbers only in 2012
with 399, which is well above the average across the period of 293.
Annual numbers for YA titles follow their own distinctive pattern,
fluctuating between the low eighties and the mid-nineties at an
average of 86.6, with the exception of one unusually low number in
2005 (68).
Figure 1.2 Literary ction as a proportion of total new novels (minus YA)
2000–13
Similarly if we include reprints—a more important consideration
for literary titles than for many other sectors—we see the same
extended ‘basin’ from 2005 to 2008, with a reasonably steep decline
from 507 titles in 2000 and 491 in 2004 to 371 in 2006 and 379
the following year. Again, while YA fiction has its own trajectory,
excluding YA titles (Figure 1.3) does not change things dramatically:
the high points of 2000 (413) and 2003–04 (406, 397) are followed
by a decline to 2006–07 (270, 257), then a rise, with a bump or two,
to 2012.
e Return of Print?
8
Figure 1.3 Literary ction as a proportion of all novels (minus YA) 2000–13
How can we explain the dip in numbers from 2004 to 2012? e
decline is not dramatic, but it is sustained over a number of years and
the slide from 2004 to 2006 stands out. ere are no clear explanations
to be found in the broader economic picture, as the key indicators,
such as business investment, employment and household disposable
income, were all strongly on the rise (Battellino). Within the industry
itself book sales and profits fell after the introduction of the goods
and services tax (GST) in 2000–01 but recovered in the following
years. e value of all trade book sales grew annually by an average of
4.8% from 2001 to 2010, while the volume of trade book sales through
Australian booksellers increased by an annual average of 6.4% from
2004 to 2010 (PricewaterhouseCoopers 13). Revenue for trade book
publishers rose consistently over the same period, although other fig-
ures suggest a contraction in revenue from book sales from 2009–12
(just as the number of titles begins to rise) (Davis, ‘Publishing in the
End Times’ 5). e ABS figures cited earlier indicate that revenue
from sales of locally published fiction fell substantially from 2002 to
2004, and it is possible that this trend continued for a number of years
(unfortunately there are no later ABS figures for comparison); or per-
haps it was enough in itself to prompt a reassessment of publishing
9
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
priorities and strategies among the medium and large firms. e fig-
ures for individual publishers vary considerably year by year because of
local circumstances—a high output year can be followed by a low out-
put year and then another high—but in general the low output years
fall between 2004 and 2008.
What we might be seeing in these years is a period of adjustment
and transition, firstly in response to the threat or promise of ebooks
and online bookselling, and secondly as part of a shift in conceptions
of and investments in the fiction field itself. John ompson describes
the initial burst of optimism and anxiety regarding the ebook revo-
lution around the turn of the millennium and the uncertainty that
followed as the level of uptake remained low: ‘the ebook revolution
had stalled’ (315). With the example of the music industry before it,
a revolution in the book trade seemed imminent but its timing and
dynamics remained obscure. e online bookselling ‘revolution’ was
also building but had yet to break; Australians only had access to
the Kindle store from late 2009. It was only towards the end of the
decade that ebook sales rose dramatically; when they did, the surge
was, against expectations, strongest in ‘commercial fiction’ and also
strong in literary fiction (ompson 323). Paradoxically—or not—
it might be that despite the challenges it presented to traditional
publishers the boom in ebook sales actually renewed confidence in
the future of reading and of fiction, producing new investment in
novels in print as well as in digital form. e uncertainty over parallel
importation rules was also resolved in late 2009, when the federal
government decided not to accept the Productivity Commission’s
recommendations to remove the restrictions.
e other, more speculative adjustment is in the relations between
literary and commercial fiction, in particular in the field of Australian
fiction publishing. Nationalist paradigms meant that to a large extent
Australian fiction was thought of in literary terms and as part of
a cultural mission, however modestly. While commercial or genre
e Return of Print?
10
fiction sustained many publishers’ lists, there was a relatively clear
separation between the two sectors both within and between houses.
Arguably these relations and hierarchies have been transformed, and
while this has meant a degree of withdrawal from one form of fiction
publishing it has also allowed new investment in other forms.
From one perspective the evidence supports Mark Davis’s argu-
ment, published right in the middle of this depressed period, that
what we were seeing was the ‘decline of the literary paradigm’ in local
pub lish ing: ‘By the early 2000s … literary fiction was no longer the
corner stone of the industry’s self-perception’ (‘e Decline of the
Literary Paradigm’ 120). His prediction that literary fiction would be
published in two strands—under prestige imprints within large houses
whose main business lies elsewhere, or through the niche in terests of
smaller independents—was already a fair description of the Austral-
ian situation. But a more positive account might point instead to the
emergence by the end of the decade of an ‘expanded middle’, of new
investment not only in genre fiction but in the kind of works described
earlier: the mid-range novels and ‘good commercial fiction’ that can
produce modest and sometimes spectacular bestsellers. is is some-
thing different from the contemporary blurring of literary and genre
boundaries that’s now almost a critical commonplace, but the two
‘expansions’ work together to produce a broader middle ground that
crosses genre fiction, ‘good commercial fiction’ and ‘general fiction’.
How then does literary fiction fit into the general pattern of fiction
publishing? As can be seen from the charts, the raw numbers vary
with much the same degree of fluctuation as that for all fiction, from
highs of 175 new titles in 2000 to a low of 122 in 2006, then rising to
179 in 2012. When reprints are included the lean years are the same:
a low of 139 titles in 2006 compared to 226 in 2012. e number
of new literary fiction titles remains low between 2005 and 2008
but rises steadily after that, following the course of general fiction
publishing except for a minor dip in 2010. Despite these fluctuations
11
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
the percentage of literary fiction to total fiction is remarkably con sis-
tent. With YA titles included the range is from 44% in 2000 to 36%
in 2012, at an average of 39%. With YA titles excluded, the range is
from 54% in 2000–01 to 45% in 2012, at an average of 49%. ese
figures might seem to indicate a declining role for literary fiction as
in each case the 2012 percentage figures are the lowest, and those
for 2013 are lower still at 33% and 30%, down from highs of 54%
and 40% respectively in 2009. However, the number of literary fiction
titles increased each year from 2010, suggesting that we’re witnessing
a growth in genre fiction rather than a decline in literary publishing.
is is confirmed if we turn to the main sectors of genre fiction
publishing (Figure 1.4): romance, speculative fiction (the AustLit
categories of ‘science fiction’ and ‘fantasy’), crime (‘crime’, ‘detective’
and ‘mystery’), and thrillers (‘thriller’ and ‘adventure’). Each of
these four categories shows a dramatic increase from 2010 to 2013:
romance jumps from an average of 55 new titles annually in the
decade to 2009 to a total of 66 in 2012 and 172 in 2013; speculative
fiction from an average of 22 to 66 and then 134; crime from 37 to
75 and then 93; thrillers from 26 to 46 and then 82. e biggest
increase from 2006 to 2012 is in speculative fiction (up by 62%);
extending the calculations to 2013, the biggest increases are in
speculative and romance fiction, both showing a rise of just over
eighty per cent.
To some degree these increases will be the product of better data-
harvesting methodologies that have been deployed for the AustLit
database since early 2013. e 2013 figures do seem anomalous;
hence my earlier decision to limit comparisons to the period to 2012.
Compared to 2012, the figures for 2013 show a 43% rise in total
fiction output and, within that, a 39% rise in literary titles. Such
a dramatic rise is very unlikely to reflect a real, sudden increase in
output. At the same time, the upward trajectory can be seen over a
longer period, suggesting that the increases cannot be fully explained
e Return of Print?
12
Figure 1.4 Genre ction, new titles 2000–139
by better indexing.10 In other words, there has been real growth and
from more than one driver.
In the romance field, for example, the local output from Harlequin
has increased from around forty a year since 2000 to over one hundred
in 2013, with the famous Mills & Boon imprint being joined by
Harlequin MIRA in 2011—for genres including ‘literary fiction, his-
torical fiction, paranormal fiction and thrillers’ (Harlequin Books)—
and the digital imprint Escape Publishing in 2012, which is dedi cated
to Australian authors (a few of its 142 Australian titles have also
made it into print). Although not included in my numbers, the
digital-first Carina Press—for ‘contemporary romance, steampunk,
erotic romance, gay/lesbian fiction, mystery, science fiction, fantasy,
or any number of other fiction genres’ (Carina Press)—also publishes
Australian authors, and first appears in AustLit in 2010.11 Over
9 Note: Individual titles might be tagged with multiple genre terms.
10 AustLit harvests new titles from the National Library of Australia’s National
Bibliographic Database.
11 Some items are given an Australian place of publication in AustLit—dubious but
again any ‘place of publication’ would be.
13
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
the same period Penguin launched Destiny Romance, which was
claimed as ‘the first Australian direct-to-digital romance imprint’,
while Allen & Unwin launched Arena—for ‘epic fantasy, thrillers,
crime, adventure and chick lit’—and House of Books for digital and
print-on-demand releases (Penguin Books Australia; Allen & Unwin
‘About Allen & Unwin’; Allen & Unwin ‘House of Books’). Pan
Macmillan launched Momentum as a ‘digital-only publisher’ (and
some print-on-demand) for a very long list of genres, from action
through to erotica, saga and urban fantasy (Momentum Books).12
HarperCollins continued to publish romance through Avon Romance
Australia and speculative fiction through the Voyager imprint—
and, best of all, in May 2014 it acquired Harlequin, surely making
HarperCollins the largest publisher of Australian fiction in coming
years (News Corp).13
e second factor is that suggested by the new imprints listed
above: the rise in digital/print-on-demand and ebook titles. Even
excluding the digital publishing imprints of the major publishers,
ebook, print-on-demand and self-published titles taken together
com prise something like 36% of all fiction titles and 40% of literary
titles in 2013, up from 27% and 23% respectively in the previous
year. is represents more than a forty per cent increase in the lit-
erary field.14 Two of the better-established outfits, Sid Harta and
Zeus Publications, had large outputs in 2013—14 and 18 titles
12 Pan Macmillan announced the Momentum imprint in August 2011 and released
its first books in February 2012. Early in 2016 it was announced that Momentum’s
publishing program would be ‘scaled down’ and publisher Joel Naoum would be
leaving. Momentum’s Facebook site maintains (July 2016) that the imprint continues.
13 More accurately, HarperCollins’s parent company, News Corp, acquired Harlequin
to make it a division of HarperCollins. HarperCollins also began publishing
romance through ABC Books, with which it ‘entered a commercial relationship’ in
2009.
14 e counting is rough, as it is not always clear which books should be classified as
self-published or which houses operate wholly or primarily on a pay-to-print or
print-on-demand basis.
e Return of Print?
14
respectively—putting them in the second tier, just below the major
publishers in terms of annual releases, while a wide range of smaller
outfits produced clusters of titles.
While the expansion in genre publishing is clearly of major sig-
nificance, much of this second expansion might have little bearing on
the mainstream industry, or on literary culture insofar as many of the
titles will remain invisible (to all but friends and family). But the majors
are also expanding and not merely in romance or other sectors of the
genre market. In 2013 Pan Macmillan, Penguin, Random House and
Hachette Australia all had their highest output for the period from
2000. Some of the small- to medium-sized houses also had a strong
year compared to their previous three or four: Text Publishing (11),
Fremantle Press (10), Vivid Publishing (12), and Wakefield Press (5).
Whatever other factors are in play, it is difficult not to conclude that
fiction publishing—and reading and writing cultures—are in a period
of growth, indeed of multiplication, as both a cause and an effect of
multiplying avenues to publication. None of this necessarily translates
into profits for publishers or incomes for writers, but it does suggest
quite a rapid transformation in the dynamics of the industry and in its
relations to its producers and consumers.
To draw these results together, the patterns that emerge across
all four charts make it clear that there has been no steady increase
in Australian fiction publishing, contrary to what we might expect
given population increase and an expanding ‘books and writing’ cul-
ture in terms of literary festivals, prizes, reading groups and so forth
within a generally expanding economy. At best we see a pattern of
variations within a reasonably narrow range—at least until recently.
is result might be contrasted with US book publishing statistics,
which do show a steady increase in the first part of the period under
examination (Bowker).15 In the category of ‘fiction’, numbers of titles
15 e US figures do not include ‘non-traditional outputs’—reprint and print-on-
demand titles—or e-books.
15
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
published annually in the United States increased from 25,102 in
2002 to 53,590 in 2007, while in the category ‘literature’ numbers in-
creased from 6261 in 2002 to 11,456 in 2009. In both categories there
was a slight dip after these twin peaks—more of a holding pattern
than continued growth—in part a result of increased ebook produc-
tion, which is not counted in these statistics. Nonetheless when 2013
figures are compared to those from 2002 they show a 101% increase
in fiction and a 73% increase in the literature category (Bowker).
At the same time, the Australian figures also indicate that there has
not been a steady (let alone a dramatic) decline in local fiction publish-
ing—despite falling industry revenue from book sales. If there was a
period of transition or adjustment, perhaps even a moment of crisis, in
the mid-late 2000s, the industry appears to have recovered by the end
of the decade or at least to have reinvested in publishing new fiction.
If anything, there has been a dramatic rise in output over the last few
years. How far this recovery relies on a small number of large-scale
global players—or, alternatively, on a large number of small-scale pub-
lishers, or on large numbers of print-on-demand and self-publishers—
and just where the new investment is going will be analysed below.
Obviously the raw numbers of titles published annually will not
give a full picture of the dynamics of the industry or the market
for fiction/literary fiction. An increase in titles published might be
symptomatic of an industry in crisis—publishing smaller numbers
of more titles in the hope that that one or two will take off—rather
than ruddy health. e figures give no information on print runs
or sales, and despite some break-out bestsellers, such as Kylie Scott,
most digital and print-on-demand publications will have minu-
scule numbers for both. What we can map more precisely is the
distribution of production by publisher. As ompson has argued,
the trade book publishing industry is characterised by a very partic-
ular structure and dynamic: the polarisation of the field between
‘a small number of very large corporations which, between them,
e Return of Print?
16
command a substantial share of the market, and a large number of
very small publishing operations, ranging from small indie presses
to a variety of trade associations and educational institutions, with a
small and dwindling number of medium-sized players’ (147). His
analysis shows why large corporations dom inate, why small publishers
continue to proliferate, and why being in between is so difficult.
e domination of the big players is not simply due to the ad-
van tages of scale in terms of overheads, distribution, advances and
so on, but also because of their capacity, at best, to operate ‘small’
in domestic markets through local lists and targeted imprints, for
example. Arguably we see this in the operation of houses such as
Random House, Penguin and Pan Macmillan as Australian literary
fiction publishers. As for the proliferation of small publishers, entry
costs to the field remain low and are probably lower than they have
ever been, while personal connections and a shared publishing ethos
remain critical in local or niche markets. Medium-sized publishing
houses were once the mainstays of mainstream fiction publishing—
houses like Knopf, Random House, Chatto & Windus or Jonathan
Cape that are now imprints within the mega-corporations. But in
some ways the middle has become the most difficult place to be in
trade publishing, with higher overheads than the smaller outfits but
little access to the economies of scale or the bargaining power of the
major houses (ompson 175–76).
e structure of the Australian industry largely—and strikingly—
conforms to this pattern, although it might be that Australia’s medium-
sized domestic market means that medium-sized publishers have a
larger role to play; or perhaps it is just that ‘medium’ in Australia can
still mean pretty small. In terms of total fiction titles from 2000 to
2013, there is a very clear top six: in order, Harlequin, HarperCollins,
Penguin, Allen & Unwin, Pan Macmillan and Random House
(Figure 1.5). Each of these published more than three hundred titles
and, from 2006, more than twenty each year. Random House, in
17
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
sixth position, averages 24 titles per year across the whole period, and
its total of 341 is more than double those that follow in the top ten:
the pay-to-publish and print-on-demand firm Zeus Publications at
130 (not included in the chart below), Hachette Livre at 129 (since
2004), the University of Queensland Press (UQP) at 123 and Text at
116. With the exclusion of Zeus, Fremantle Press enters the top ten.
Although all in this latter group except Hachette published novels
right across the period, they average fewer than ten titles annually.
Figure 1.5 includes YA novels but not children’s.
Figure 1.5 Top ten ction publishers 2000–1316
16 Notes: Harlequin includes Escape Publishing, Harlequin MIRA and Mills &
Boon (Carina Press not included).
HarperCollins includes Avon, Flamingo, Fourth Estate, Harper Perennial and
Voyager.
Penguin includes Hamish Hamilton, Michael Joseph, Puffin and Viking.
Allen & Unwin includes Arena and House of Books.
Pan Macmillan includes Macmillan, Momentum, Pan, Picador and Tor.
Random House includes Arrow, Bantam, Black Swan, Century, Doubleday,
Heinemann, Knopf, Transworld and Vintage.
Hachette (from 2004) includes Hodder, Hodder Headline, Lothian (from 2006),
Orion, Orbit, Sceptre and Sphere.
e print-on-demand and/or pay-to-publish firms Zeus (with 130 titles) and Sid
Harta (with 91) and digital publisher CreateSpace (86) have been excluded.
e Return of Print?
18
e top three firms listed are responsible for more than a quarter
(26.4%) of all fiction titles produced across the 14 years surveyed,
while the top six published just over forty-five per cent of the total.
ese per centages have increased but then decreased into the pres ent,
de spite the growth recorded above. Using the same ranking of firms,
the top six published 37% of the total in 2000, 50% in 2007 and 38%
in 2013. If we remove the YA titles from the lists the ordering changes
slightly, but the top six—here responsible for 46% of the total—
remain the same: in order, Harlequin, HarperCollins, Pan Macmillan,
Pen guin, Allen & Unwin and Random House (Pan Macmillan moves
up to third; Penguin and Allen & Unwin drop one place).
What the chart shows clearly is the unequal distribution of
the multinationals and the local independents. ere is only one
Australian-owned firm among the top five, but three among the
second five, and below this top ten all except a handful of the next 50
publishers are locally owned. e exceptions are Hodder Headline
(acquired by Hachette in 2004), Simon & Schuster, Scholastic and
Jacaranda Wiley—the last two exclusively with YA titles.
In terms of genre fiction, unsurprisingly, the majors again
dom inate, though unevenly depending on the sector. In romance
fiction their dominance is near absolute because of Harlequin’s
pre-eminence in the field. On its own it published 64% of all
romance titles published in Australia between 2010 and 2013,
while together the top six from Figure 1.5 (Harlequin plus Allen
& Unwin, HarperCollins, Penguin, Pan Macmillan and Random
House) were responsible for 89%. Removing Harlequin titles from
the total, the other top five published 68% of the remainder, and
with the other major multinational, Hachette, added in the figure
is 73%. e other big investor in romance is Penguin (37 titles in
this four-year span). Pan Macmillan leads the thriller/adventure
field with 28 titles. Although the spread is broader, the top six
still dominate—publishing 43% of all titles, rising to 46% if we
19
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
include Hachette. By contrast the involvement of a larger number
of independents in crime fiction testifies to its standing among
genre forms and its generic investment in local settings. Text, UQP,
Scribe, Vivid, Fremantle and Pantera Press all contribute multiple
titles in 2010–13, and Allen & Unwin matches Pan Macmillan as
the top producer with 24 titles. Nonetheless, even in the absence
of Harlequin, the top five plus Hachette account for 39% of total
output, which is still more than a third. e field of speculative
fiction is also relatively dispersed, with much higher numbers of
small publishers and self-published or print-on-demand titles.
HarperCollins is the dominant player for 2010–13, with 57 titles
against Pan Macmillan’s 19 in second place. e top six were
responsible for 35% of the total, and 39% with Hachette added.
Turning to literary fiction (Figure 1.6), we see some more signifi-
cant shifts: Penguin and Random House rise, HarperCollins falls a
few places, Harlequin disappears altogether, allowing another local,
UQP, to join the top six; but the others in the top group are the
familiar names.
Figure 1.6 Top ten literary ction publishers, 2000–1317
17 Again Zeus and Sid Harta have been excluded: Zeus is in ninth place with 53
titles; Sid Harta next with 50.
e Return of Print?
20
In a sense what is noteworthy about these results is not that four of
the top six are multinationals but rather that two of the top six—and
six of the top ten—are Australian-owned. Hachette follows in 11th
position, then the local firms Wakefield, Scribe, UWA Publishing
and Brandl & Schlesinger. Nonetheless the chart again reveals the
gap between the very large corporations and the medium-sized, with
HarperCollins’s 130 titles more than doubling UQP’s 61. From
that point on, the slope is gradual towards the small and very small
operations. Only the top four average more than ten titles annually
across the period, and of the rest only HarperCollins averages more
than five. e pattern from year to year becomes increasingly patchy
as we move down the scale—a patchiness represented visually in the
table at Appendix 1.
In my earlier essay I remarked on the lack of continuity, beyond
the top fifteen or so houses, in terms of the number of publishers
that had either disappeared or stopped publishing literary fiction.
Unsurprisingly there have been further casualties: Pandanus Books,
Indra (which shifted from printed books, mainly fiction, to ebooks,
mainly non-fiction), Duffy & Snellgrove (which stopped publishing
new books in 2005), and Hale & Iremonger, in addition to those
such as Hodder Headline and Lothian that were acquired by the
majors—in this case both by Hachette—or Pier 9, an imprint
of Murdoch Books that was acquired by Allen & Unwin in late
2012. But perhaps the sustainability of the small- to medium-
sized local firms is slightly better than a decade ago, with publishers
such as Australian Scholarly Publications, Scribe, Fremantle, Text,
UQP, UWA Publishing, Brandl & Schlesinger, Transit Lounge,
Ginninderra, Pantera, Giramondo and Interactive Publications con-
tinu ing to produce small numbers of titles most years. If the years
2005–06 show more than their fair share of shutdowns and mergers,
2007–10 show perhaps more than their fair share of new start-ups:
Vivid, Pantera, New Holland, Sleepers Publishing and Wombat
21
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
Books (children’s and YA). Nonetheless the distorted shape of the
publishing field is marked: the bottom twenty or so publishers have
averaged less than two titles annually across the decade and a half,
the bottom two-thirds less than three, and this without counting the
very large numbers publishing only a handful of titles occasionally.
My 2007 essay finished on a cautious note, rejecting both boom
and bust scenarios in favour of something more like ‘business as usual
in unusual circumstances’. e dramatic growth in ebooks and online
bookselling has occurred in the interim, making for even more
un usual circumstances. But if the earlier essay ended with a question
mark about the significance of declining outputs in the final years
surveyed, this updated version can end perhaps on a more optimistic
note (despite everything) with a question mark about the significance
of what looks like an upward trajectory for Australian publishing of
new Australian fiction across the spectrum.
Appendix 1: Publishers of Literary Fiction 2000–13 (Five or More Titles)
2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 Tota l
Penguin 13 20 10 12 916 13 815 10 13 615 10 170
Random House 16 510 6 5 9 11 12 10 911 18 16 15 153
Pan Macmillan 10 11 13 14 710 8 9 8 17 912 816 152
Allen & Unwin 7 11 10 5766715 14 512 21 14 140
HarperCollins 14 9 6 13 14 8 9 11 8 5 0 12 913 131
UQP 2 6 4 6 6 0 4 6 2 6 3 9 6 1 61
Text 4 3 2 4 5 1 0 2 9 6 4 8 5 6 59
Ginninderra 4 1 2 1 3 1 5 5 4 6 3 7 3 1 46
Fremantle 3 3 2 1 2 1 3 3 3 3 2 0 4 7 37
Australian
Scholarly Publ. 0 0 0 2 0 0 2 3 0 5 6 16 2 1 37
Hachette Livre/
Aust. 0 0 0 0 4 3 0 1 3 2 5 3 4 7 32
Wakefield 1 1 1 1 6 1 4 3 1 2 0 3 1 5 30
Scribe 0 1 2 1 0 0 3 3 2 3 8 2 2 1 28
UWA Publ. 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 2 0 4 2 1 5 3 20
Brandl &
Schlesinger 0 3 2 1 1 2 2 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 19
Hodder
Headline 4 7 6 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 19
Interactive
Publ. 1 0 2 1 1 2 0 2 2 1 1 2 2 1 18
Pandanus 0 0 1 3 3 8 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 18
Simon &
Schuster 1 2 3 2 0 1 0 0 0 0 4 0 2 3 18
Indra 2 2 3 1 4 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 15
Boolarong 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 3 2 1 3 12
Seaview 5 0 0 1 3 1 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 12
Transit Lounge 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 4 0 3 0 2 1 12
Pier 9 (Murdoch
Books) 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 2 1 6 1 0 0 12
Giramondo 0 0 0 1 0 3 1 2 1 1 0 0 1 1 11
ABC Books 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 3 3 0 0 0 0 0 10
Black Pepper 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 2 1 0 0 1 2 0 10
Central Qld U 0 1 1 0 0 4 0 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 9
Sleepers Publ. 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 2 2 2 0 2 9
Vivid 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 4 8
Hybrid 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 2 0 1 0 0 7
Duffy &
Snellgrove 1 2 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 6
Hardie Grant 1 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 6
Magabala 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 6
Vulgar 0 1 0 1 0 2 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 6
Puncher &
Wattman 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 5
e Return of Print?
24
Works Cited
Allen & Unwin. ‘About Allen & Unwin’. Allen & Unwin. Allen & Unwin, n.d.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <https://www.allenandunwin.com/about-allen-and-
unwin>.
———.‘House of Books’. Allen & Unwin. Allen & Unwin, n.d. Web. 15 Apr.
2016. <https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/books/house-of-books>.
AustLit. AustLit, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.austlit.edu.au>.
Barthes, Roland. ‘Reflections on a Manual.’ e Rustle of Language. Trans.
Richard Howard. Berkeley: U of California P, 1989.
Battellino, Ric. ‘Twenty Years of Economic Growth.’ Reserve Bank of Australia.
Reserve Bank of Australia, 20 Aug. 2010. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.
rba.gov.au/speeches/2010/sp-dg-200810.html>.
Bowker. Bowker, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://media.bowker.com/
documents/isbn_output_2002_2013.pdf>.
Carina Press. ‘About Us.’ Carina Press. Carina Press, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
<http://carinapress.com/blog/about-us/>.
Carter, David. ‘Boom, Bust or Business as Usual? Literary Fiction Publishing.’
Making Books: Contemporary Australian Publishing. Eds. David Carter and
Anne Galligan. St Lucia: U of Queensland Press, 2007. 231–46.
Carter, David, and Anne Galligan. ‘Introduction.’ Making Books:
Contemporary Australian Publishing. Eds. David Carter and Anne Galligan.
St Lucia: U of Queensland P, 2007. 1–14.
Collins, Jim. Bring on the Books for Everybody: How Literary Culture Became
Popular Culture. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2010.
Davis, Mark. ‘Publishing in the End Times.’ By the Book? Contemporary
Publishing in Australia. Ed. Emmett Stinson. Melbourne: Monash UP,
2013. 3–14.
———. ‘e Decline of the Literary Paradigm in Australian Publishing.’
Making Books: Contemporary Australian Publishing. Eds. David Carter and
Anne Galligan. St Lucia: U of Queensland P, 2007. 116–31.
Publishers Weekly. ‘Frankfurt Book Fair 2013: Markus Dohle’s Full Remarks.’
Publishers Weekly. PWxyz, LLC., 11 Oct. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
25
General Fiction, Genre Fiction and Literary Fiction Publishing 2000–13
<http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/international/Frankfurt-
Book-Fair/article/59510-frankfurt-book-fair-2013-markus-dohle-s-full-
remarks.html>.
Harlequin Books. ‘About Harlequin Books.’ Harlequin. Harlequin Enterprises
Australia, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.harlequinbooks.com.au/
about>.
Momentum Books. ‘About.’ Momentum. Pan Macmillan Australia, n.d. Web. 15
Apr. 2016. <http://momentumbooks.com.au/about>.
News Corp. ‘News Corp to Acquire Harlequin.’ News Corp. News Corp, 2 May
2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://newscorp.com/2014/05/02/news-corp-
to-acquire-harlequin/>.
Penguin Books Australia. ‘Penguin Launches Destiny Romance—A New
Digital Imprint.’ Penguin Books Australia. Penguin Random House, 17 Aug.
2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.penguin.com.au/content/311704/
penguin-launches-destiny-romance-new-digital-imprint >.
PricewaterhouseCoopers Australia. Cover to Cover: A Market Analysis of
the Australian Book Industry. Canberra: Department of Innovation,
Industry, Science and Research, 2011. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
www.industry.gov.au/industry/IndustrySectors/booksandprinting/
BookIndustryStrategyGroup/Documents/PwCCovertoCover.pdf>.
ompson, John B. Merchants of Culture: e Publishing Business in the Twenty-
First Century. 2nd ed. New York: Plume, 2012.
27
C T
Bookish Girls
Gender and Leadership in Australian Trade Publishing
S C
In 2013, a very public reflection on cultural perceptions of female
leadership was triggered by two events: Julia Gillard’s misogyny
speech, and her dismissal as both Labor Leader and Prime Minister
in the lead-up to the federal election campaign. As this unfolded, I
was researching the status of female leadership in Australian trade
publishing for my Master’s thesis, and wondered whether an industry
that tends to be well educated, left wing, low paying and brimming
with female workers1 could resist the pull of Australia’s clear cultural
preference for male leadership.2
Much recent commentary suggests that women are still signi fi-
cantly less likely to reach the upmost tiers of the publishing industry
(Treasure; Howden; Dattner ‘Open Letter’; ompson). But such
claims are largely based on anecdotal evidence and personal experi-
ence; I felt that it was important to investigate this issue heuristically,
using both quantitative and qualitative methodologies to reach
empirical findings.
A wide body of gender-based workplace theory finds that good
leadership is traditionally associated with a cluster of stereotypically
‘male’ attributes, such as being assertive, decisive and rational (Eagly
1 In 2007/2008 Lee et al. found that women made up 73% of the workforce of
Australia’s 20 biggest publishing companies (38).
2 e Australian Bureau of Statistics produced some stark evidence of this in
2012, showing, for example, that women account for just 3.5% of CEOs in the
ASX 200.
e Return of Print?
28
and Carli 66; Eagly and Karau). On the other hand, poor leadership
is associated with a cluster of stereotypically ‘female’ qualities, such
as being self-deprecating, nurturing and sensitive (Kaufman 28).
ese notions of leadership can be restrictive for both sexes, but have
three particular adverse outcomes for women: firstly, women are
not promoted to leadership roles because of their gender; secondly,
stereo types can cause women to have lower self-esteem and to be
doubtful of their abilities (Rutherford 16; Karelaia and Guillén);
thirdly, women, even when promoted, are judged in a harsher light
than their male counterparts (Ryan and Haslam 550; Koenig et al.;
Elsesser and Lever 1557). e last consequence is exacerbated when
women are distinct minorities within senior management teams. As
Heilman writes: ‘Since there rarely is a high concentration of women
at upper management levels, the salience of sex is likely to be quite
high, providing an impetus for stereotypic thinking’ (882).
Despite the strides women have made in the workplace, office cul-
tures still usually reflect a set of stereotypically masculine notions
about employees (Rutherford 37–38). Research has shown, for ex-
ample, that in the United States marriage and parenthood translate
to higher wages for men but not for women (Eagly and Carli 64–65).
ere is a fundamental clash between the long-hours culture that
persists in many workplaces and the demands of motherhood. While in
theory, modern forward-thinking workplaces (of the kind you would
expect to find in the publishing industry) might not intentionally
discriminate between male and female workers, it is still commonly
assumed that raising children is primarily the responsibility of the
mother (Rutherford; Eagly and Carli). is perception, coupled
with the fact that most high-powered jobs are incompatible with the
demands of child rearing, produces a significant barrier to women’s
progress in the workplace (Hakim; Rutherford; Eagly and Carli).
I sought to investigate whether or not the Australian publishing
industry equitably supports the professional development of female
29
Bookish Girls
workers by measuring the gender ratios in the senior management
teams of 90 Australian trade publishers. ese ratios were tallied
in both senior management roles (S) and the chief executive or
principal (P) position of large and mid-sized trade publishers, as well
as a select set of small publishers. Given the large number of small
publishers in Australia, not all such organsations could be measured
and this investigation was limited to publishers that met three
criteria: they had to be members of either the Small Press Network
(SPN) or the Australian Publishers Association (APA); they had to
have published at least one book in 2012; and information about the
publisher’s management team needed to be readily available through
the APA directory, on a company website, or by reply to an email
enquiry. Via these means, I generated a sample set of 90 Australian
publishers, including 73 small publishers (defined as independent
houses that published between 1 and 20 titles in 2012), 11 mid-sized
publishers (defined as independent houses that published between
21 and 100 titles in 2012), and 6 large publishers3 (defined as houses
that published in excess of 101 titles in 2012). Five of the six are
subsidiaries of multinationals.
Sfemale Smale Pfemale Pmale
Large publishers 55 45 28.5 71.5
Mid-sized
publishers 58 42 33.5 66.5
Small publishers 61 39 57 43
Figure 2.1: Percentage gender dispersions of senior management teams (S)
and company principals (P) in the Australian trade-publishing industry.
ese results are open to interpretation, but there were several
clear conclusions.
3 is data was collected before the Penguin Random House merge of 1 July 2013.
e Return of Print?
30
More women are company principals in small publishers. ere are
a number of likely reasons for this, one being that women can start
and run their own small publishing businesses. Small houses also
tend to be more egalitarian and less commercially driven. Workers in
small companies are also more exposed to their bosses and less likely
to go unnoticed and unrewarded for good performance (Colgan and
Tomlinson).
Women outnumber men on senior management teams in all three
categories, with female representation peaking at 61% in small pub-
lishers. However, the number of women in senior manage ment teams
still falls far short of their representation in the overall workforce:
women make up about 73% of the workforce of Australia’s 20 biggest
publishing companies (Lee et al. 38), but my results show women
holding only 58% of the senior management positions in mid-size
publishers, and just 55% in large houses. ere is no real consensus
on how closely proportionate we expect women’s participation in
leadership teams to be.
e statistics clearly indicate that men are significantly more likely
to principal large and mid-sized trade publishers; here the male-to-
female ratio nearly inverts compared to the ratio across the whole
industry. is is strong evidence that, as the commercial stakes rise,
a preference for male leadership increases.
Despite evidence of disparity, the often-used ‘glass ceiling’ metaphor
—which suggests an elusive, near impenetrable barrier—ignores the
large (if not proportionate) number of women who have reached the
industry’s highest tiers, who are too numerous to be considered anom-
alies. Nonetheless, women, by and large, are still confronted with
hurdles that men are not, a fact that is indicated by the disprop or tion-
ately high number of men achieving senior man agement and leader-
ship positions. is aligns with Eagly and Carli’s view that career-
ambitious women face challenges analogous to a maze: reaching the
31
Bookish Girls
highest tiers of an industry ‘requires persistence, awareness of one’s
progress, and a careful analysis of the puzzles that lie ahead’ (64).
In order to make better sense of this data, interviews were conducted
with a variety of women who occupy senior roles in trade publishing.
ese interviews were intended to: 1) understand the participants’
personal experiences as women in the industry; 2) assess the parallels
and divergences in the women’s experiences—this was an attempt to
understand if there is a typical path to female leadership; 3) assess
the participants’ collective accounts alongside the quantitative data,
interpreting each in light of the other. What follows is an analysis of
the more illuminating questions these interviews raised.
Why Do So Many Women Work in Publishing?
e women interviewed were attracted to the creative aspects of
publishing work. Most had pursued it over other creative fields
because of a love of books and reading that stretched back to their
child hoods. is aligns with Colgan and Tomlinson’s assertion that
women are usually more inclined than men to choose creative
work over high-paying work (17). CEO of Melbourne University
Publishing, Louise Adler, shared another, perhaps more intangible,
per cep tion as to the large female workforce in publishing. She argued
that the nature of publishing work mirrors the work stereotypically
assigned to women in wider culture:
It’s actually about being other people’s handmaidens, which
is a classic female role. You do the editing, you clean up the
text, you promote the author, you help the author in and out
of taxis, you meet them at the airport, you send them reviews,
you support them wholeheartedly and without the expectation
of gratitude, just like a good wife.
She added that women are usually less confident than men:
e Return of Print?
32
When you ask a man: ‘Why don’t you write a book?’ He says:
‘Oh, that’s a good idea’. If you ask a woman the same thing,
she says: ‘Do you think I could?’ at’s the difference, the
self-doubt.
Obviously Adler was generalising for the sake of making her
point, but this idea perhaps adds something to the picture of why so
many women work in publishing. Many gender theorists argue along
similar lines to Adler, maintaining that women often have lower
self-esteem than men as result of socialisation processes (Rutherford
16; Henry 151). As Rutherford critically notes: ‘e current vogue
is to see these traits [self-doubt, modesty] as innately feminine
rather than developing out of structural positions of inferiority and
superiority’ (16).
It is conceivable that self-doubt—and its likely bedfellows, modesty
and assiduousness—in some ways help and in other ways hinder
women. Another woman,4 who worked at a large educational pub-
lisher at the beginning of her career, gave me a specific example of
how this idea manifests; she recalled consulting her boss over the
appointment of a marketing coordinator: ‘She wanted a young woman
… her idea was they were more likely to do as they were told and stay
in the job and not try and move up as soon as they were trained.’
In this instance, feminine self-doubt (because, essentially, that
is the trait described) was looked upon as desirable. is is not
surprising and, in some ways, modesty is inherent in the nature of
publishing work; publishers carry out their work behind the scenes,
improving an author’s words, packaging those words in between
glossy, carefully designed covers, and bringing the words into the
public sphere, where little credit is afforded them. Here is an industry
fundamentally concerned with the realisation of other people’s
creativ ity and, as Bryony Cosgrove—who has worked at Penguin and
4 In the interest of discretion the woman interviewed will not be named in this
instance.
33
Bookish Girls
as head of the publishing course at the University of Melbourne—
told me, ‘ere’s room for only one large ego, and that’s the author’s.’
Although it might be easier for women to find an entry point into
publishing, the quantitative data evidences that their passage upwards
is steeper. It is likely that self-doubt plays some part here too. As
Heilman et al. write, women ‘as a group are unlikely to be confident
about their ability to succeed in a leadership position, whereas men as
a group are confident about their ability in this regard’ (67).
Is Female Leadership Impeded by Motherhood?
Most of the participants had juggled work and the responsibility of
being the primary carer for young children. Many had also had staff
with small children. Words such as ‘challenge’, ‘torn’ and ‘struggle’
were often used to describe the clash between family and work. e
participants all held the view that, in culturally stereotypical terms,
the child-rearing role still falls disproportionately on mothers.
Most of the mothers in the group had, in their own ways, struck
some sort of balance. is had involved a careful compromise be-
tween work and home.
Some of the participants were pragmatic when I asked them if
they thought senior part-time work existed for working mothers
in the publishing industry. For example, Foong Ling Kong, who
was working as a publisher at Allen & Unwin at the time, said:
‘Unfortunately, you do have to work full-time to maintain a presence.’
Along similar lines, Adler told me that working mothers will usually
have a ‘five year lull’ in their careers. Adler had her children when
she was working at Reed Books in the 1980s and insisted on leaving
work at 4p.m. each day when they were young. She recognised that
this might, at least in the short term, have consequences for her
career. Adler displayed obvious sympathy for the challenges working
mothers face, but thought that a truly satisfying balance verged on
the unreachable. She said:
e Return of Print?
34
I understand being torn and I am sad that not much has
changed since the second-wave of feminism in the seventies
argued that the personal is political. I watch young mothers in
the publishing industry today and realise nothing has changed.
When I visited Melbourne University Publishing to interview
Adler, I met two of the company’s current working mothers, both
with young children. Both women were working part-time and were
reason ably content with the division between their working and
home lives. One of the women said: ‘You choose. When you have
young children you make choices about the flexibility you need in
the short term.’
Kong, who also happened to work under Adler at Melbourne
University Publishing when her child was younger, was clear that
a satis fying balance is difficult to strike, particularly within the
structure of a traditional workplace:
I’ve always said [to employers], ‘number one, my child is not
negotiable. Number two, I’m not going to work full time. Even
if you want me to, I don’t want to work full time’. But what
always happens in this industry, of course, is that everyone
who works part-time packs a full-time load into those hours.
Kong thought that freelancing work sometimes offers working
mothers a more satisfying balance. Kong has done extensive free-
lancing and argued that it put her in a position where she could control
her workload. However, as Kong pointed out, the Australian market
only allows for a small number of successful, senior freelancers at
any one time. Successful freelancers must have extensive industry
experience and a proven aptitude for the work. So it is unlikely to be a
viable option for most working mothers, particularly young working
mothers who do not have the requisite experience.
Indeed, those participants who have come closest to senior part-
time work were in senior roles before having children. For example,
35
Bookish Girls
Jackie Yowell, who had a child when she was working at Penguin
in the 1980s, described delaying having children because of the
pressure and time-commitment of her career: ‘I didn’t have a baby
until I was 37 partly because I couldn’t see how I could fit it in,
really.’ Yowell was able to negotiate her career as a working mother
in light of her previous success, which essentially became a bar-
gain ing chip; Penguin held her job when she took leave after her
child’s birth and, when she returned, ‘grudgingly accepted’ that she
would cut back to four days weeks. However, Yowell still found
re-entering the workforce difficult. At the time, she was afforded
less flexibility (to work non-traditional hours or from home) than
many mothers are today.5 She struggled being away from her child
and, at one point, approached the managing director at Penguin
about setting up an in-house crèche modelled on one established by
McPhee Gribble (‘ey got the staff they needed to run it and they
had their babies at work with them. It was wonderful for them,’
she said of the McPhee Gribble crèche). Management at Penguin
opposed the idea.
is has not changed since; the only participant who mentioned
bringing her children into the workplace was Zoe Dattner, who
co-runs Sleepers Publishing with Louise Swinn. Like freelancers,
mothers running their own business, such as Dattner and Swinn, are
in the fairly unique position to approach motherhood and work on
their own terms. For Dattner, this translates to bringing her children
into the workplace as well as ‘a restructuring of home and working
roles between my partner and I’ (Interview). Swinn, who recently
had her second child, was, at the time of our interview, working most
of her hours from home. She said, ‘It involves a lot of evening work
and working during nap-time, catching an hour here and an hour
there, and weekend work at the moment.’
5 is is reflective of technological advances, which have enabled women to work
from home, as well as a possible cultural shift within in the industry.
e Return of Print?
36
Prior to starting Sleepers, Dattner worked at a large educational
publisher and recalled feeling anxious when her co-workers left to
have children and, most often, did not return to the workplace.
She blamed this on regimented office culture that allowed working
mothers little flexibility: ‘I thought, when the time comes, what are
my options?’ In an article she wrote for Bookseller+Publisher, Dattner
noted that old office culture lingers in many of the industry’s work-
places, limiting its working mothers (and indeed, its working fathers)
(‘Open Letter’ 17). Elaborating in our interview, she said, ‘Part-time
hours are perceived as your capacity to work somehow being less.’
She rejected this notion, and argued that it translates to an industry
that ‘underutilises really, really, really smart people’ and particularly
women. Contrary to the notion that the work-family clash is un-
resolvable, Dattner argues that the industry could become more
flexible towards its working mothers by allowing them to work from
home and within less-structured time frames.
Dattner has also argued against the corporate mindset that the
work sphere and the home sphere should not overlap. She wrote an
article for Overland in 2013 in response to Tony Abbott’s proposed
maternity leave amendments. Dattner argued:
en there is the other popular assumption about motherhood
that I found difficult to digest: that this was some natural
extension of womanhood (whatever that is), and something I
should revel in, unaccompanied, and self-contained.
All of these things can be emphatically true for some
women and I don’t mean to imply for a second that they are
invalid or wrong. But they were not true for me, and I believe
that if I didn’t have a working environment to be in in those
first twelve months (and beyond) I would not have coped with
the immense identity crisis that can occur when motherhood
begins. (‘Paid Maternity’)
37
Bookish Girls
As Dattner acknowledges, this is a reflection of her personal
needs; many women do desire time away from the workplace after
their children are born. But Dattner’s argument does highlight that
women have individual maternal needs; true flexibility must attempt
to accommodate women as individuals.
Swinn argued that the wider industry needs to shift towards ‘a more
family-friendly attitude towards things like properly paid mater nity
leave and paternity leave and family obligation time’. However, as pub-
lishing is not a high-profit industry, its workplaces often have limited
resources to assist working mothers. Many of the participants pointed
this out. Most publishers, particularly small publishers, may not be able
to afford to subsidise childcare services (internally or externally) or pay
maternity or paternity leave beyond what is legally required of them.
is, undoubtedly, adds to the strain of its working mothers.
Sophy Williams was another who has had some success balancing
her work and home spheres. Again, this is largely because she already
held her position as CEO at Black Inc. when she had her first child.
She described renegotiating the structure of her role in the lead up to
having her first child:
I had to set a precedent when I had my own family. I had to
think about the rights and privileges I was giving myself and
I had to make sure they extended to my staff. Since I was
the first person to go and have a couple of kids while I was
still working, I thought very long and hard about what the
company should accommodate.
It is perhaps significant to point out that both Sleepers and Black
Inc. are independent publishers and—as was apparent from the
interviews with Williams, Swinn and Dattner—reasonably egalitarian
companies. For example, this was evidenced in Williams’s belief that
individual workplaces have an implicit role to play in shifting wider
cultural perceptions of motherhood:
e Return of Print?
38
It’s not a question of her always being the one to stay at
home. He has to have some responsibility … these are things
we think about and are very important and serious for us.
(Interview)
e quantitative and qualitative findings suggest that the inde pen-
dent publishing scene allows its working mothers greater flexibility
than the larger commercial houses. Many of the participants made
arguments along these lines.
However, career-ambitious women who have children before
breaking into the industry’s senior ranks do seem to have limited
options: work full-time from the office and limit their time with
their children; work part-time and expect their careers to lull; or stop
work and hope the opportunity presents to re-enter if and when they
choose.
e participants who were currently in senior management posi-
tions were conscious of assisting their company’s working mothers in
what ways they could. Underscoring this was a preference for cohesive,
communal working environments and ones that retained effective
workers regardless of the realities of their home lives. Adler said: ‘If
you want good people you have to accommodate their everyday lives,
their needs for balance between professional and private lives and
all that entails’. Along the same lines, Williams said: ‘You take on a
whole person and we want to retain the people who are good.’
What Do Female Leaders Have in Common?
As touched on earlier, most of the participants found their success
in the independent publishing scene. It is clear that smaller, less
struc tured working environments offer women greater opportunity
for success. Additionally, women—such as Swinn, Dattner and
Susan Hawthorne—are forging their own success running their
own independent publishing ventures; my quantitative research
39
Bookish Girls
demonstrates that women run 61% of Australia’s small independent
publishing houses.
e participants were also characterised by their reluctance to
persist in working environments that were unsatisfying or ill-fitting.
Hawthorne is an interesting example of this. Her career began at
the feminist children’s book publishing collective, Sugar and Snails,6
where the working culture was one common to a small, grassroots
company: run collectively, and encouraging of both diversity and
equality amongst its collective members. In the 1980s, Hawthorne
worked at Penguin where she developed and expanded Penguin’s
feminist list including Dale Spender’s Penguin Australia Women’s
Library.7 Although Hawthorne praised Penguin as, at its best, ‘a place
of high-volt intellectualism’, she also described disparity between the
male and female workers:
[T]hough I don’t know the figures, I’m aware that the
women working at Penguin were not paid as much as the
men even if they were in comparable positions … It was
absolutely spectral that the men were at the top and that the
women were doing a lot of the work in mostly editorial, sales
and publishing … there were a whole lot of things at play …
very little of it was overt but it was definitely systemic and
difficult to pinpoint.
Hawthorne left Penguin to start her own feminist publishing ven-
ture, Spinifex Press, in the early 1990s.8 At Spinifex, Hawthorne has
consciously shifted back towards a more equal working philosophy.
6 Sugar and Snails was one of over a dozen feminist presses found in Australia in the
1970s and 1980s on the back of second-wave feminism.
7 Australian feminist scholar Dale Spender was the commissioning editor of Penguin
Australia’s Women’s Library, a list of women’s writing and feminist texts published
in the 1980s and very much catalysed by the spreading of second-wave feminism.
8 is was a great risk because, by this time, many of Australia’s feminist presses had
closed, no longer able make ends meet.
e Return of Print?
40
She and her business partner, Renate Klein, are the highest decision-
makers within the company, but they make a concerted effort to
listen to their staff’s ideas. Hawthorne said that the company has
a ‘fairly flat structure’ and one where ‘the conversations we have are
important’.
ere was some parallel between Hawthorne’s and Yowell’s ex-
peri ences. Both took leave from Penguin—Hawthorne to travel
and Yowell to have her first child—and both perceived, upon their
return to Penguin, that the culture had shifted in a direction that no
longer suited them. Like Hawthorne, Yowell also left around this
time and also spent a few years running her own small press before
selling her list to Allen & Unwin and working for them. Although
Allen & Unwin is a large publisher, Yowell saw the difference its
independence had on its modes of operating. She said, ‘[It] wasn’t
subject to the control of an international parent company. I think
that made it much more frees-spirited in its whole management style.’
e interviews emphasised where the cultures of corporate and of
independent publishing diverge: larger, more traditional companies
may have more clearly defined tiers of power and status, whereas
smaller independent companies are more likely to veer away from
traditional corporate culture and create their own culture rooted
in the joint ethos of the workers (women and men). is fluidity
that exists in small company culture partly explains why women
experience greater success in small publishing ventures. Along these
lines, Rutherford describes workplace culture as a ‘process’ that is
driven and defined by the people within the workplace. She writes
that traditional working cultures preserve hierarchies and boundaries
by emphasising the perceived differences between male and female
workers (18). Once gender perceptions themselves are challenged, so,
too, are the foundations of the culture itself.
Most of the participants have been active in seeking or creating
working environments where this breakdown of tradition has occurred
41
Bookish Girls
or begun, and this has likely been key to their success. For example,
Williams, Swinn and Dattner, like many university graduates
enter ing the industry, began their careers at educational publishers,
but their departures into the independent scene quickly followed.
Williams explained the appeal of independent publishing: ‘From
the beginning [at Black Inc.], I was almost able to structure my own
role, which, after being in a more restrictive working environment,
was great.’ Williams saw little opportunity for creativity at the
educational publisher and also wanted a diverse, less structured role.
She has found this at Black Inc. and described the company as hav-
ing a ‘fairly unique municipal culture’, one where men and women
are fairly evenly spread at all levels. For example, at the time of our
interview, Black Inc. was advertising for a publicity assistant and
Williams expressed disappointment that no male candidates have
yet applied for what she considered a stereotypically feminine role.
Williams’s description of Black Inc. aligns with theorist Catherine
Hakim’s description of a ‘demasculinised and defeminised’ (74)
work place. Swinn said that, for her, being self-employed brings
the freedom to create a working culture that reflects the shared
values of Dattner and herself. She said that many of their business
decisions have not necessarily been profitable, but have been true to
the company’s cultural goals. is shift of focus away from profit
margins and towards cultural goals characterises small publishing
(Donoghue 2013).
A number of the participants also attributed their success to good
fortune. But there is only partial truth to this. All the participants
were personable and charming, which is a more likely explanation for
their success. As Cosgrove told me, industry leaders need to have ‘great
networks that one needs to maintain assiduously’. e participants
were also intelligent, ambitious and determined. Williams said that
ambition and confidence have been key to her success and credited
her ‘strong feminist mother’ for fostering these qualities.
e Return of Print?
42
Adler acknowledged ‘a series of men who’ve tapped me on the
shoulder and given me a chance’. She first moved into publishing
because Sandy Grant (of Hardy Grant) thought she would have a
talent for it. Men have since continued to facilitate her progression.
On one hand, this demonstrates that the industry’s most powerful
players are men. On the other, it underscores that they are not
neces sarily scouting for men like themselves to lead in the future.
is signals a measure of openness that might be less common in
other industries. Historically, one of the great challenges to female
leadership is that male leaders tend to replace themselves with male
leaders—a sort of brute reinforcement of stereotypes (Stoker et al.).
Most importantly, the participants saw their success in terms of
career satisfaction; any power or status that has accompanied this has
essentially been a by-product. ese women are not unwilling leaders,
but leadership itself was never the prize. is raises a key question:
do women directly seek leadership positions? Or is this more likely
a male tendency? It is true that some of the participants have sought
their leadership roles. Swinn and Dattner both, for the most part,
find great satisfaction in running Sleepers together.9 And all of the
participants welcomed the greater creative freedom that comes with
senior roles. But as touched on above, status and power did not seem
to be important drivers for the participants. For example, Hawthorne
said that her motivations in running Spinifex were ‘much more about
frustration with the wider world of publishing … I wasn’t especially
inspired to work for myself. In fact, I think it’s very hard.’ Yowell
closed down the small publishing venture that she started after
leaving Penguin because she did not enjoy the pressures of running
a company.
9 It is worth noting that Swinn and Dattner are amongst the youngest of the
participants; it is possible that the younger generation of women publishers are
more confident in their ability to lead.
43
Bookish Girls
It seems that female ambition is usually not directed towards power
and status, although power and status can be its natural outcomes.
is research did not investigate whether men in publishing are more
focused on power and status than their female counterparts, though
this is an interesting question to ask. Research has suggested that
men are certainly more likely to pursue status and power roles; this
may be rooted in cultural perceptions of masculinity (Heilman et
al.). Indicating the possibility of this in publishing, Cosgrove noted:
[C]uriously, when I spent three months at Penguin USA, there
were far more male editors working there [relative to Penguin
Australia] … I think the role itself had a higher status there
than it did in Australia.
e quantitative research demonstrates that, although women
hold the majority of publishing leadership roles (something that is not
typical of most other industries), men still have a disproportionately
high share of leadership positions in trade publishing, a tendency
that becomes more pronounced as the size of the publishing house
increases. is essay opened by asking if publishing’s largely female
workforce, its low pay rates and its tendency to embrace left-wing
cultural and political values has produced a more equitable gender
representation among senior management. While, in some ways,
publishing has supported female leadership, it is clear that significant
impediments still exist. Cultural stereotypes about women and their
ability to lead have not necessarily inhibited the women in this
study, which speaks for an industry open to the notion of strong
female leadership. However, women’s leadership is disrupted by the
industry’s lack of flexibility towards working mothers, particularly
in large multinational companies. It is important for the industry to
ask: how does a workplace best assist and enable its working mothers
at a low cost? is question is a crucial one if trade publishing is to
take full advantage of its leadership potential.
e Return of Print?
44
Works Cited
Adler, Louise. Personal interview. 2013.
Australian Bureau of Statistics. ‘Women in Leadership.’ Australian Social Trends.
December (2012): 11–16.
Colgan, Fiona, and Frances Tomlinson. ‘Women in Publishing: Jobs or Careers.’
Personnel Review 20.5 (1991): 16–26.
Cosgrove, Bryony. Personal interview. 2013.
Dattner, Zoe. ‘An Open Letter to the Australian Publishing and Bookselling
Industry.’ Bookseller+Publisher 92.2 (2012): 17.
———. ‘Paid Maternity Leave: Time For a Rethink.’ Overland. O L Society
Limited, 10 May 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
———. Personal interview. 2013.
Eagly, Alice H., and Linda L. Carli. ‘Women and the Labyrinth of Leadership.’
Harvard Business Review 85.9 (2007): 62–71.
———, and S. J. Karau. ‘Role Congruity eory of Prejudice Towards Female
Leaders.’ Psychological Review 109.3 (2002): 573–98.
Elsesser, Kim M., and Janet Lever. ‘Does Gender Bias against Female Leaders
Persist? Quantitative and Qualitative Data From a Large Scale Survey.’
Human Relations 64.12 (2011): 1555–78.
Hakim, Catherine. Key Issues in Women’s Work: Female Diversity and the Polarisation
of Women’s Employment. 2nd ed. London: e GlassHouse Press, 2004.
Hart, Jim. ‘New Wave Seventies.’ Paper Empires: A History of the Book in
Australia 1946–2005. Eds. Craig Munro and Robyn Sheahan-Bright. St
Lucia: U of Queensland P, 2006: 53–57.
Hawthorne, Susan. Personal interview. 2013.
Heilman, Madeline E. ‘Sex Discrimination and the Affirmative Action Remedy:
e Role of Sex Stereotypes.’ Journal of Business Ethics 16.9 (1997): 877–89.
Heilman, Madeline E., et al. ‘Intentionally Favoured, Unintentionally Harmed?
Impact of Sex-Based Preferential Selection on Self-Perceptions and
Self-Evaluations.’ Journal of Applied Psychology 72.1 (1987): 62–68.
Henry, Collette. ‘Women and the Creative Industries: Exploring the Popular
Appeal.’ Creative Industries Journal 2.2 (2009): 143–60.
45
Bookish Girls
Howden, Felice. ‘Finding Feminism: A Woman in Publishing.’ BookMachine.
BookMachine, 8 Jul. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Karelaia, Natalia, and Laura Guillén. ‘Me, a Woman and a Leader: Antecedents
and Consequences of the Identity Conflict of Women Leaders.’ Faculty
and Research Working Paper, INSEAD, 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Kaufman, Alicia E. Changing Female Identities, Decisions and Dilemmas in the
Workplace. Trans. Don Topley. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.
Koenig, Anne M., et al. ‘Are Leader Stereotypes Masculine? A Meta-Analysis
of ree Research Paradigms.’ Psychological Bulletin 137.4 (2011): 616–42.
Kong, Foong Ling. Personal interview. 2013.
Lee, Jenny, et al. e University of Melbourne Book Industry Study: Australian Book
Publishers 2007/08. Melbourne: orpe-Bowker, 2009.
Rutherford, Sarah. Women’s Work, Men’s Cultures. London: Palgrave Macmillan,
2011.
Ryan, Michelle K., and S. Alexander Haslam. ‘e Glass Cliff: Exploring
the Dynamics Surrounding the Appointment of Women To Precarious
Leadership Positions.’ Academy of Management Review 32.3 (2007): 549–72.
Stoker, Janka I., et al. ‘Factors Relating to Managerial Stereotypes: e Role
of Gender of the Employee and the Manager and Management Gender
Ration.’ Journal of Business and Psychology 27.1 (2012): 31–42.
Swinn, Louise. Personal interview. 2013.
omson, Liz. ‘Gail Rebuck and Victoria Barnsley: e Dethroned Queens of
the Publishing Industry.’ New Statesman. Progressive Media International,
18 Jul. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Treasure, Anne. ‘What Has Happened to All the Powerful Women in Book
Publishing?’ Momentum Books. Momentum, 13 Jul. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Williams, Sophy. Personal interview. 2013.
Yowell, Jackie. Personal interview. 2013.
47
C T
The Changing Literary Ecology
M D
Capitalism without hope, hopeless capitalism, endgame
capitalism. (Simon During, Exit Capitalism)
e universities are not yet ready for burning. e
humanities have not yet become useless in principle. Godot
has not arrived, does not arrive. Post-humanism has not
been achieved; we can only ever be on the way. (Gayatri
Chakravorty Spivak 518)
ere is something already nostalgic about recent evocations of
the lingering power of literature to spark cultural and social trans-
for mation. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, for example, has recently
proclaimed the benefits of an aesthetic education as an antidote to
a data-based information capitalism that has ‘ruined knowing and
reading’ (Spivak 1). And Simon During has positioned literature as a
possible site of resistance against what he calls ‘endgame capitalism’
(Exit Capitalism vii). According to During:
[L]iterature’s abiding conservatism is now a reservoir, if not
exactly of hope or radical will, then at least of experiences and
values at odds with (or even incommensurate with) current
social conditions … literature may become an instrument to
distance or remove us, if only virtually, from the flawed regime
that now, in its various modes and structures, covers the globe.
(Against Democracy viii)
e Return of Print?
48
A similar faith in the transformative power of literature underpins
debate about the limits and possibilities of world literature (Apter;
Casanova; Damrosch; Prendergast). As Emily Apter has summarised,
with scepticism:
Both translation studies and World Literature extended the
promise of worldly criticism, politicized cosmopolitanism,
comparability aesthetics galvanised by a deprovincialized
Europe, an academically redistributed area studies and a
redrawn map of language geopolitics. Partnered, they could
deliver still more: translation theory as Weltliteratur would
challenge flaccid globalisms that paid lip service to alterity
while doing little more than to buttress neoliberal ‘big tent’
syllabi taught in English. (157)
is same faith in literature no doubt underwrites the founding of
new literary journals such as e New Inquiry, e Los Angeles Review
of Books (LARB) or e Sydney Review of Books (SRB). e LARB
‘About’ page promotes the journal as a vehicle for:
… the best that is thought and written, with an enduring
commitment to the intellectual rigor, the incisiveness, and the
power of the written word. (LARB website)
Everywhere, it seems, literature is being understood, even revisited,
as a genre of writing that might be able to ‘do something’, that may even
provide an antidote to the suffocating, inequality-gener ating ‘end-
game’ making-machine (to follow During) of neoliberal capitalism.
I say ‘already nostalgic’ because even as these hopes were being
given voice the climate was shifting. e literary ecology is chang ing.
Recently, for the first time in the history of modernity, literary texts
have become non-container specific and the genre has unmoored
itself from the codex book as its necessary point of origin. Whereas
past technological innovations such as cinematic adapt ations and
audio books depended on the primacy of the codex, ebooks and
49
e Changing Literary Ecology
online publications do not recognise any such primacy. At the same
time, the consecratory power of traditional literary institutions such
as the academy, newspaper review sections, and so on, has declined.
New avenues for writing, publication, criticism and marketing have
opened up, and the systems of publishing, gatekeeping, critic-
ism and audience formation that underwrote literary cultures are
being upended. e relatively stable ecology of relations between
authors, readers and mediating institutions (such as publishers,
newspaper re view pages, literary journals, literary festivals, literary
prize-givings, the adaptation industry and the academy) is being
transformed.
is new literary ecology demands to be understood through
digital media theory as much as literary theory. e 22,425 reviewers
who have contributed reviews of Donna Tartt’s e Goldfinch to
Goodreads.com as at the time of writing arguably have had no less to
do with its reception than the serious-minded critics who published
critiques in highbrow literary review sections. Recent developments
that demand consideration include the live-tweeting of literary events
by patrons; the emergence of mobile phone microfiction; the explo-
sion of self-published ebooks; the ability of readers to see each
other’s favourite passages on their Kindles; the use of collaborative
online content creation platforms such as CommentPress; the emer-
gence of online book marketing tools such as Netgalley.com and
Bookbridgr.com; and the emergence of ‘social reading’, whereby
readers collectively engage with and mediate each other’s responses
to texts using platforms such as Goodreads.com, Librarything.com,
Readups.com, ecopia.com, Wattpad.com, Amazon’s Shelfari.com
and Penguin Books’s Bookcountry.com. Together such developments
speak to the possibility—much vaunted in popular discussion of
digital media—that a ‘bottom-up’, reader-driven literary culture that
circumvents traditional gatekeepers has begun to emerge. is has
occurred at the very moment when ‘top-down’ state, academic and
e Return of Print?
50
the broadsheet media supported curation of the literary field has
around the world almost conclusively ebbed away.
Yet this very possibility of digital ‘democratisation’ immediately
requires interrogation. Tempting though it may be to frame this trans-
formation as an instance of the seemingly inevitable ‘disruption’ of
‘old’ technology by ‘new’ (Christensen), the democratising triumph
of bottom-up culture over top-down, and the ‘death of gatekeepers’,
this changed ecology demands to be understood in terms that reach
beyond such assumptions. e changing literary ecology isn’t so
much to do with the technologically inevitable emergence of new
horizons of democratic enfranchisement and participation via the
coll ective digitised ‘wisdom of the crowd’ (Surowiecki), ‘smart
mob’ (Rheingold), or ‘produser’ (Bruns). Instead, this changing
lit er ary ecology can be better analysed through the lens of critical
net work theory that understands contemporary network discourse
as an expression of late neoliberal capitalism (Andrejevic; Fisher;
Hassan; Mejias). e transformed literary ecology thus demands
to be understood in the context of a profound transformation of public
culture—a long-term transformation whose roots are both political
and technological. is transformation brings together digitally
mediated forms of pleasure, community and participation with ever
more finely tuned regimes of flexible labour, de-institutionalisation
and the private ownership and commodification of knowledge. As
such, there is no easy ‘outside’ space that literature can occupy from
which to mount a critique, even if, as During suggests, such a space
must nevertheless be cleared.
In thinking of recent changes in the literary ecology as involving
far more than a recent technological revolution, we are able to under-
stand them as related to long-run changes in capitalism itself. e
gradual transformation of the literary ecology dates back to at least
the 1960s. e public listing of shares in Random House in 1959,
and Penguin and Pocket Books in 1960, marked the beginning of a
51
e Changing Literary Ecology
trend to public ownership of large publishers that changed the way
books are published. As Random House founder Bennett Cerf has
said:
[T]he minute you go public, outsiders own some of your stock
and you’ve got to make periodic reports to them. You owe
your investors dividends and profits. Instead of working for
yourself and doing what you damn please, willing to risk a
loss on something you want to do, if you’re any kind of honest
man, you feel a real responsibility to your stockholders. (In
Whiteside 12–13)
e 1960s also saw the emergence of a ‘blockbuster culture’ that
developed alongside rising education levels; the rapid growth of chain
stores, especially in the US; a rapid growth in readerships, especially
women; and the computerisation of inventory and distribution systems.
is increasingly tied fiction to media such as television and cinema
and to a high-advance culture dependent on agents and cross-media
promotion (ompson; Whiteside). And it helped foster a trend to
acquisitions and mergers (in the 1960s there were 183 mergers and
acquisitions in US publishing alone (Greco 52)), driven in part by the
rush of shareholder money into newly vertically in te grated publishing
companies that, under pressure to match the returns routinely gener-
ated by other media holdings, sought to generate market share and
revenues by acquiring competitors (ompson).
Arguably, one casualty has been the decline of the fiction ‘mid-
list’, made up of middle-selling titles, which has traditionally func-
tioned as ‘publishing’s experimental laboratory’ (Robinson), with
larger publishers ‘swinging for the fences, focusing on acquiring
big bestsellers’ (Deahl). is effect, in turn, has been attributed
to management strategies such as the handing over of publishing
decisions to ‘publishing boards’ in which finance and marketing staff
are highly influential (Schiffrin 105), and which since the early 2000s
e Return of Print?
52
have increasingly based their decision-making on data from sources
such as Nielsen BookScan and more recently Amazon.
Several commentators, including myself, have recently sought to
track the fortunes of literary fiction publishing in Australia, focusing
on the new commercial pressures that have been brought to bear on
publishers in an era of corporatisation and the impact this has had
on the way that publishers build their literary lists (Bode; Carter;
Davis). While different studies have arrived at different findings
depending on approach and methodology, there is a consensus that
structural changes in the book publishing industry and its audiences
have impacted on the publishing of literature in mostly negative ways.
Recent trends in book retailing have arguably consolidated these
trends. Since 2011 and the collapse of the REDGroup-owned Borders
and Angus & Robertson chains (though many individually owned
stores survive), the market share of large chain stores has decreased
and that of discount department stores (DDS) has increased. In 2014
the largest bookseller by volume in Australia was the Big W DDS
chain (Webster). ese stores stock only a limited number of mostly
front-list, high-volume, high-turnover titles. eir buying power
means that their stock buyers often reserve the right to have final say
over such things as covers (Kong). In this retail environment only
high-profile literary titles with proven middlebrow appeal tend to
break through. Markus Zusak’s e Book ief is a recent example of
a literary title that sold well in DDS stores as well as in chain and
independent stores—a rare feat in what tends to be a highly channel-
segmented market (Webster).
It’s in this context that we can begin to enumerate the most recent
wave of change to impact the book publishing industry. Books have
been ‘born digital’ for several decades now, via digital production
processes and computerised warehousing and distribution systems.
Only belatedly has ereading extended the digital life of books into the
realm of consumption. Meanwhile, digital devices have themselves
53
e Changing Literary Ecology
become publishing platforms, available for use at low cost to anyone
who wants to publish a book, review, comment, blog, photo or song,
which has in turn blurred the boundaries between production and
consumption, and between amateur and professional.
is can be seen in the popularity of digitally enabled ‘social-
reading’ sites such as Goodreads.com, Librarything.com, Readups.
com, Shelfari.com and Bookcountry.com, which facilitate collective
reading and sharing of comments and reviews of books read, along
with a recognition of ‘belonging to a reading network’ (Barnett 142).
Such sites operate in the tradition of longstanding social-reading
practices such as book clubs, the reading aloud of print books, the
collective listening of audiobooks, and so on. Most sites allow users
to send automatic email notifications of their activity and post to
sites such as Facebook and Twitter. As the blurb for ReadUps puts
it: ‘A ReadUp is a social reading experience. ink of it as meeting
up inside a book.’ In a nod to the site’s ambitions to emulate everyday
conversations about books, ReadUps describes itself as ‘free’ and
‘ephemeral’, even as it also tags itself with the hashtag ‘#disruptive’
(ReadUps website).
e highest-profile social-reading site is Goodreads.com, which
at the time of writing hosted over 34 million reviews of books by its
30 million members (Goodreads website). Like most social-reading
sites, Goodreads encourages users to build social capital by display-
ing a virtual bookshelf of titles owned or read, which can be added
using the barcode reader built into the Goodreads iOS and Android
applications. As Lisa Nakamura has said:
e pleasure of scanning paper books from a home bookshelf
into the iPhone app, hearing its gentle ‘bing’, and viewing the
vividly colored book covers as they pop up in an expanding
palette of readerly acquisition provides the psychic payoff of
shopping without the cost. … While Facebook offers up our
list of friends as visual evidence of our social graph, letting us
e Return of Print?
54
create and display our connections, Goodreads foregrounds
reading as a spectacle of collecting. (239–40)
Such sites help to address the ‘discoverability’ problem that has
arisen with the rise of online bookselling, the growing popularity
of ereading and the shrinking of newspaper reviewing space. At the
same time, such sites extend on traditional social-reading practices
because they generate a data stream that is available for publishers.
As such, social-reading sites help to enact the commodification of
reading. As Nakamura writes:
By submitting our favorite book titles, readerly habits, ratings,
comments, and replies (or ‘UGC,’ user-generated content) to
our social network of readers, we are both collecting and being
collected under a new regime of controlled consumerism. (241)
Together, these developments signal the development of new
regimes of what might be called ‘readerly capital’, whereby the lit-
erary field, theorised by Pierre Bourdieu as being structured around
legitimating flows of power and prestige and their associated
‘cultural capital’ and ‘social capital’, is subject to, and destabilised by,
new forms of ‘reader power’, since readers have a newfound ability to
consecrate texts in the marketplace through their production of book-
related public conversation and data streams. ‘Readerly capital’ can be
described as the social capital produced by the online communication
of ‘likes’, comments, star-rankings and the proliferation of online
reader reviews that have arguably undermined the consecrating power
of traditional literary institutions. e reader has remained mostly
absent from appraisals of the contemporary publishing field—even as
sophisticated critics of publishing culture such as John B ompson
have sought to describe the complex institutional relations that
underpin contemporary publishing using Bourdieu’s model of literary
production to elaborate the forms of economic, human, social, intel-
lectual, and symbolic capital in play (ompson 3–14). Yet as John
55
e Changing Literary Ecology
Frow has argued, following Tony Bennett, readers perform a crucial
function in the creation of textual meaning since ‘every act of produc-
tion is grounded in a reading of the textual situation that precedes
it and is in turn renewed by new readings giving rise to new acts of
production’ (‘On Midlevel Concepts’, 246).
A major challenge for theorists of the reshaped literary ecology
will be to account for the various ways in which the reading activities
of online communities track back to processes of literary production.
For example, such processes can potentially be understood as a
vindication of the middlebrow reader in an era of digitally measured
reading. Sites such as Goodreads.com arguably further industrialise
and rationalise the processes by which middlebrow culture is devel-
oped and the processes by which cultural capital is generated by
and for its readers. If, as Janice Radway has famously argued in her
account of the US Book-of-the-Month Club (1997), middlebrow
culture is a pivotal site for the commodification of culture, then this
process is exponentially multiplied by social-reading sites, which
transform reading into saleable data, even as they also enumerate a
sheer diversity of reading and interpretation practices not anticipated
by any single model of reading practice.
ese changing dynamics of reception are writ large in platforms
such as Netgalley.com and Bookbridgr.com, where publishers make
use of free labour voluntarily provided by online users to promote
new titles, even before their publication, through the provision of
such things as digital pre-publication galleys, free review copies, par-
ti cipation in virtual author tours, access to author interviews, and
‘stars’ and other markers of kudos to bloggers and others who take up
the opportunity to review and comment on books. e rise of such
sites can be set against the decline of stand-alone newspaper book-
review sections, which no longer appear in major US papers such as
e Washington Post and Los Angeles Times, among others, while e
New York Times Book Review has shrunk by two-thirds (Robinson).
e Return of Print?
56
is is a deficit that new online journals such as the LARB and SRB
locate themselves against. As the LARB website puts it:
LARB was created in part as a direct response to the
disappearance of the traditional newspaper book review
supplement, and with it the great tradition of the
comprehensive American book review. (LARB website)
e SRB touts a similar statement of intent:
We decided to embark on this project because of our concerns
about the reduced space for serious literary criticism in the
mainstream media, and the newspapers in particular, given
their uncertain future. (SRB website)
Yet such sites offer a precarious alternative since, unlike newspaper
book sections, they aren’t cross-subsidised and are dependent on
outside funding and reader and contributor donations.
e emergence of ebooks further problematises traditional under-
standings of the dynamics of literary production. Ebooks currently
hold around 20% of the book market in the UK and Australia, and
slightly more in the US. Like social-reading sites they change the
dynamics of publication because the data stream they generate enables
ebook vendors and publishers to closely monitor reader habits. Kindle
readers who enable Whispersync, for example, send data about what
they are reading, what times of day they read at, how quickly they
read, when and where they stop reading uncompleted books, and so
on, in real time, to Amazon, which onsells the data to publishers. As
Tully Barnett points out, Kobo have further encouraged readers to
generate such data streams with the ‘incorporation of gamification
into e-reading’ (159), through features that enable users to earn
rewards for reaching reading ‘milestones’ that include finishing a
book, starting a new one, sharing a passage, and so on.
e availability of such data, which augments a trend already set
in train in the early 2000s with the availability of Nielsen BookScan
57
e Changing Literary Ecology
sales data, has made it clear that ebook sales are driven mostly by
genre fiction such as romance, crime, erotica, science fiction and
fantasy (Senior). Many such titles are self-published; in 2013 a quarter
of ebooks sold by Amazon were from independent publishers, mostly
self-published (Bury). Meanwhile, data released by ebook publisher
Scribd has shown that romance ebooks are the most likely titles to be
completed by readers and are the most bookmarked genre (Digital
Book World). at ebooks are changing the market for manuscripts
can be seen in the success of EL James’s fan fiction-based Fifty Shades
of Grey, which was initially self-published as an ebook then taken
up and turned into a global bestseller by Random House. It can be
seen, too, in the launching of digital-only genre fiction imprints by
Random House and HarperCollins, and the purchase of the romance
publisher Harlequin by HarperCollins in 2014. Data availability is
also impacting on the content of books. Ebook publisher Coliloquy,
for example, has used reader data to understand the characteristics
of the ‘ideal’ male hero in its romance titles, and has foreshadowed
the possibility of future titles being populated with readers’ preferred
types (Alter).
Together, these developments enable exciting new reading and
production practices, legitimating previously sidelined genres, argu-
ably vindicating middlebrow reading, further revealing the gendered
politics of literary consumption, and problematising traditional under-
standings of the literary field. Yet they also enact what might be
described as the ‘neoliberalification’ of reading. at is, the increas-
ing surveillance of users, and the creation and monitoring of data
streams for profit through the commodification of reading. At the
same time, users of online media are increasingly figured as providers
of free labour, in the form of clickstream data, likes and reviews that
help underwrite the profits of digital-content hosts. Meanwhile,
even as the field is ‘democratised’, so labour costs are driven down
and longstanding forms of work such as literary reviewing and
e Return of Print?
58
authorship are rendered more precarious. According to a recent UK
survey, author earnings have fallen 29% since 2005 (Flood), while a
US survey shows that despite a few prominent success stories, ebook
author earnings are less than half that of print book author earnings
(Weinberg).
is commodification of leisure and collapse of producer earnings
is consistent with critiques of the networked digital economy. Books
have entered the realm of the digital network, and at the same time
literally entered the circuits of what critics such as Mark Andrejevic
and Ulises Ali Mejias have described as a digital informational
capitalism built around neoliberal mythologies of ‘frictionless’ flows
of capital and data, comprehensive online surveillance and the
Taylorisation of leisure. As Andrejevic notes:
In a way, when we’re buying books on Amazon.com, surfing
the web, or connecting to commercial wireless networks,
Frederick Taylor’s is the spirit of surveillance in the machine,
watching over us, keeping track of our every move, noting it
down, and finding ways to use that information to encourage
us to consume as much as possible. (52)
Such networks, Mejias argues, generate forms of inequality
characteristic of neoliberal societies, since they
… create inequality while increasing participation … through
strategies that include the commodification of social labor
(bringing activities we used to perform outside the market
into the market), the privatization of social spaces (eradicating
public spaces and replacing them with ‘enhanced’ private
spaces), and the surveillance of dissenters (through new
methods of data mining and monitoring). (3)
For Andrejevic this commodification of user data and domination
of network space by large digital corporations amounts to a new form
of enclosure reminiscent of the emergence of the land-enclosure
59
e Changing Literary Ecology
movement and the transition from feudalism to capitalism. At the
same time, digital networks have driven down labour costs, by forcing
creative-sector workers to operate under exploitative regimes of
flexibil ity. ese are themselves part of a broader neoliberal response
to the crises of accumulation that, from the 1970s, began to reshape
social contracts and the relationship between corporations and em-
ployees. As Mejias argues:
Labor is no longer conducted at the workplace in exchange for
a wage. Rather, it is produced mostly outside the workplace,
during our ‘free’ time. It is rewarded not with a paycheck but
with social capital such as attention, rank and visibility. …
Under the pretense of creating communal gift economies in
cyberspace, social beings are put to work for corporations. (26)
For Tiziana Terranova the free labour provided by online co-
creators ‘is structural to the late capitalist cultural economy’ (53):
Such a reliance, almost a dependency, is part of larger
mechanisms of capitalist extraction of value which
are fundamental to late capitalism as a whole. at is,
such processes are not created outside capital and then
reappropriated by capital, but are the results of a complex
history where the relation between labor and capital is
mutually constitutive, entangled and crucially forged during
the crisis of Fordism. (51)
is, as Lisa Nakamura has said, is precisely the logic of
Goodreads.com:
Built on ‘play labor’—the recreational activity of sharing
our labor as readers, writers, and lovers of books and
inviting our friends from the social graph to come, look,
buy, and share—Goodreads efficiently captures the value of
our recommendations, social ties, affective networks, and
collections of friends and books. (241)
e Return of Print?
60
is isn’t to suggest that digital media can’t provide enabling, even
emancipatory, experiences for users. Network media is also open to
hacking, subversion, and other forms of cultural activity ‘against the
grain’, and has been host to myriad forms of independent and innov-
ative cultural production. Yet it remains clear that such activities are
consistently precarious and that the profits are made not by cultural
producers but elsewhere, by the aggregators and hosts, by established
media corporations that have gone digital, and by a small group of
newer large digital corporations such as Apple, Amazon, Facebook
and Google, currently battling for digital supremacy.
Beneath these prognostications is another question: Why does this
matter? Why is literary culture, even high literary culture, impor-
tant? Simon During, in his Exit Capitalism: Literary Culture, eory,
and Post-Secular Modernity, valorises Alan Hollinghurst’s e Line
of Beauty (801 reviews on Goodreads.com) as an exemplary literary
text of the sort that, closely read, works to destabilise the hegemonic
certainties of late capital. Such texts, he argues, offer to break the
bonds that have formed between capital and language—bonds that
increasingly dictate the languages of everyday common sense and
even those of academic critique itself. ‘Where should we look’, he
asks, ‘if we wish to consider more intimately what is at stake in
endgame capitalism’s putative mundanity? In the end, not to theory,
I think. Nor to sociology. Nor to cultural studies’ (126). Literary
fiction, he argues, is able to reveal inner life in a way that makes it
‘one of the age’s most revealing forms’ (126):
In carrying out this task, literary fiction not just reveals deep
interiority’s complexity and interest for modernity but, by
the same stroke, characteristically presents the subtleties,
surprises and inten sities of modern experiences as a reward for
continuous struggle and suffering. Modern serious fiction, in its
virtuality, has the ability to report what it is like to live now—
to feel, think, share, love, hate, dream, hope, despair, drift,
61
e Changing Literary Ecology
remember—and it does so across a range of situations, identities,
and types, while essaying unrealized experiential possibilities
by binding characters and their interiorities to situations within
new forms of language and narrative organization. (126)
Whether or not we agree with During, he points to what I take to
be an important capability of literature. Like all genres, as John Frow
has argued, literature organises discourse so as to ‘actively generate and
shape knowledge of the world’ and creates particular ‘effects of reality
and truth’ that have to do with the exercise of power (Genre, 2, 19).
While all texts have these capabilities, literature is important because
it operates as a genre that is created from the outset to foreground
such effects of knowledge and power, and that experiments with and
explores such effects in their formal relationship with language.
Literature matters, too, because the transformation of the literary
field is an analogue for a wider set of cultural transformations. e
changing literary ecology is at the same time the changing democratic
ecology, the changing humanist ecology, the changing ecology of en-
lightenment, the changing ecology of work, the changing ecology
of the public sphere, and the changing economic ecology. Much as
these formations are in no mean part connected to a liberalism long
derided by critical theorists, they are under siege in an environment
where, as Wendy Brown has observed:
If … the institutions as well as the political culture comprising
liberal democracy are passing into history, the left is faced
both with the project of mourning what it never wholly
loved and with the task of dramatically resetting its critique
and vision in terms of the historical supersession of liberal
democracy, and not only of failed socialist experiments. (691)
We can read the recent, profound changes in the public sphere
under the aegis of post-Fordist neoliberalism as evidence of demo-
c ratisation or as evidencing new forms of fragmentation and political
e Return of Print?
62
suppression. A further possibility is that both are true and that a
new post-digital social contract is being formed: one where the
pleasures of participation, including democratic participation itself,
are contingent on the enclosure of the individual desires into the
circuits of surveillance, markets and marketing.
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak has perhaps almost inadvertently set
out the issues at stake in her ‘plea for aesthetic education’ (26) as an
antidote to the postcolonial and gendered injustices of contemporary
globalisation, such that ‘literature might be the best complement to
ideological transformation’ (38). For Spivak, aesthetic forms have a
larger pedagogical life, even against the odds of a climate in which
Deep language learning and unconditional ethics are so out of
joint with this immensely powerful brave new world-machine
that people of our sort make this plea because we cannot do
otherwise, because our shared obsession declares that some
hope of bringing about the epistemological revolution needed
to turn capitalism around to gendered social justice must be
kept alive against all hope. (26)
None of this is unproblematic. During has taken Spivak to task
for what he sees as unacknowledged neo-Leavisism (undated). Yet
the point perhaps inadvertently raised by Spivak is that there is
otherwise a lack of critical resources to defend what somehow seems
indispensible in the face of neoliberal globalisation. My point here
isn’t to embrace neo-Leavisism so much as to suggest the development
of new modes of critical practice that begin to grapple with and work
through and beyond the strictures of the changed literary, public and
economic ecology. e task, in short, is to destabilise neoliberalism
and at the same time to grapple with, understand and appreciate
what is genuinely new and enabling in the changing literary and
public ecology.
63
e Changing Literary Ecology
Works Cited
Alter, Alexandra. ‘Your E-Book Is Reading You.’ e Wall Street Journal. Dow
Jones & Company, 29 Jun. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Andrejevic, Mark. iSpy: Surveillance and Power in the Interactive Era. Lawrence:
UP of Kansas, 2007.
Apter, Emily. Against World Literature: On the Politics of Untranslatability.
London: Verso, 2013.
Barnett, Tully. ‘Social Reading: e Kindle’s Social Highlighting Function and
Emer ging Reading Practices.’ Australian Humanities Review 56 (2014):
141–62.
Bennett, Tony. Formalism and Marxism. London: Methuen, 1979.
Bode, Katherine. ‘Publishing and Australian Literature: Crisis, Decline or
Transformation?’ Cultural Studies Review 16.2 (2010): 24–48.
———. Reading by Numbers: Recalibrating the Literary Field. London: Anthem
Press, 2012.
Bookbridgr. Headline Publishing Group UK, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Book Country. Book Country LLC, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Bourdieu, Pierre. e Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field.
Trans. Susan Emanuel. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP, 1996.
Brown, Wendy. ‘American Nightmare: Neoliberalism, Neoconservatism and De-
Democratization.’ Political eory 34.6 (2006): 690–714.
Bruns, Axel. ‘Blogs, Wikipedia, Second Life, and Beyond: From Production to
Produsage.’ Digital Formations 45 (2008).
Bury, Liz. ‘Amazon Reveals Quarter of Kindle Ebook Sales in US Were for
Indie Publishers.’ e Guardian. Guardian News and Media Limited, 5
Dec. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Casanova, Pascale. e World Republic of Letters. Trans. M. B. DeBevoise.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2004.
Christensen, Clayton M. e Innovator’s Dilemma: When New Technologies Cause
Great Firms to Fail. Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 1997.
Copia. Copia Interactive, LLC, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Damrosch, David. What is World Literature? Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 2003.
e Return of Print?
64
Davis, Mark. ‘e Decline of the Literary Paradigm in Australian Publishing.’
Making Books: Contemporary Australian Publishing. Eds. David Carter and
Anne Galligan. Brisbane: U of Queensland P, 2007. 116–31.
Deahl, Rachel. ‘Whither the Midlist Publisher?’ Publishers Weekly. PWxyz, LLC,
4 Nov. 2011. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Digital Book World. ‘Nearly a Year Under Its Belt, Scribd Confronts Changing
Subscription Landscape.’ Digital Book World. F+W Media, Inc., 2 Sept
2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
During, Simon. Against Democracy: Literary Experience in the Era of
Emancipations. New York: Fordham UP, 2012.
———. ‘Conservative Postcolonialism: Spivak’s Aesthetic Education.’ Academia.
edu. Academia, Inc., n.d. Web. 9 Aug. 2015.
———. Exit Capitalism: Literary Culture, eory, and Post-Secular Modernity.
London: Routledge, 2010.
Fisher, Eran. Media and New Capitalism in the Digital Age: e Spirit of Networks.
New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010.
Flood, Alison. ‘Authors’ Incomes Collapse to “Abject” Levels.’ e Guardian.
Guardian News and Media Limited, 8 Jul. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Frow, John. Genre. London: Routledge, 2006.
———. ‘On Midlevel Concepts.’ New Literary History 41.2 (2010): 237–52.
Goodreads. Goodreads Inc., n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Greco, Albert N. e Book Publishing Industry. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge,
2005.
Hassan, Robert. e Information Society. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2008.
Kong, Foong Ling. ‘Fifty Shades of Bookselling.’ Anne Summers Reports 7
(2014): 37–46. Web. 9 Aug. 2015.
Librarying. Spalding, Tim, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Mejias, Ulises Ali. ‘Off the Network: Disrupting the Digital World.’ Electronic
Mediations 41 (2013). Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P.
Nakamura, Lisa. ‘“Word with Friends”: Socially Networked Reading on
Goodreads.’ Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 128.1
(2013): 238–243.
65
e Changing Literary Ecology
NetGalley. NetGalley LLC, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Radway, Janice A. Feeling for Books: e Book-of-the-Month Club, Literary Taste,
and Middle-Class Desire. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 1997.
ReadUps. ReadSocial, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Rheingold, Howard. Smart Mobs: e Next Social Revolution. Cambridge, MA:
Perseus Publishing, 2002.
Robinson, Colin. ‘e Loneliness of the Long-Distance Reader.’ New York
Times. e New York Times Company, 4 Jan. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Schiffrin, André. e Business of Books: How International Conglomerates Took
Over Publishing and Changed the Way We Read. London: Verso, 2001.
Senior, Antonia. ‘Ebook Sales Are Being Driven by Downmarket Genre
Fiction.’ e Guardian. Guardian News and Media Limited, 6 Feb. 2012.
Web. 15 Apr. 2015.
Shelfari, Amazon.com, Inc., n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. An Aesthetic Education in the Era of Globalization.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2012.
Surowiecki, James. e Wisdom of Crowds: Why the Many are Smarter an the
Few and How Collective Wisdom Shapes Business, Economics, Society and
Nations. New York: Abacus, 2005.
Terranova, Tiziana. ‘Free Labor: Producing Culture for the Digital Economy.’
Social Text 63.18.2 (2000): 33–58.
ompson, John B. Merchants of Culture: e Publishing Business in the Twenty-
First Century. 2nd ed. New York: Plume, 2012.
Wattpad. WP Technology, Inc., n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Webster, Michael. ‘Australian Retail Book Trade: 2014 Mid-Year Review.’
Nielsen BookScan Australia. e University of Melbourne. 4 Aug. 2014.
Lecture.
Weinberg, Dana Beth. ‘e Self-Publishing Debate: A Social Scientist
Separates Fact from Fiction.’ Digital Book World. F+W Media, Inc., 4 Dec.
2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Whiteside, omas. e Blockbuster Complex: Conglomerates, Show Business, and
Book Publishing. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan UP, 1981.
67
C F
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
Romance Fiction and Australian Publishing
B D, L F K W
Romance publishing in Australia is profitable and innovative, nation-
ally distinctive and globally connected—and strikingly understudied.1
Consider this example of a Queensland author who remains vir-
tually unknown in broader Australian literary culture: in 2012, Kylie
Scott submitted a post-apocalyptic zombie romance manuscript to
Momentum, the digital-only imprint of Pan Macmillan Australia.
Her debut novel, Flesh, was released by Momentum and was quickly
followed by two sequels. Scott—who also published two titles in
2013 with American erotic romance publisher Ellora’s Cave—has
said that she explored the option of working with an American digital
publisher, but decided that Momentum was the ‘best fit’ for her first
novel: ‘the very first Australian digital imprint—how could I resist?’
(Shapter). In July 2013, Momentum released Lick, the first novel
in Scott’s four-book adult romance series, Stage Dive. It became a
USA Today bestseller. As of August 2015, Lick had 4,110 reviews and
45,586 ratings (with an average rating of 4.18/5) on the reader-review
site Goodreads. Print and ebook rights for the series were acquired by
Macmillan Trade Group and, in August 2014, the third novel, Lead,
reached number four on the New York Times ebook bestseller list. e
1 e romance publishing sector changes rapidly. All information in this chapter was
accurate as of 27 August 2015, however there have been several significant industry
developments since that time. e chapter should be read as a snapshot of the
Australian romance publishing as of mid-2015.
e Return of Print?
68
story of Scott’s career to date illustrates not only the potential reach
of popular romance publishing in Australia, but also the high level
of innovation amongst the genre’s writers and publishers, who have
entered the digital realm more readily than those from any other
sector of Australian book culture.
is chapter describes the contemporary environment of romance
publishing in Australia, and is interested in both the publishing
careers of Australian romance writers and the ongoing development
of Australian publishers of romance fiction. Our analysis suggests
that while romance publishing in Australia in the twenty-first
century is part of a massive international commercial and cultural
enterprise, it retains important connections to a national culture
and economy. Both the American and Australian romance writers’
associations may define romance through ‘the presence of two basic
elements: a love-story that is central to the story, and an emotionally-
satisfying and optimistic ending’ (Romance Writers of Australia),
but it would be a mistake to describe Australian romance as a subset
or satellite of American romance. As the emergence of Australian
rural romance as a distinctive and wildly popular subgenre shows,
romance is not a homogenous form around the globe; its publishing
contexts are also nationally inflected.
is chapter begins with an overview of profitability and digital
adoption in romance publishing, before mapping some of the key
players in its publishing ecology, beginning with the large multi-
nationals and their Australian divisions. Case studies of both Har-
lequin and the rural romance subgenre (RuRo) illustrate the ways in
which even multinational publishers can respond to national contexts.
e chapter then considers contemporary developments in the pub-
lishing models of local independent romance publishers and Aust-
ralian self-publishing romance authors. We argue that recent and
ongoing changes to the conventions of romance publishing mark a
new era in the specific history of this genre’s production, dissemination
69
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
and consumption in Australia, while also reflecting and shaping larger
movements in the publishing industry.
Prots, Digital Adoption and Romance Publishing
Romance fiction publishing comprises a significant share of the pub-
lishing industry, both in terms of volume of books published and
sales figures. Globally, romance is the most profitable popular genre
fiction and by a large margin (Regis, xi). In the United States, industry
statistics from the Business of Consumer Book Publishing indicate
that in 2012 the romance genre represented 16.7% of the US book
publishing market and generated $1.438 billion in sales (Romance
Writers of America). Olivia Tapper shows that, even in light of
romance’s history of market dominance, ‘its commercial performance
in recent years has been remarkable’ (249). Her analysis of publishing
output and profit data leads her to conclude that romance is ‘not
merely surviving but flourishing’ in a ‘publishing sector experiencing
what may be its most significant transitional period since the era of
Gutenberg’ (250). While comparable figures for Australia are difficult
to source, the profitability of the genre in Australia is evidenced in
a number of ways: erotic romance’s recent domination of Australian
bestseller charts following the global success of Fifty Shades of Grey;
a seemingly unquenchable appetite for RuRo; and the international
successes of Australian historical romance authors such as Stephanie
Laurens, Anne Gracie and Anna Campbell. Since the turn of the
twenty-first century, the rate of publication for Australian romance
novels as recorded by the Australian Literature Database (AustLit)—
the most reliable and accurate source for data about Australian fiction
publishing—has almost tripled, from 110 titles published in 2000 to
351 published in 2013.2 ese figures are a telling indication of the
2 ese figures were calculated by conducting an Advanced Search on AustLit for
all novels and novellas classified as ‘romance’ (excluding children’s fiction) for every
year from 2000 to 2013. AustLit is ‘the definitive virtual research environment and
e Return of Print?
70
growing significance of Australian romance fiction in commercial
terms.
In the twentieth century, romance fiction in Australia and elsewhere
was often identified with the subscription-based publishing model of
Mills & Boon and Harlequin. Many Australian romance writers were
published overseas, either in foreign rights deals after first Australian
publication or in first publication internationally, usually in the United
States. In the twenty-first century, however, the conventional routes for
Australian romance authors have been transformed; romance fiction
is now published through an increasingly diverse range of channels,
and it is at the forefront of digital participation and technological
development. While all sectors of the industry, including literary
publishing, have embraced digital formats to some extent, romance
publishing has been particularly innovative. As the director of the
Melbourne Writers Festival, Lisa Dempster, observed: ‘We know
romance is one of the biggest growing genres and that’s because
they were one of the first genres to move to digital, and the audience
went with them and is quite savvy about how they buy and read
their books’ (qtd. in Harford). Tapper offers three reasons for the
relative health of romance in a volatile industry: diversification of
content through support for multiple subgenres and hybrid genres;
publishers’ cultivation of online channels for reader feedback and
engagement; and early adoption of ebook technology. She writes that
the brand Harlequin has become ‘virtually synonymous with e-book
innovation’ (257).
e highest sales for ebooks come from genre fiction, suggesting
that ebooks are a replacement for mass-market paperbacks for many
readers. e signs of romance fiction’s uptake amongst ebook readers
began emerging around 2012. In that year, Mills & Boon UK reported
a ‘surge’ in ebook sales and were already releasing 100 ebooks to every
information resource for Australian literary, print, and narrative culture’ (www.
austlit.edu.au).
71
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
60 printed in paperback (Oliver and Flyn). Ebook sales of romance
fiction in the United States proportionally doubled between the first
quarter of 2011 and the first quarter of 2012, from 22% to 44% of all
romance titles sold (Romance Writers of America). Across the whole
publishing industry, Nielsen Bookscan data from 2014 shows that
while literary fiction accounted for only six per cent of fiction ebook
sales, romance accounted for 24% (Nowell). ese figures represent a
five per cent increase in the genre’s share of fiction ebook sales since
2010 (Nowell). In 2014, Nielsen’s Book and Consumer Survey found
that just under 40% of new romance books purchased were ebooks,
while only 32% were paperbacks (Nielsen).
e 2014 survey conducted by the Australian Romance Readers
Association suggests that the preferred format for reading romance in
Australia is now the ebook. Among the Australian romance read ing
community, print book sales have declined from 68.8% in 2009 to
26.7% in 2014, alongside a corresponding rise of ebook sales from
10.2% in 2009 to 58.9% in 2014 (Australian Romance Readers
Association). e survey found that ebooks overtook print books as the
preferred format for the first time in 2013. While a large prop or tion
of these are likely to be digital versions of traditionally pub lished
books, it is significant that two digital-first (which, in practice, often
means digital-only) romance imprints of existing publishers were
estab lished in 2012—Penguin Australia’s Destiny and Harlequin
Australia’s Escape—potentially accounting for the larger number
of ebooks sold in subsequent years. As sales of ebooks increase,
publishers of romance fiction face the challenge of ensuring their
profitability given the lower average price point of ebooks compared
to print books. is has been a particularly acute issue for large,
multi national publishers, and their Australian imprints and div-
is ions, who have been forced to adapt their publishing models for
romance fiction.
e Return of Print?
72
Multinational Publishers and Romance Fiction in Australia
Most romance fiction is published by large multinational publishers,
which operate through a range of imprints (in many cases, these
imprints bear the names of formerly independent presses). e ap-
parent diversity of the long list of names in the following paragraph
is belied by a history of acquisitions that has led to a remarkable
consolidation of romance fiction publishing in the hands of US and
European media conglomerates.
HarperCollins purchased Harlequin in 2014, becoming the big gest
romance publisher in the world. Harlequin is discussed in more detail
below, but it is worth noting here that HarperCollins also acquired
the romance imprint Avon in 2010, which was origin ally founded in
1941 by the American News Corporation, and has other romance
lines including William Morrow, Zondervan (Christian romance)
and Eos (science fiction/fantasy/romance). While HarperCollins
leads the field in romance publishing, Penguin Random House
remains the largest publishing company in the world. It owns
NAL (New American Library), a mass-market publishing group
which includes the romance imprint Signet, as well as the Berkley
Publishing Group, which includes romance imprints Jove, Berkley,
Berkley Heat/Sensation, Berkley Jam, and Amy Einhorn Books.
Penguin Random House also owns Ballantine, which combined
with Bantam Dell in 2010 and now incorporates the imprints Ivy,
Delacorte (YA), Dell, and Bantam Press. Penguin Random House’s
division Cornerstone Publishing includes the imprints Century and
Arrow, which publish some romance. Similar maps of imprints and
acquisitions can be sketched for Hachette Livre, Macmillan and
Simon & Schuster.
ese multinational publishers are acutely aware of the need to
adapt to a changing digital publishing landscape, and the success of
romance fiction titles in ebook sales means that romance publishing
73
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
is an area where publishers experiment with digital initiatives. e
current romance publishing activities of large multinational pub-
lishers are thus embedded in complex organisational structures and
are at the cutting-edge of technological development. Avon’s imprint
Impulse publishes original ebook romance fiction at the rate of two per
week; Avon’s profits increased by 72% in 2012, mostly due to ebook
sales (Publishers Weekly, ‘HarperCollins’). In 2013, Macmillan
child ren’s imprint Feiwel and Friends launched Swoon Reads, a
crowd sourced teen romance imprint and online community where
highly rated manuscripts are reviewed by editors from Macmillan. In
2014, Bantam’s revived Loveswept imprint partnered with the online
writing site Wattpad to debut a new novel, encouraging readers to
interact with the author and help choose the cover—Bantam Books
is owned by Penguin Random House. An Australian example of
a digital-only imprint owned by Penguin is Destiny, which had
published 53 romance titles as of October 2014, all by Australian
authors (Fairhall).
As this overview of the romance publishing activities of the major
multinational publishers shows, stakeholders in Australian romance
are participants in an immense and complicated commercial and cul-
tural world. To tease out the connections between these international
structures and national publishing contexts, the next section offers a
brief case study of one particular publisher, Harlequin, focusing on
its activities in the Australian market and its transformation in the
twenty-first century.
Harlequin: e World’s Most Iconic Romance Publisher
and Australia
Harlequin, which wholly owns its erstwhile competitor Mills & Boon,
is the largest romance publisher in the world, releasing more than
1,320 titles each year in 34 languages across 110 international markets
e Return of Print?
74
(Harlequin). Harlequin is well known for its series or ‘category’
romances, shorter books that are released each month in lines such
as Harlequin Blaze and Harlequin Medical Romance. Harlequin
also publishes single romance titles and digital-only lines. Harlequin
publishes romance across a range of formats and sells these through
multiple channels, including retail outlets, mail order and e-commerce.
In 2014, it made over fifteen thousand titles available through the
subscription service Scribd (Paul)—although many of these have since
been removed by Scribd, with one industry professional suggesting
that ‘Scribd’s business model, as it’s set up now, simply can’t sustain
the high readership of romance readers’ (Coker).
Like other large publishers, Harlequin’s digital sales are increasing.
In 2013, 24.1% of its global sales were digital (Milliot, ‘Harlequin
in 2013’), compared with 20.7% in 2012 (Milliot, ‘Harlequin in
2012’), 15.5% in 2011 and 7.7% in 2010 (Milliot, ‘Earnings Dip at
Harlequin’). However, Harlequin’s overall net profits have declined
every year for the past four years (Milliot). is suggests that the
transition to increased digital publishing has had some impact on
Harlequin’s profitability.
Harlequin published its first book by an Australian author in 1955,
set up an office in Australia in 1974, and only hired its first Australian
Commissioning Editor in 2006 (Vivanco). Its most recent Australian
initiative is Harlequin Escape, a digital imprint based in Australia
which published 178 titles in its first two years, 142 of which are by
Australian authors (Cuthbert). Escape’s titles sit in a wide variety of
subgenres, bearing out managing editor Kate Cuthbert’s assertion that
the imprint caters to a variety of tastes: ‘We publish anything from
5000 to 250 000 words, any genre, subgenre, crossgenre, or new genre,
as long as it’s romance, and we’re actively seeking stories that haven’t
been able to find a home in print: that is, riskier titles, niche titles,
experimental titles’ (Litte, ‘Interview’). e publisher’s tagline—‘A
Novel Approach’—also relates to Escape’s demonstrably different
75
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
publication model. With only two in-house staff for 178 titles, and
a turnaround of just ‘three months from acceptance to publication’
(Litte, ‘Interview’), there is clearly neither time nor resources for the
editorial workflow of conventional publishing models.
e most successful Harlequin Escape author has been Jennie
Jones, whose rural romance title was so successful in digital form
that it was re-released as a print book and went on to sell a further
10,000+ copies (Jones)—a bestseller by Australian standards, where
successful authors often only sell 5,000 to 7,000 copies (Northover).
Eighty per cent of Harlequin Escape’s digital sales are through the
US Amazon store (Cuthbert), meaning that the initiative is impli-
cated in global economics. At the same time, it maintains a local
focus. Escape’s publicity material clearly identifies the publisher as
Australian, explicitly addressing an Australian readership through
author profiles and a focus on romances with Australian settings and
characters. is is most obvious in Escape’s description of its RuRo
line: ‘From sleepy small towns to the red dust of the outback, these
stories bring you to the heart of Australia, and the communities that
thrive on love of the land’ (Escape Publishing).
e Case of RuRo: Australian-Made Romance
Although multinational publishers are enmeshed in global economic
structures, they are still sometimes able to respond to and produce
locally inflected work—and even to export it. is is evident in the
short history of one of the most prominent subgenres of Australian
romance fiction in the twenty-first century, the ‘RuRo’ or rural
romance. ese novels are set in regional and rural locations, where
the love story unfolds amidst the concerns of the agricultural and
small-town experience, specifically focalised through a female view-
point. As well as romantic love, some key themes repeat in these
novels. One of these is a woman’s ability to own and manage a farm,
e Return of Print?
76
especially in contravention of her father’s opinion (for example, e
Family Farm by Fiona Palmer 2009 and Jillaroo by Rachael Treasure
2002). Equally important are family secrets, especially surrounding
paternity (Absolution Creek by Nicole Alexander 2013; Ryders Ridge
by Charlotte Nash 2013). Many of the novels deal with city girls
coming or returning to the country in order to redeem or improve
themselves (Eliza’s Gift by Rachael Herron 2011; Charlotte’s Creek
by erese Creed 2014). RuRo works also often feature fatal or
permanently disabling accidents related to rural or regional life (Red
Dust by Fleur McDonald 2009) and richly detailed descriptions of
landscape. What is evident in many of these tropes is the rootedness
of the stories in the Australian rural experience. Using the names of
local landmarks and features, flora and fauna, the authors ground
their novels in place, using the lived experiences of rural life to create
narrative interest and build characterisation.
e jackets in this subgenre are of an almost uniform design
featuring women in country wear, especially Akubra hats, in front
of landscape images. Consistent jacket design points to one of the
ways in which the publishing industry operates, where a significant
success in the market can lead publishers to acquire and present
books to what it perceives are existing audiences. Ground zero for
this subgenre is widely acknowledged to be the 2002 publication
of Rachael Treasure’s Jillaroo (urtell; Murray; Wright). Treasure
has since amassed ‘sales of more than 289,000 for her four books’
(Northover). Treasure’s success is certainly at the root of Australian
publishers’ active acquisition of similarly themed novels. Louise
urtell, publisher at Allen & Unwin, confirms that Treasure’s high
sales and her ‘clear appeal to a cross-section of readers were part
of the reason [she] wanted to publish rural fiction’ (urtell). e
subgenre’s sales tripled between 2008 and 2012 (Northover).
What is distinctive in the case of RuRo is that the text being
replicated was not an international sensation that spawned Australian
77
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
copies (for example, the erotic novels of Indigo Bloome and Natasha
Walker in the wake of Fifty Shades of Grey’s enormous popularity),
but a locally bred genre grounded in the real lives of Australian
rural women writers: a significant number of RuRo authors are also
working farmers, including Rachael Treasure, Fleur McDonald,
Nicole Alexander, Fiona McCallum, Mandy Magro and Margareta
Osborn. Love stories set in the Australian outback are considered
a hard sell in the US market (Brooke; Crompton; SB Sarah) but
RuRo has begun to show some export potential, with a number
of authors recording international sales. RuRo authors who have
recently been published in the United States include Rachael Johns,
Charlotte Nash, Fleur McDonald, Fiona Palmer and Jennie Jones;
Rachael Treasure has sold more than one hundred and fifty thousand
copies in Germany and the United Kingdom (Wright). Germany has
proved to be a solid market for RuRo, perhaps because of the existing
category of ‘Australienroman’ (a term used on Amazon.de and by
some publishers), which caters to an interest in Australiana. However,
the chief market for RuRo is Australia itself. RuRo is a highly visible
expression of Australian romance’s local and international impact.
Small, Independent Romance Publishers
e launch of Harlequin Escape and the Australian publishing
industry’s whirlwind affair with RuRo testify both to local invest ment
in the genre and to the responsiveness of multinational publishers to
national market conditions, but the dynamism of romance publishing
is perhaps best represented by small-scale independent publishing.
Independent publishers have long been part of the romance fiction
publishing ecology in Australia and overseas, with long-term players
including Kensington Publishing Corporation and Scholastic. is
is an area of the publishing industry that experiences a great deal
of change, with small publishers sold to larger companies and new
e Return of Print?
78
start-ups emerging on a regular basis. It is difficult to map all of
these small publishers, but a few examples illustrate some of the
ways contemporary independent publishing interacts with romance
fiction.
A number of the newest independent romance publishers focus
exclusively on digital publishing. Internationally, one of the most
prominent romance ebook publishers is Ellora’s Cave, founded by
Tina Engler in 2000 as a website selling her unpublished romantic
erotica manuscripts in digital format. is very early digital publishing
initiative involved payment through PayPal, and distribution of ro-
mance fiction as PDFs via email. Ellora’s Cave was incorporated in
2002, and now distributes its ebooks through online and print-on-
demand retailers as well as its own website. It currently lists around
four thousand digital titles by 800 authors, and releases between
eight and ten titles each week in four different series: Romantica,
Blush, Exotika and EC for Men. In 2012, Ellora’s Cave estimated
that they sold two hundred thousand books per month and, in 2013,
the company grossed $15 million (Pilon).
e model established by Ellora’s Cave has been replicated and
modified for Australian publishing. In Australia, the newly estab-
lished Steam eReads is ‘a boutique Australian online publishing
house specialising in romantic fiction’ (Steam eReads). Publishing
‘all genres of romance on a steam scale from 1 (sweet) to 5 (scorch-
ing!)’, Steam claim to offer ‘something for everyone’ (Steam eReads).
Its first title was launched in May 2013 at the Australian Romance
Readers Convention in Brisbane. Other new Australian independ-
ent romance publishers include Pantera Press, founded in 2010 in
Sydney, and Clan Destine Press, which publishes crime and romance,
specialising particularly in the romantic thriller.
e crossover between independent publishing and self-publishing
is highlighted in the case of Tule, a publisher founded by US romance
novelist Jane Porter in 2013. Its list of 29 authors includes nine
79
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
Australians, including Marion Lennox, Sarah Mayberry and Carol
Marinelli. Tule’s publicity material emphasises that its writers each
have an ‘established fan base’, and the site presents as something
of an author collective (Tule Publishing). is independent digital
publisher brings together the international networks of romance
publishing, building affinities between distinctive national publishing
trends: one of its first imprints was the RuRo-esque Montana Born
line.
Self-Publishing Romance from Australia
e publishing models of Ellora’s Cave and Tule gesture towards
the new opportunities open to romance authors in the area of self-
publishing. Self-publishing, sometimes described as indie publishing,
is the most significant structural innovation in the current romance
publishing industry and an increasing number of romance writers have
embraced this route to market in recent years. A growing industry
of web-based companies facilitates the process of self-publishing,
including Smashwords, Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing, and
Author Solutions Inc., which was acquired by Penguin in 2013
and has partnership agreements with other publishers including
Harlequin’s (now defunct) DellArte Press.
Industry interest in self-publishing has been galvanised by a
number of high profile bestsellers, many of which are romance
fiction. Erika Leonard (E.L. James) wrote an early version of her
novel Fifty Shades of Grey as fan fiction based on Stephenie Meyers’
Twilight series. It was published online in instalments as Master of the
Universe in 2009. A small Australian company, e Writer’s Coffee
Shop, published the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy as ebooks and print-
on-demand in 2011, selling around two hundred and fifty thousand
copies (Quill). James then secured a contract with Random House in
the United States, and the first trade paperback was released in June
e Return of Print?
80
2012. e trilogy has sold more than one hundred million copies
worldwide (Flood).
Australian authors have also been interested in exploring the
possi bilities of digital self-publishing. In May 2014, HarperCollins
signed a three-book contract with Perth romance author Lili St.
Germain after she sold nearly a quarter of a million copies of her
self-published romance series, Gypsy Brothers, on Amazon Kindle in
only five months (Books+Publishing). Anna Valdinger, commercial
fiction publisher for HarperCollins Australia, described St. Germain
as ‘a highly successful and proactive author’, but anticipated that
joining the list of an established traditional publishing house would
expand her audience internationally in print and digital markets
(Books+Publishing). Similarly, Melbourne author C. S. Pacat began
as a writer of an online fiction serial. After self-publishing her serial
as a book, she was approached by a New York agent and sold the
series to Penguin US in a three book deal (Pacat).
Self-publishing is not just for debut authors, however. A num-
ber of established Australian romance authors have become self-
publishers, releasing backlist and new titles as ebooks through websites
such as Smashwords and Amazon. Successful Harlequin novelist
Sarah Mayberry obtained the publisher’s permission before releasing
her first self-published title in 2012, Her Best Worst Mistake, which
features characters that first appeared for Harlequin in her novel Hot
Island Nights (2010). She explains her decision to self-publish after
writing over twenty novels for Harlequin as the consequence of a
‘revolutionary shift’ in fiction publishing in the first decade of the
twenty-first century, which ‘has opened up a world of possibilities’
for genre writers (Mayberry). Australian romance superstar Stephanie
Laurens has been less public about the reasons behind her move to
self-publishing in early 2014. According to Jane Litte, founder of
romance review website Dear Author, Laurens ‘has struck an innov-
ative deal’ to co-publish her novels with Harlequin, with Laurens
81
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
releasing some titles as ebooks under her own banner while Harlequin
continues to release print and ebook editions (Litte, ‘Harlequin’).
e appeal of self-publishing is the high degree of control it offers
authors over their own work, including the typesetting, cover design
and price point. Self-publishing also offers higher than average royalty
rates: for example, authors earn 70% royalties on titles published
with Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. Self-publishing allows
authors to publish much more quickly than traditional publishing,
and can also be an effective way of reviving backlist titles that are
out of print. As part of e Guardian newspaper’s self-publishing
showcase, romance author Talli Roland commented: ‘I had a very
satisfactory experience working with a traditional publisher for my
first two novels, but with hardly any distribution in print and 99%
of my sales in ebooks, it made more sense for me to pay a one-off
fee to an editor and cover designer, and keep the remainder of the
profits for myself’ (Roland). Self-publishing can support publication
in multiple formats and outlets, and can be used to release a variety
of content including short stories and novellas.
Ultimately, though, high profile successes are the exception rather
than the rule. Stephanie Laurens may well see success in her self-
publishing venture, because she is able to leverage an already large
audience, but many other self-published authors do not earn large
sums. Self-publishing holds a number of challenges to authors: self-
published authors may need to source and pay for services such as
copyediting, typesetting and design; and they must also shoulder the
entire responsibility for marketing, which can be time-consuming
and laborious. e trend for successful self-published authors to
subse quently enter contracts with major publishing houses suggests
that traditional publishers still offer considerable advantages in the
publishing industry, including editorial expertise, access to dis tribu-
tion channels, networks for selling foreign translation or adapta tion
rights, and the marketing value of their reputation. e self-publishing
e Return of Print?
82
of romance fiction, then, does not necessarily occur outside the tradi-
tional publishing system, but becomes part of a complex web of national
and international publishing structures.
Conclusion
Romance fiction is the highest selling genre in the publishing in-
dustry, with a proactive community of writers and readers. Romance
publishing leads the industry in innovation, and is also a striking
exemplar of negotiations between national and international markets
and cultures. Our chapter has offered both an overview of romance
fiction publishing in Australia—its entanglements with global eco-
nom ic structures and its pockets of independence—as well as more
in-depth case studies of publishing moments with particular sig-
nifi cance for Australia in the twenty-first century: the evolution of
Harlequin, and the emergence of rural romance.
Romance fiction publishing in Australia is embedded in a global-
ised industry dominated by multinational publishers, whose growth
includes the purchase of formerly independent publishers and
innovations with digital-only imprints. At the same time, the low
cost and ease of digital publication has opened up new opportunities
for small publishers and for authors who want to self-publish romance
fiction. In the current publishing environment, Australian romance
fiction can find multiple routes to market, from serial publication
on an online forum, to self-publication digitally or as print-on-
demand, to publication by an independent or large multinational pub-
lisher. ese channels can be combined to create hybrid publishing
trajec tories for Australian romance authors and a diverse, rapidly
developing Australian romance publishing sector.
83
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
Works Cited
Australian Romance Readers Association. ‘Australian Romance Readers
Survey 2014: Results.’ Australian Romance Readers Association. Australian
Romance Readers Association, 18 Oct. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <https://
australianromancereaders.wordpress.com/2014/10/18/australian-romance-
readers-survey-2014-results/>.
Books+Publishing. ‘HarperCollins Signs ree-Book Deal with Bestselling Self-
Published Author.’ Books+Publishing. orpe-Bowker, 27 May 2014. Web.
15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.booksellerandpublisher.com.au/item/30337/>.
Brooke, Christina. ‘I Love a Sunburned Story.’ Romance Bandits. Romance
Bandits, 13 Mar. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://romancebandits.com/
tag/rural-romance/>.
Bury, Liz. ‘Amazon Reveals Quarter of Kindle Ebook Sales in US Were for
Indie Publishers.’ e Guardian. Guardian News and Media Limited, 5
Dec. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/
dec/04/amazon-kindle-ebook-sales-indie-publishers/>.
Business Wire. ‘Amazon Launches New Publishing Imprint, Montlake
Romance.’ Business Wire. Business Wire, 4 May 2011. Web. 15 Apr.
2016. <http://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20110504007299/en/
Amazon-Launches-Publishing-Imprint-Montlake-Romance/>.
Coker, Mark. ‘Scribd Cuts Romance Catalog.’ Smashwords: e Official Blog
for Smashwords, a Distributor of Indie Ebooks. Smashwords, 30 Jun. 2015.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://blog.smashwords.com/2015/06/scribd-cuts-
romance-catalog.html>.
Crompton, Helen. ‘Rural Romance Feels US Embrace.’ e West Australian.
Yahoo7, 1 Oct. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <https://au.news.yahoo.com/
thewest/entertainment/a/19177927/rural-romance-feels-us-embrace/>.
Cuthbert, Kate. Personal interview. 20 Oct. 2014.
Escape Publishing. ‘Rural Romance.’ Escape Publishing. Escape Publishing, n.d.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.escapepublishing.com.au/products/tag/
rural-romance/>.
e Return of Print?
84
Fairhall, Sarah. ‘Re: Two Short Questions about Destiny.’ Message to Lisa
Fletcher. 23 Oct. 2014. Email.
Flood, Alison. ‘Fifty Shades of Grey Trilogy Has Sold 100m Copies
Worldwide.’ e Guardian. Guardian News and Media Limited, 28 Feb.
2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/
feb/27/fifty-shades-of-grey-book-100m-sales/>.
Harford, Sonia. ‘A Life in Fiction; How the Publishing Industry is Faring.’
Sydney Morning Herald. Fairfax Media, 24 Aug. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
<http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/a-life-in-fiction-how-the-
publishing-industry-is-faring-20140822-106f0z.html/>.
Harlequin. ‘About Harlequin.’ Harlequin. Harlequin Enterprises Limited,
n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.harlequin.com/articlepage.
html?articleId=36&chapter=0>.
Jones, Jennie. Personal interview. 19 Oct. 2014.
Litte, Jane. ‘Harlequin and #1 NYT Bestseller Author Stephanie Laurens Strike
Unusual Hybrid.’ Dear Author. Dear Author Media Network, 24 Feb.
2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://dearauthor.com/features/industry-news/
harlequin-and-1-nyt-bestseller-author-stephanie-laurens-strike-unusual-
hybrid-deal/>.
———. ‘An interview with Kate Cuthbert from Escape Publishing, Harlequin
Australia’s Digital First Imprint.’ Dear Author. Dear Author Media
Network, 27 Nov. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://dearauthor.com/
features/interviews/an-interview-with-kate-cuthbert-from-escape-
publishing-harlequin-australias-digital-first-imprint/>.
Mayberry, Sarah. ‘Guest Post: My Self Publishing Journey.’ Dear Author. Dear
Author Media Network, 29 May 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
dearauthor.com/book-reviews/guest-post-my-self-publishing-journey-by-
sarah-mayberry/>.
Milliot, Jim. ‘Sales, Earnings Dip at Harlequin.’ Publishers Weekly. PWxyz, LLC,
29 Feb. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/
by-topic/industry-news/financial-reporting/article/50845-sales-earnings-
dip-at-harlequin.html>.
85
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
———. ‘Sales, Earnings Fell at Harlequin in 2012.’ Publishers Weekly. PWxyz,
LLC, 6 Mar. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://publishersweekly.com/pw/
by-topic/industry-news/financial-reporting/article/56232-sales-earnings-
fell-at-harlequin-in-2012.html>.
———. ‘Sales, Earnings Fell at Harlequin in 2013.’ Publishers Weekly. PWxyz,
LLC, 5 Mar. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.publishersweekly.
com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/financial-reporting/article/61299-sales-
earnings-fell-at-harlequin-in-2013.html>.
Murray, Robyn. ‘Romance and Rural Issues.’ Mudgee Guardian & Gulgong
Adver tiser. Fairfax Regional Media, 22 Apr. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
<http://www.mudgeeguardian.com.au/story/1447817/romance-and-
rural-issues/>.
Nielsen. ‘Feelin’ the Love: A Look at Romantic Songs, Books and Comedies.’
Nielsen. e Nielsen Company, Web. 15 Apr. 2016. 14 Feb. 2014. <http://
www.nielsen.com/ug/en/insights/news/2014/feelin-the-love-a-look-at-
romantic-songs-books-and-comedies.html/>.
Northover, Kylie. ‘Romance and Rodeos Rule as Rural Readers Turn to
“Chook Lit”.’ Sydney Morning Herald. Fairfax Media, 30 Apr. 2012.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/
romance-and-rodeos-rule-as-rural-readers-turn-to-chook-lit-
20120429-1xt0j.html>.
Nowell, Jonathan. ‘e Changing Mix of What Sells in Print: How Ebooks
Have Changed the Print Book Marketplace.’ Publishers Launch Conferences.
LinkedIn Corporation, 15 Jan. 2015. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.
slideshare.net/PublishersLaunch/the-changing-mix-of-what-sells-in-
print-jonathan-nowell-nielsen-book>.
Oliver, Mark and Cal Flyn. ‘Guilty Pleasure Sales Soar anks to E-Reader
Anonymity.’ e Telegraph. Telegraph Media Group, 6 Apr. 2012.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/interactive-
graphics/9190532/Guilty-pleasure-sales-soar-thanks-to-e-reader-
anonymity.html>.
Pacat, C. S. Personal interview. 24 Oct. 2014.
e Return of Print?
86
Paul, Ian. ‘Harlequin Passionately Embraces Scribd’s e-Book Subscription
Service.’ PC World. IDG Consumer & SMB, 2 Oct. 2014. Web. 15 Apr.
2016. <http://www.pcworld.com/article/2690699/harlequin-passionately-
embraces-scribds-e-book-subscription-service.html>.
Pilon, Annie. ‘Entrepreneur Creates Publishing Powerhouse with Niche
Romance Novels.’ Small Business Trends. Small Business Trends LLC, 8
Jun. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://smallbiztrends.com/2013/06/elloras-
cave-entrepreneur-romance-novels.html>.
Publishers Weekly. ‘Global Publishing Leaders 2013: HarperCollins.’ Publishers
Weekly. PWxyz, LLC, 19 Jul. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.
publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/financial-reporting/
article/58292-global-publishing-leaders-2013-harpercollins.html>.
Regis, Pamela. A Natural History of the Romance Novel. Philadelphia: U of
Pennsylvania P, 2003.
Roland, Talli. ‘As Wonderful as Self-Publishing Is, It Does Have Its Limits.’
e Guardian. Guardian News and Media Limited, 13 Aug. 2013. Web. 15
Apr. 2016. <http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/aug/13/talli-roland-
self-publishing/>.
Romance Writers of America. ‘Romance Genre.’ Romance Writers of America.
Romance Writers of America, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2015. <http://www.rwa.
org/p/cm/ld/fid=580/>.
Romance Writers of Australia. ‘Definition of Romance.’ Romance Writers of
Australia. Romance Writers of Australia, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
www.romanceaustralia.com/p/101/Definition/>.
SB Sarah. ‘Another Interview with Kat Mayo.’ Smart Bitches, Trashy Books.
Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, 22 Aug. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
smartbitchestrashybooks.com/blog/104.-another-interview-with-kat-mayo/>.
Shapter, Zena. ‘What’s It Like Being a Debut Novelist at Pan Macmillan,
Harper Collins, Momentum Books, Indie Publishing.’ Zena Shapter. Zena
Shapter, 13 Sept. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://zenashapter.com/blog/
what-its-like-being-a-debut-novelist-at-pan-macmillan-harper-collins-
momentum-books-indie-publishing-part-3/>.
87
Women, Akubras and Ereaders
Steam eReads. ‘Meet the Steam eReads Team.’ Steam eReads. Steam eReads, n.d.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://steamereads.com.au/about/>.
Tapper, Olivia. ‘Romance and Innovation in Twenty-First Century Publishing.’
Publishing Research Quarterly 30.2 (2014): 249–59.
Tule Publishing. ‘Our Authors.’ Tule Publishing. Tule Publishing Group, n.d.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://tulepublishing.com/authors/>.
urtell, Louise. Personal interview. 18 Oct. 2014.
Quill, Greg. ‘Erotic Novel Fifty Shades of Grey Lands, Has Mommy Bloggers
Abuzz.’ e Star. Toronto Star Newspapers Ltd., 13 Mar. 2012. Web. 15
Apr. 2016. <http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/books/2012/03/13/
erotic_novel_fifty_shades_of_grey_lands_has_mommy_bloggers_abuzz.
html>.
Vivanco, Laura. For Love and Money: e Literary Art of the Harlequin Mills &
Boon Romance. Tirril, Penrith: Humanities Ebooks, 2011.
Wright, Andy. ‘Rural Romance from Down Under.’ Modern Farmer. Modern
Farmer Media, 9 Apr. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://modernfarmer.
com/2013/04/rural-romance-from-down-under/>.
89
C F
Deckchairs and Life Rafts1
Australian Trade Publishing’s Perfect Storm
T O’S
Introduction
In 2012, Mike Shatzkin, publishing industry commentator and guru,
reported about the retail book market in the United States and the
United Kingdom:
Going from 80 to 90 percent of book sales being made in
stores to that same percentage being made online in a decade’s
time certainly justifies anybody’s pronouncement of profound
and disruptive change. (‘By One Benchmark’)
Not since the Gutenberg press started to roll in the mid fifteenth
century has there been such upheaval in book publishing as that
which has been occurring since 2010. e Gutenberg press led to the
industrialisation and democratisation of book publishing and, more
than five hundred years later, globalisation, the internet and tech-
nological advances have come together in a perfect storm to deliver
equivalent disruption. Changes such as digitisation, the acces si bility
of ereaders and consumer book-buying habits have had a particular
impact on trade publishing. John B ompson writes in the pref-
ace to the second edition of Merchants of Culture that ‘the oldest of
the media industries finds itself in the throes of tumultuous change,
struggling to cope with the impact of a technological revolution that
1 is published version of a conference paper delivered in November 2013 reflects the
parameters and climate of Australian trade publishing during the period 2010 to 2013.
e Return of Print?
90
is stripping away some of the old certainties, undermining traditional
models and opening up new possibilities in ways that are at once
exciting and disorienting’ (vi).
In the Australian market, a number of factors have meant that, for
the first time, international online print book (or p-book) retailers
could outcompete local Australian suppliers. e high Australian
dollar during the period 2011 to 2013, the exemption from GST
charges for books bought outside Australia and cheap (or free) reliable
delivery to Australia have all contributed to this phenomenon. At the
same time, consumers have gained access to a multitude of affordable
ereading devices, backed by a huge array of ebook titles to choose
from. Writer and former politician Barry Jones succinctly summed
up the issues in the final report of the Book Industry Strategy Group
in 2011: ‘Such overseas factors influence the price of books and pose
a threat to the viability of local publishing … creators, producers and
consumers are all affected by the twin challenges of globalisation and
technology’ (12).
is confluence of events has had profound effects on the trade book
publishing landscape through the entire supply chain: it poses chal-
lenges for the traditional roles of the publisher, agent and author; it has
had an impact on royalties and advances; it has affected book produc-
tion and printing, distribution and delivery; and it is transforming how
books—both p-books and ebooks—are priced and retailed.
e Australian trade-publishing industry has been pitching about in
these turbulent seas with its UK and US counterparts for the last few
years. During that time the publishing industry has had to examine all
aspects of its operations to find ways to effect lasting and viable change.
I like to think about these possibilities in terms of deckchairs and life
rafts. Deckchairs are the impermanent fixtures of the industry that
publishers have always seen from behind the helm but will eventually
go overboard as the seas get rougher. Life rafts, on the other hand, are
ongoing safety nets with specific function and meaning.
91
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
In this essay, I try to separate the rafts from the chairs. What
prac tices should traditional trade book publishers jettison as no
longer relevant in the current climate? What should they cling to, to
success fully sail through the storm? I look first at the key areas where
change is happening and/or needed, starting with the relationship
between the publisher and the author, working through the impact
on author earnings and publisher profit to look at the commercial
implications of the ebook’s rise for both. I then explore the issues of
self-publishing and ‘discoverability’, before moving on to examine the
other end of the publishing supply chain, the relationship between
the publisher and the reader.
e Publisher–Author Relationship
e publishing supply chain usually starts with the relationship
between author and publisher. Traditionally, the relationship has
been symbiotic and co-dependent: authors have needed publishers
to get their books published and read, and publishers have needed
authors to supply the content to be published. at is not to say it
has always been equal. Many authors would argue that publishers
have had too much power and control in this relationship. ey feel
that the growth of ebooks, in particular, has led to democratisation
and a power shift. In this environment, it is essential that publishers
and authors look to each other as partners to find smarter, improved
financial models that spread the profits and the risk. is could mean
rethinking the traditional advance/royalty model where publishers
pay authors through a percentage of the retail price (royalties) and a
lump sum advance against those future royalties.
Author Earnings
e advance/royalty payment model, which has been the lifeblood of
the publisher–author relationship, is calculated on expected book sales
(both p-book and ebook) and recommended retail price (RRP)—
e Return of Print?
92
both of which have been declining. Literary agent Jenny Darling
reported in an interview with the author in mid 2012 that ‘advances
had been cut in half since 2010’. So how can authors make a living
and continue to write books? And what can publishers do to help
make this sustainable for writers and therefore the industry? In the
world of p-books and ebooks, there are four possible permutations of
publishing formats and author earning models. ese are:
• p-book only
• ebook as an adjunct to the p-book
• publishers’ ebook-only or digital-only imprints
• self-publishing.
Here, I look at each in turn, to illustrate how earnings in this new
climate might look for a mid-list author.
P-Book Only
is is the traditional system for paying authors for their work. e
figures in Table 5.1 show the distinct decline in author earnings
since 2011, showing why the existing traditional model of advances
and royalties is no longer very attractive for a mid-list author in
Australia.
Publication
year Print
run RRP RRP
(lessGST) Author royalty
per copy (10%) Author
earnings
Pre 2011 10,000 $32.99 $29.99 $2.99 $29,900
Post 2011 7,000 $24.99 $22.72 $2.27 $15,890
2013 5,000 $29.99 $27.26 $2.73 $13,650
Table 5.1: Author earnings—p-book trade paperback, pre-2011 to 20132
2 Based on author royalty rate of 10% of RRP less GST, which is considered an
industry standard; RRP prices and print run figures are based on anecdotal surveys
of small- to medium-sized Australian independent publishers supported by
BookScan analysis. Author earnings figure is calculated by multiplying the author
royalty per copy figure by the print run.
93
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
Ebook as an Adjunct to the P-Book
e picture gets more complex when we consider ebooks. At this stage
in the Australian market, most ebooks are published in conjunction
with a p-book, and the p-book carries the costs of author advances
and production (that is, editing, proofreading, design, typesetting
and layout).
Most Australian trade publishers reported that ebooks in 2013
brought in about eight to twenty per cent of their total revenue
(depending on the publishing house and what they typically publish).
On average, this represents sales of 500–2000 ebooks for a mid-list
ebook title. Table 5.2 shows the income an author could expect from
ebook sales. e figures are based on the industry-accepted ebook
royalty rate of 25% of publishers’ net receipts. (Publishers’ net receipts
is defined as the monies left once the GST (10%) and bookseller or
eretailer discount (both variable) has been deducted from the income
received for the sale of books (both ebook or p-book.)
ebook
RRP Publishers
NR Author royalty
per copy
Copies sold
500 1,000 1,500 2,000
$4.99 $3.18 $0.80 $318 $800 $1,200 $1,600
$9.99 $6.36 $1.59 $795 $1,590 $2,385 $3,180
$14.99 $9.54 $2.39 $1,195 $2,390 $3,585 $4,780
Table 5.2: Author earnings—ebook as adjunct to p-book3
Publishers’ Ebook-Only or Digital-Only Imprints
Australian trade publishers are experimenting with ebook-only titles
with varying degrees of success. Harlequin’s Escape, Pan Macmillan’s
Momentum and Penguin Books’s romance imprint, Destiny Romance,
are examples of recently established ebook-only imprints.
3 Based on author royalty rate of 25% of publishers’ net receipts (NR) and 30%
eretailer discount. Author earnings are calculated by multiplying the author royalty
per copy by amount of copies sold.
e Return of Print?
94
Digital-only imprints differ from self-publishing, which I will
discuss later in this essay, because these books are selected for
pub lication and produced by the publisher rather than appearing
through the uncurated system of open-access self-publishing com-
panies like Smashwords or Lulu. Publishers usually make their
ebook-only imprints available on as many ebook platforms as possible
to achieve maximum reach, but they can struggle to get any traction
in the traditional media, as ebooks are rarely reviewed.
However, digital-only ebooks can also subsequently be made
available by the publisher as print-on-demand (POD) p-books or
short-run digital printing (SRDP) p-books. e acceleration of
new print technologies that make POD and SRDP possible have
also enabled publishers to have an ‘unprecedented level of control
over costs, return rates, and inventory levels, generating significant
savings in shipping, handling, carrying cost, return and inventory
obsolescence’ (Bennett 15). Publishers are using this technology
for reissues of backlist titles and out-of-print books, as well as for
short-run printing strategies for new titles and for p-books created
from ebooks. In an increasing number of cases, such as Paddy
Manning’s What the Frack?—which NewSouth Books originally
and unsuccessfully published as an ebook-only title in 2012 but
which became a strong seller when released as a p-book as well in
2013—the usual trend is being reversed: ebooks can and do become
successful p-books.
Author contracts for digital-only imprints usually have a number
of characteristics that distinguish them from a ‘p-book with ebook’
contract. ese can involve the author:
• receiving no advances (or extremely modest ones)
• being offered a profit share rather than a royalty rate
• contributing to start-up costs (such as editorial)
• relinquishing global digital rights to the title.
95
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
Table 5.3 shows what ebook-only author earnings can look like
under the profit-share model. As you can see, an ebook-only title that
sells less than 1,000 copies at $9.99 is unlikely to make any income
for the author.
ebook
RRP
Copies
500 1,000 1,500 2,000 2,500 3,000
$4.99 -$3,128 -$2,365 -$1,602 -$839 -$77 $687
$9.99 -$2,365 -$839 $687 $2,212 $3,737 $5,263
$14.99 -$1,601 $690 $2,980 $5,270 $7,559 $9,849
Table 5.3: Author earnings—ebook-only, with publisher4
Self-Publishing
e final model is where the author publishes their ebook directly
through companies such as Smashwords and Lulu, which are market
leaders in ebook self-publishing. ese companies help authors and
small independent publishers publish and distribute their ebooks
directly to readers.
ey typically offer the author around eighty to eighty-five per
cent of the revenue received; however, price point (RRP) is a very
important factor in whether self-published ebooks sell at all, and
prices are usually set very low. As the Lulu website says: ‘Pricing
for your eBook is up to you, but we’ve noticed Lulu authors that
price their eBooks in the 0.99—2.99€ [$AUD1.23–$3.72] range
sell more units and earn more revenue than those in any other price
range’.
ere are examples of authors who find enough readers to make
mon ey, and establish a following, out of self-publishing ebooks
(Amanda Hocking, E. L. James and Hugh Howey are notable
4 Based on no author royalty but 50% share in profits with publisher and 30%
eretailer discount. e profit share is based on 50% of the publishers’ net profit
(net profit is less GST, eretailer discount and book production cost (editing,
proofreading, cover and text design and typesetting).
e Return of Print?
96
examples), but most ebook authors will struggle to reach their audi-
ence and will earn very little. As Table 5.4 shows, income from ebook
sales is not high, even for self-published authors who receive a far
higher pro por tion of the sales revenue than those published by the
ebook-only imprints of established publishers.
ebook RRP Copies
500 1,000 1,500 2,000 2,500
$1.99 $633 $1,267 $,1900 $2,534 $3,167
$4.99 $1,589 $3,178 $4,767 $6,356 $7,495
ebook RRP Copies
3,000 3,500 4,000 4,500 5,000
$1.99 $3,801 $4,484 $5,068 $5,071 $6,335
$4.99 $9,534 $11,123 $12,712 $14,301 $15,890
Table 5.4: Author earnings—self-publishing5
Publishers’ Income
If earnings for authors are looking lean, it is not because publisher
revenue is increasing. Historically, the Australian book market
has been a hybrid of the US and UK markets with a lag of two
to three years. At the 2012 US Book Expo, there was agreement
that ‘Australia’s ebook market seems to be where the US was three
years ago’ (Lloyd). Evidence gathered by the author in interviews
with representatives from a cross-section of Australian publishers
(two multi nationals, two medium-sized independents, two small
publishers) suggests growth in the ebook market can be roughly
summarised as follows:
• 2009: nil income
• 2010: less than one per cent of total revenue
5 Based on author royalty/share of 70% of eretailer revenue. Author earnings are
calculated by RRP less GST (10%) less 30% eretailer discount multiplied by
number of copies sold.
97
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
• 2011: up to eight per cent of total revenue
• 2012: from four per cent to twenty per cent of total
revenue
• 2013: similar figures to 2012
Table 5.5 shows the year-by-year decline in Australian trade pub-
lishers’ revenue that has occurred over the same period. is has been
in the order of twenty per cent per year and, at the end of 2013,
there are no immediate signs the downward trend is going to end
anytime soon. is impression is reinforced by Table 6, which uses
the example of a standard trade paperback to show the variation in
income received by publishers under the different models discussed
above.
2010 2011 2012
Volume of
books sold 65.0 million 60.4 million ↓7% 56.6 million ↓6.3%
Dollar value of
books sold $1.23 billion $1.08 billion ↓12% $978 million ↓9.3%
Average selling
price (ASP) $18.97 $17.85 ↓$1.12 $17.27 ↓$0.58
Number of
titles published 550K 630K ↑15% 600K ↓5%
Table 5.5: Summary of the Australian trade book market 2010–2012
(Source: Nielsen BookScan Australia AP3 Summary)
Table 5.6 (over page) also makes it clear that for stand-alone ebook
publishing, especially at the low end of the pricing margins for ebooks
($AUD0.99–$4.99), the traditional advance/royalty model is not
sus tainable. Other models—such as profit share between publisher
and author, no author advances and no high-discount clauses for
authors—clearly need to be considered and trialled, as they are in
publishers’ digital-only lists.
e Return of Print?
98
p-book*
5,000 @
$29.99
p-book*
with ebook#
p: 5,000 @
$29.99
e: 1,500 @
$9.99
ebook-
only#
2,000 @
$9.99
Self-
publishing>
2,000 @
$4.99
Self-
publishing>
1,500 @
$9.99
Publisher $13,872 $21,022 -$1,296 $0 $0
Author $13,494 $15,878 $3,178 $6,356 $9,534
Table 5.6: Publisher and author earnings for each model6
Publishing Jobs
e decline in publishers’ revenues has flow-on effects in a number of
areas. e traditional publishing industry in all markets is experiencing
a downturn in jobs vacancies and many traditional publishers are also
cutting overheads, which includes staff redundancies. e Australian
Bookseller+Publisher magazine did a survey on job advertisements from
2005 to 2010 that showed the number of job advertisements had
gradually fallen from a peak of 762 in 2005 to between four and five
hundred jobs being advertised across all sectors of the industry—
publishing, editorial, marketing and publicity, sales, design and pro-
duction, bookselling and other (Stephenson 12–13). On the other
hand, the digital shift is creating jobs in areas such as marketing and
publicity (for social networking strategies) and for digital workflow
administration, but until traditional publishing is able to reverse the
decline in revenue, jobs growth will be limited. is factor adds to the
urgency to develop sustainable changes, before the expertise of those
currently employed in the publishing industry is lost. Publishing
professionals—people experienced in commissioning, editing and
6 * p-book includes production, printing, distribution, promotion and overhead costs
* p-book: bookseller discount: 45%; author royalty: 10% of RRP (less GST)
# ebook-only: eretailer discount: 30%; author royalty: 25% NR; book production
costs: editing, proofreading, cover and text design and typesetting
> self-publishing: author royalty/share: 70% of NR
99
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
marketing books to high standards for the trade market—are what
distinguish traditional publishing from self-publishing. It is these
people who ‘add the value’ to the raw material of an author’s unedited
manu script. It is essential that their knowledge and ability be kept
and developed if trade publishing is to maintain its professional
quality. But while trade publishing needs to remain distinct from
self-publishing in the current climate, it can also learn from it.
e Power and Proliferation of Self-Publishing
Until the recent explosion of ebook publishing, the traditional pub-
lishing industry often viewed self-publishing as vanity publishing
and, as Ed Pilkington of the Guardian newspaper stated, as ‘the last
resort of the talentless’. It was usually for authors who were unable to
get a deal with a traditional publisher and who were prepared to pay
to have their manuscript turned into a book.
e ebook revolution has changed all that. Traditional publishers
have struggled to keep pace with technological changes and to meet
the demand from readers. is vacuum has been filled by many
authors who were already self-publishing, and it has also created an
opportunity for many who in the past have failed to get traditional
publishing contracts. ere are many advantages for authors in
publishing their own work: they retain creative control over the
work and all rights in it, access to publication is straightforward and
relatively immediate, there are shorter production time frames, the
book can be kept available for sale at all times and there is no need to
share any profits with the publisher.
As Mike Shatzkin noted in 2011:
[S]mall publishers, literary agents, and authors are becoming
publishers at an astounding rate … services like Amazon’s
KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing) service, Barnes & Noble’s
PubIt!, and service providers Smashwords and BookBaby,
e Return of Print?
100
offer the possibility of creating an ebook from your document
and distributing it through most ebook retailers, enabled for
almost all devices, for almost no cash commitment.
But there are also a number of disadvantages for authors publishing
in this way. Authors are not provided with expert editorial input,
which means a time-consuming and specialised task is left in their own
hands; they receive no advance or other payment from a publisher, and
there is no guarantee of quality in self-published ebooks—indeed,
while the quality varies enormously it is often towards the lower end.
Perhaps most significantly, in a crowded market it is very difficult
for self-published ebooks to attract reviews or any other kinds of
publicity. As I will discuss in the next section, the ‘discoverability’
factor of self-published ebooks is very low.
In a 2011 Australian Publishers Association (APA) seminar ad-
dress, Curtis Brown literary agent Fiona Inglis identified this as
one of the biggest problems with the proliferation of self-published
titles: ‘e combined output of just Smashwords and Lulu is about
20,000 titles per month. So the question is not, “can we get these
books into the market?” but “how does anyone know that they are
out there?”’
Despite these difficulties, trade publishers are finding new ways
of engaging with this market, rather than eschewing it as they have
in the past. Many trade publishers closely watch the ebook bestseller
lists found in e New York Times, e Guardian, Amazon, Nook
and Kobo among others. ey see ebook success as a litmus test of
how the titles will perform in the traditional p-book world and seek
to sign up the successful authors for large advances and multi-book
deals. Young Adult writer Amanda Hocking and Fifty Shades of Grey
author EL James are two such examples who typify the new breed of
‘hybrid author’: authors who publish in both the self-published ebook
world and the traditional p-book world.
101
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
e current self-publishing landscape poses some important ques-
tions for trade publishers. How can trade publishers compete in the
prolific and borderless world of ebook self-publishing? Do they need
to? Or can both publishing approaches exist alongside each other?
What can trade publishers offer that companies like Smashwords
can’t? e answers to these questions will evolve over the coming
years when ebook growth plateaus and the operating landscape for
trad itional trade publishers and self-publishers in both p-books and
ebooks become stable.
In addition to expert knowledge in editorial and production,
traditional trade publishers have access to media and broad-scale
marketing, which enhances the ‘discoverability’ of the ebooks they
publish. ey are in a prime position to find new ways of letting
readers know their books are ‘out there’.
Discoverability
[T]here seems no clear answer yet to the declining numbers
of physical bookshops for helping connect readers with
authors who are not already on the bestseller lists, or not yet
published. Technology may be publishing’s only clear way
forward, but in cyberspace, no one can hear a new author
scream. (Lloyd)
e traditional p-book could be discovered at a traditional bricks-
and-mortar bookshop. is was where readers found books and
where trade publishers primarily marketed their books. Doing this
was one of the major services a publisher could provide for their
authors. But this is no longer the case. As Seth Godin argued in
2012:
For decades, the single biggest benefit a publisher offered
the independent writer was the ability to get the book onto the
e Return of Print?
102
shelves of the local store. e entire sales organization at the
publisher … is first and foremost organized around getting
more than its fair share of shelf space. … If there’s infinite
shelf space (as there is for ebooks), ALL of this is worthless.
According to a recent survey of readers’ book-buying habits, carried
out by a US research company, e Codex Group, bricks-and-mortar
bookshops are declining as a key source of book dis coverability. In
2010, 31% of respondents found their book in a bookshop, but in
May 2012, this number was down to 17% (Hildick-Smith in Owen,
‘Social Reading’). e survey also report ed that one in three people
entered a bricks-and-mortar bookshop to browse rather than with
a specific title in mind. is suggests that bookshops are good for
spontaneous purchases. Fewer people going into bookshops (down
14%) has a double negative effect: the initial sales lost to eretailing
and the decline in spontaneous purchases.
In the old days (around 2009) the publisher’s sales team was re-
sponsible for getting the books into bookshops, and discoverability
was focused around the traditional tools of ‘analog’ marketing and
publicity: reviews in papers, radio interviews, author tours and
launches and events—many held in bookshops. In the new digital
world, the road to discoverability starts in the editorial department,
with the book’s metadata being created, and moves swiftly to the
mar ket ing and publicity people, whose job is to create an online
community around the book’s subject and/or author and to leverage
the author’s profile through targeted and clever use of emarketing
and social media.
us publishers now attempt to build communities around authors,
topics and individual titles so they can have direct conversations with
readers and build meaningful customer relationships. e tools for
doing this online are many and varied but include email newsletters,
Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, blogs, online book review forums
and online book clubs. Also valuable are peer-to-peer sites, such as
103
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
aNobii and Goodreads internationally and e Reading Room loc-
ally, where titles are recommended through an online community.
Matteo Berlucchi, aNobii CEO, is trying to harness on a large scale
the predilection many people have to recommend books they have
read and enjoyed to their peers. e site does this with a ‘filtering’
system that makes the recommendations meaningful and akin to
word of mouth, long accepted widely as the most effective way to find
a reader (Berlucchi 9).
Another online marketing strategy is buying space on the home
page of Amazon or another eretailing company. But this is far less
popular. Many US and UK publishers see this as an ineffective option
because not all readers enter the retail site through the home page—
and because large eretailing sites are where readers transact, not
where they browse. It is felt generally that ‘the uplift doesn’t justify
the costs’ (Atkinson).
But while publishers have such strategies around social media and
retailing, one of their most powerful tools in increasing discoverability
is their initial provision of metadata for each title published.
Metadata
Metadata is central to any ebook’s discoverability. Metadata is the
bibliographic data about the ebook and includes critical information
such as author, title, ISBN, name of publisher and date of publication.
In Australia it is usually generated as an Excel spreadsheet that can
be loaded into ebook vendors’ databases or as ONIX data (online
information exchange: the international standards for sharing and
supplying information about books).
A book’s metadata is used by search engines, retailers and other
digital media to find, display and sell the book. To be most effective,
it should tell the story of the book. In addition to the basic biblio-
graphic data, it is important that it includes reviews, sales data, a
e Return of Print?
104
description or blurb, the name of the imprint, details of territorial
rights, digital rights management (DRM) status, price points for
different markets, the language it is printed in (EN for English) and
the Book Industry Communication Code (BIC, a code that describes
the book’s category; for example, cooking, economics, crime fiction)
and industry category code. In the digital marketplace, it is essential
for publishers to provide thorough, accurate and up-to-date metadata
if their ebooks are to be visible to readers. As Edward Nawotka
argues: ‘Search engines, social networks, e-book retailers all depend
on meta data to help users find their book. Get it wrong and they’ll
never find it and you’ll lose the sale; get it right and it is going to be
the first book that will pop up after a search query.’
But recording effective metadata presents a number of difficulties
for publishers. It is currently a time-consuming and painstaking
process, and even if a publisher chooses to use someone else (such
as an aggregator) to look after the task, it is still the publisher’s
responsibility to ensure the information is correct from the start. If
there is just one mistake in the metadata, the book will be relegated
to an anonymous life in cyberspace, unlocatable by search engines
and unseen by readers. e process is made harder because there is
no standard format for supplying the data. Different ebook vendors
require different amounts of metadata with slight variations on a
theme. For example, a date might need to be expressed as yyyy/mm/
dd (Kobo) or mm/dd/yyyy (OverDrive) or dd/mm/yyyy (for many
Australian ebook vendors).
During a session of the 2012 Digital Book World conference by
Nielsen BookScan UK, Michelle Calligaro, Digital Manager at Text
Publishing, reported that enhanced metadata increases sales by 55%,
with fiction sales stronger by 140%, and an increase of 178% in on-
line sales. She also made the salient points that the most important
enhanced metadata is the long description (thus all keywords should
be in the description field); that editors, who know the content of
105
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
the books best, are the key to good metadata and Book Industry
Standards and Communications codes (BISAC codes, industry-
approved subject descriptors represented by a nine-character alpha-
numeric code); and that Google’s AdWords Keyword Planner is an
excellent resource to help determine appropriate keywords. Calligaro
left no doubt that enhancing metadata leads to increased discover-
ability for ebooks. ere is also no doubt that it is up to publishers
to ensure they are doing this effectively if they are to reach readers.
And this is just one of the changes that has occurred over the past
four years in the relationship between the publisher and the reader.
e Publisher–Reader Relationship
[Readers] are our audience, our direct target, yet who pays
them enough attention? (Davis 15)
Before the digital revolution, traditional trade publishers rarely sold
direct to readers. If this did happen, it was only on the odd occasion
for a special order when the traditional supply chain had broken
down. Books, as noted above, were sold to consumers through book-
shops.
e Australian Booksellers Association reported that between
2009 and 2011 there was a loss of 126 bricks-and-mortar bookshops
across Australia. With such rapidly diminishing numbers of book-
shops and increased competition from online eretailers, traditional
publishers need to consider ways of selling direct to the consumers
(B2C) rather than following their existing models of selling direct
to other businesses (B2B) such as bricks-and-mortar bookshops and
eretailers. For instance, Markus Dohle, CEO of Random House,
has argued, ‘We have to change from being a b2b company to a b2c
company over the coming years … publishers have to become more
reader oriented in a marketing and trend finding/setting way rather
than in a direct to consumer selling way’ (qtd. in Shatzkin 2010).
e Return of Print?
106
For many years it has been an unwritten covenant between trad-
itional trade publishers and booksellers that publishers would not
sell books directly to consumers. e ebook and eretailing revo lution
has changed this. Publishers still need to foster and build strong
sustainable relationships with booksellers; it is essential for both
parties that this remains a vital and viable part of the publishing
industry. Many booksellers believe that publishing house sales reps
are critical for understanding a publisher’s mid-list, and that without
reps to sell this list into bookshops effectively it will be the mid-list
that will suffer and disappear. But at the same time, publishers also
need to develop their publisher-to-reader relationship. Bookshops are
becoming physical author communities, hosting readings and signing
events. Just as publishing houses need to develop online author com-
munities through various strategies including emarketing and social
media, and through brand-building their authors, they need to tap
into the potential of bookshops to expand these communities in
promoting recognition of their authors.
Publishers’ brands and imprints (that is, their names) are barely
recognised by readers, with some obvious exceptions like Penguin
Classics, Harlequin and Dummies. On the other hand, the author’s
brand is compelling. Readers may not know the publishers’ names
but they come back time and again to buy the brands that they know
and trust—Jodi Picoult, Michael Connelly, J. K. Rowling, to name a
few. Authors are publishers’ most recognisable brands and publishers
need to build connections with the brands the readers know.
In addition to publishers needing to develop connections with
their readers, the rise of the ebook, and esales, has introduced further
complexities for the publisher–reader relationship. ere is a tension
that exists between the publisher’s need to protect copyright and
guard against piracy and the consumer’s need to have unfettered
access to ebooks and their ebook libraries. is is the area of digital
rights management.
107
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
Digital Rights Management
Publishers are partly to blame for the walled-garden status
of the market as well, since they handed Amazon and Apple
the stick of digital-rights management, which the two
companies are now using to beat them—and they won’t allow
their books to be loaned to other users, or even in many cases
to public libraries, and they certainly don’t make it easy to
get access to them on different platforms. Welcome to the
mutually incompatible, silo-based, platform-dependent and
user-unfriendly future of books. (Ingram)
Digital rights management (DRM) for ebooks is an area where
publishers need to carefully balance the need for copyright protection
for the author with access and ease of use for the consumer. DRM
technologies restrict or control access to copyrighted material and are
designed to stop the widespread practice of pirating digital content.
e existence of multiple proprietary ereader platforms—Kindle,
iBooks, Kobo, Adobe and Nook—which all have their own individual
forms of DRM, has made it impossible for consumers to share books
across platforms. is is a problem, for a number of reasons.
On the face of it, DRM seems a perfectly reasonable and indeed
responsible proposition: it restricts an ebook from being widely and
publicly distributed from one purchase. It is particularly valuable if
a publisher is dealing with territorial rights. Traditional publishers
support DRM because they want to protect their assets (copyright
and revenue) as well as their authors’ assets.
Not all publishers see it this way, however, and it may be an area
that traditional publishers need to consider more thoroughly. Maja
omas, US Senior Vice Principal of Hachette’s digital operation, told
the OnCopyright 2012 conference that DRM is just ‘a speed bump’.
She went on: ‘[DRM] doesn’t stop anyone from pirating, it just makes
it more difficult, and anyone who wants a free copy of any of our books
e Return of Print?
108
can go online now and get one’ (qtd. in Owen, ‘Will Hachette’). at
is, DRM can be removed, rendering it ineffectual as asset protection.
Further, the disadvantages of DRM to readers are considerable. A
reader in effect only licenses an ebook. It can be withdrawn from their
device at any time and if the platform ceases to exist the ebook is lost
entirely. Ebooks, unlike p-books, can’t be resold, printed out, given
away or shared between friends (or can only be shared with a very lim-
ited number). e relationship between the purchaser and the product
is thus very different from the one that results from the sale of a print
book. On top of this, DRM contributes to monopolies within the in-
dustry by locking consumers in to particular eplatforms and devices.
Traditional and ebook publishers, authors and eretailers are all
locked in fierce debate over DRM, with responses to the issue vary-
ing dramatically. e current market tends towards extremes, with
publishers who are going DRM-free (science fiction publisher Tor,
an imprint of Macmillan, for example) at one end and the fully
locked systems of most publishers and eretailers at the other. ere
have also been attempts to develop a system somewhere in between,
such as Pottermore’s social DRM. For this, a unique code or simple
watermarking device (see Figure 5.1) that tracks the customers’ or
retailers’ usage, particularly if the ebook is uploaded to a file-sharing
site, is added to an ebook (Naoum).
Figure 5.1: Pottermore’s social DRM
e advantages of an ebook with social DRM are:
• It can be lent to friends and family.
• It can be stored in one single place and is not platform-
dependent.
109
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
• It can be transferred across edevices and eretailers.
• It does not lock customers into particular eretailers so could
result in more competition and fewer monopolies, such as
Amazon.
• It makes the user aware that it is copyright material.
• It is easy and cheap to implement.
• It is easy to remove, but then so is traditional DRM.
A recent study in the US on piracy of music and books reached
the conclusion that ‘only the legal users pay the price and suffer
from the restrictions; illegal users will not be affected because the
pirated product does not have DRM restrictions’ (Vernik, Purohit
and Desai, 1,012). If this is the case, publishers need to look closely
at their use of DRM to see whether its value in preventing piracy
outweighs the inconvenience it causes the reader.
Conclusion
To return to where I started: in the stormy seas currently facing
the publishing industry there are a number of life rafts—ongoing
safety nets with function and meaning—and some deckchairs that
have served the trade-publishing industry well in the past but which
should now be jettisoned. is essay, looking through the prism of
the relationship between publisher and author and between publisher
and reader, has identified and analysed some of the key issues. e
following is a summary of which practices belong in which category.
e Life Rafts
Professional publishers and editors:
As Malcolm Gladwell succinctly said, ‘What will sustain this industry
is if it returns to what we wanted it for … which is to be a tastemaker
and a gatekeeper … an expert’s job is to place limits and standards
and it’s the editor who is the king.’ Publishing professionals and their
e Return of Print?
110
expertise are what the industry has that self-publishing doesn’t, and
more needs to be made of them.
Business to Consumer (B2C):
Publishers need to engage directly with readers by building author
and reader communities through their websites, through blogs and
social media and through direct marketing.
Print on demand (POD) and short-run digital printing (SRDP):
ese strategies will contribute to keeping the p-book in bookshops
and reduce the waste and inefficiencies of traditional publishers.
Metadata:
As the publishing industry continues its inexorable shift to digital,
good metadata will ensure that titles find readers and, no matter how
platforms and devices shift, this information will remain immutable.
Traditional publishers need to recognise its importance.
Bookshops:
Bricks-and-mortar shops must remain an important part of the
trade-publishing cultural fabric. ey are places where readers can
serendipitously encounter new titles and meet authors. e bookshop
may become more specialised and niche but it will continue to have
a vital role.
Self-publishing:
is new segment of the trade-publishing environment is unrecog-
nisable from earlier vanity publishing days. Traditional publishing
needs to engage with it and recognise the opportunities it presents.
Social media:
Traditional trade publishers can use social media as the primary
means by which they engage directly with readers and build comm-
unities for their authors and brands. In many publishing houses there
111
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
is no strategy or dedicated team looking after what is an increas-
ingly important aspect of any publisher’s business. is needs to be
rectified, to make the most of social media’s potential.
And the Deckchairs?
Digital Rights Management (DRM):
In its current form DRM encourages monopolies in the ebook market
and diminishes the readers’ experiences; it needs to be reconfigured
to take into account rights protection for territorial copyright and to
enable more flexibility for the consumer across platforms.
Traditional trade-publishing models for ebooks:
Many traditional publishing industry standards, such as author
advances, pricing and high-discount royalty clauses for ebooks, need
to be rethought to create more flexibility and responsiveness for
traditional publishers to embrace the ebook revolution. e pricing of
ebooks is also an area where work needs to be done to find the right
tension between what is fair and what will maintain a diverse, vibrant
and sustainable industry for all the stakeholders (the consumer, the
eretailer, the originating trade publisher and the author).
Lack of standardisation:
is is most evident in the delivery of ebook metadata for the different
ebook platforms and different ebook vendors. e industry is trying
to address this problem and working towards solutions, but at the
moment is failing to get compliance across the supply chain. Poor or
inaccurate metadata leads to problems of discoverability of titles, so
readers are unable to find the ebooks and therefore ebook vendors,
publishers and authors do not benefit.
Despite the turmoil in the publishing industry over recent years,
traditional publishers have always been and will remain a critical
and valuable part of the industry. e challenge is for traditional
e Return of Print?
112
trade publishing and the new world of ebooks to find an equilibrium
and symbiotic relationship that allows the industry as a whole to
flourish. As Stephen Page has written, ‘Readers will be best served
by publishers who can marry the best of what is sometimes labelled
“legacy” publishing to the new means of developing and delivering
what readers want and writers need. And if that marriage is achieved,
then the persistent reporting of the death of old publishing will
continue to be a mere exaggeration.’ e storm might have hit, but
all the signs are it will not be fatal.
Works Cited
Atkinson, Will. ‘e Art of Discovery.’ e Bookseller FUTUReBOOK
Conference Preview. London: e Bookseller, 2011.
Bennett, Larry. ‘Maximising US Opportunities.’ e Bookseller FUTUReBOOK
Conference Preview. London: e Bookseller, 2011.
Berlucchi, Matteo. ‘Social Butterfly.’ e Bookseller FUTUReBOOK Conference
Preview. London: e Bookseller, 2011.
Calligaro, Michelle. 2012. ‘An Australian Perspective on the Digital Book
World 2012.’ Digital Publishing Australia. Copyright Agency Limited, 10
Apr. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Darling, Jenny. Personal interview. 29 Jun. 2012.
Davis, Lindsey. ‘e Reader Rules.’ e Bookseller 6 Apr. 2012: 15.
Gladwell, Malcolm. ‘Malcolm Gladwell Celebrates the Editor as “King”.’
Publishers Lunch. Publishers Lunch, 14 Mar. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Godin, Seth. ‘e End of Paper Changes Everything.’ e Domino Project.
Amazon Publishing, 13 Feb. 2012. Web. 23 Sept. 2015.
Inglis, Fiona. Australian Publishers Association. 29 Nov. 2011. Address.
Ingram, Matthew. ‘How the E-Book Landscape is Becoming a Walled Garden.’
Gigaom. Knowingly, Inc., 29 Feb. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Jones, Barry. Book Industry Strategy Group (BISG). Final Report to
Government. September. Canberra: Dept. of Innovation, Industry, Science
and Research, 2011.
113
Deckchairs and Life Rafts
Lloyd, Virginia. ‘Reading, Screaming in Cyberspace: Notes From US Book Expo.’
Crikey. Private Media Operations Pty Ltd, 8 Jun. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Naoum, Joel. ‘Harry Potter and the Digital Rights Management.’ Momentum.
Momentum Books, 28 Mar. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Nawotka, Edward. ‘Why Metadata is the Key to Your Digital Future.’ Pub lishing
Perspectives. German Book Office, 29 Jul. 2011. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Owen, Laura. ‘Social Reading, Discoverability and other Unsolved Problems at
BEA.’ Gigaom. Knowingly, Inc., 7 Jun. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
———. ‘Will Hachette be the First Big-6 Publishers to Drop DRM on
E-Books?’ Gigaom. Knowingly, Inc., 31 Mar. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Page, Stephen. ‘e Future of Publishing Takes Shape.’ e Guardian. Guardian
News and Media Limited, 7 Oct. 2010. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Pilkington, Ed. ‘Amanda Hocking, the Writer Who Made Millions by Self-
Publishing Online.’ e Guardian. Guardian News and Media Limited, 12
Jan. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Shatzkin, Mike. 2012. ‘By One Benchmark at Least, We Are Probably Halfway
rough the (R)evolution.’ e Shatzkin Files. e Idea Logical Company,
13 Feb, 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
———. 2010. ‘Publishers, Brands, and the Change to b2c’, e Shatzkin Files.
e Idea Logical Company, 6 Sept. 2010. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
———. ‘What Smaller Publishers, Agents and Authors Need to Know about
Ebook Publishing.’ e Shatzkin Files. e Idea Logical Company, 5 Sept.
2011. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Stephenson, Kate. ‘Jobs Making a Comeback.’ Bookseller+Publisher 91.3: 12–13.
ompson, John B. Merchants of Culture: e Publishing Business in the Twenty-
First Century. 2nd ed. New York: Plume, 2012. xi.
Vernik, Dinah, Devavrat Purohit and Preyas S. Desai. ‘Music Downloads and
the Flipside of Digital Rights Management.’ Marketing Science 30 Jun.
2011: 1011–27.
Woodward, David. ‘5 Tips for Selling More Ebooks.’ Lulu. Lulu Press, Inc., 14
Sept. 2011. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
115
C S
How to Read a Big Book
e Critical Reception of Hannah Kent’s Burial Rites
in the Context of Contemporary Trade Book Marketing
C W
Author’s Note
The following essay was rst published under the moniker ‘Critic Watch’
for the Sydney Review of Books (SRB). It is part of a series of essays being
undertaken for the SRB that discuss contemporary literary reviewing in
Australia. Critic Watch’s basic assumption is that all published reviews
and critical essays are public and rhetorical performances of literary
experience and so invite public responses. We are so accustomed to a
situation in which reviews are regarded to be isolated taste events that
public disagreement is regarded as a kind of trolling. It would be myopic,
though, to imagine that we could understand reviewing and criticism
without an awareness of their position within the dynamics of the literary
eld as a whole. Therefore, these essays also have engaged with various
other aspects of contemporary literary production.
This particular essay looks at the mechanisms of trade book pub lishing,
which, in the internet age, has sought increasingly to co-opt the sphere
of judgement so as to ensure a benign cloud of positivity around priority
titles. These are the so-called Big Books. To demonstrate the extent of the
well-resourced PR departments of multinational publishers, Critic Watch
tracked online the process of promoting Hannah Kent’s Burial Rites, a
debut by a young novelist from Adelaide that secured a large advance. Its
promotion began with hype about the ‘bidding war’ to win the manuscript
and went on to include pre-release media engagements, the distribution
of advance copies to reviewers and bloggers, storefront eye-capture and
e Return of Print?
116
other traditional advertising methods (including television), social media,
the inevitable stories about cinematic adaptations and the relentless
face-to-face touring of bookstores and festivals internationally. The online
version of this essay contains upwards of 200 hyperlinks, which could not
be retained in this version. Please visit www.sydneyreviewofbooks.com/
the-real-deal/ to nd them. All references to publicity and media in this
essay were gathered in the six months following the novel’s publication in
Australia. It was published just after the novel’s release onto the British and
North American Markets. This essay thus pertains mostly to the Australian
context.
In reproducing the essay for this volume I have retained the Critic
Watch moniker. The style and form of argumentation is specic to the
perspective adopted when ‘watching’ other critics in this manner.
Burial Rites is a historical novel set in 1830 that narrates the final year
in the life of the last woman to be publicly executed in Iceland, Agnes
Magnúsdóttir. One of the two men Agnes was accused of murdering,
Natan Ketilsson, was a personality of the times who was connected
with poets and freethinkers, and the episode is still known in Iceland.
It has previously been the subject of books and films. In this English-
language treatment the archival sources feature prominently. Direct
translations of historical documents appear as extended epigraphs to
each of the 13 chapters, setting quite strict narrative limits. Unless
the facts are being played with (they are not), the novel needs to meet
with readers’ expectations of historical plausibility. It is not surprising
to find a note of pre-emptive defensiveness in the author’s afterword:
‘e high level of literacy shown by the characters is historically
accurate’ (Kent 334).
e historical materials are absorbed into the tissue of the novel
in the way that some historical films make use of historical footage,
with the cinematography accordingly callibrated. e twenty-first-
century prose is not intended to be identical to the language of
the historical documents, but there is a concerted effort to blend
117
How to Read a Big Book
them. Archaisms, more and less awkward, appear in both the narrative
voice and the representations of speech: in the lexicon (‘whorling’
(40), ‘breakfast victuals’ (95)); in the grammar (‘she spat wetly upon
the grass’ (68), ‘[a] slipper wanting mending’ (71)); and in register
(‘Iam of the opinion that a drier home allows better circulation of air,
and is therefore better for the health’ (162)). It also prompts much
de script ion that is specific to nineteenth-century rural Iceland, and
there are many Icelandic terms employed—mostly proper nouns, but
also some phrases.
e labour of historical detail can be impressive:
Next are the bones, and the heads. I ask Lauga to empty the
tallow pot of gristle and water, but she pretends she cannot
hear me and keeps her eyes fixed ahead of her. Kristín goes
instead. When Steina sidles up to me again, smiling shyly,
wondering if there is anything I need doing, I ask her to
fill the emptied pot with the bones that cannot be used for
anything else. Salt. Barley. Water. Steina and I haul the pot
next to the poaching blood sausage, for the marrow to leach
into the simmering water, for the salt and heat to prise away
all the tenderness from the carcass. She claps her hands when
we fix the slopping pot upon the hook and immediately begins
to throw more fuel on the fire. (206)
Here we see Agnes’s increasing sway over the younger sister, Steina,
and her growing influence in the affairs of the family. Her skilfulness
establishes her authority, and she is unruffled by the snub from the
elder sister, Lauga. e parallel syntax (‘for the marrow’/‘for the salt’)
conveys the rhythm of the activity, and metonymy (‘tenderness’ for
lamb) deftly foregrounds the cooking process. e unusual use of a
noun of action as an adjective (‘slopping’) runs in the flow of present
participles. Historical research, plotting, characterisation and style
meld into convincing prose.
e Return of Print?
118
Cinematographic analogies seem apt for this novel. It begins with
a short, lyrical prologue in Agnes’s voice that is identical in style and
tone to the voice-over that often leads into a film’s title credits. e
structure is also, in a sense, filmic. ere is frequent ‘cutting’ from
scene to scene, while a steady momentum in the plotting is main-
tained. Each chapter has a number of major section breaks (around five
per chapter), and these often have internal breaks. It is usually only
a page or two to get through before lights out. e most significant
differentiation of narrative style is between a mostly discreet third-
person narration and Agnes’s first-person narration, at a proportion
of roughly two to one.
e premise is simple and clearly articulated. With a year to
live, Agnes is interned at the farm of Margrét and Jón and their
two daughters in rural Kornsa. Over the course of the novel, the
de tails of her life leading up to the murder of Natan are recounted
through memories and discussions with her priest counsel. e
in exper ienced Reverend Tóti is something of a prop for Agnes’s
mono logues, with their interactions more closely resembling the
talk ing cure than religious guidance. Agnes’s presence produces
tensions in both the family and the local community, creating a
sep ar ate source of nar ra tive momentum. If the method is that of
the historical novel, the genre might be described as a mix of the
death-row novel, Gothic romance and feminist revisionism. e first
produces a compelling narrative arc. e second provides the frisson:
the destitute yet poetic maid who has a love affair with a freethinking
mystic. e third supplies the novel’s ethics and narr ative mode: the
voice recovered from the margins given fullness through the fictional
imagination.
We have seen that where the historical research is thorough, the
style can be assured. However, the prose is by no means functional.
ere is a tendency for unusual descriptors:
119
How to Read a Big Book
He mounted his horse and vanished behind the swell of hills (10)
… a slight blur of blue, a smudge of skirt being hauled off a
horse (44)
… one [stocking] was torn, exposing a slice of pale skin (45)
Margrét winced at the smear of dried blood […] and the grime
that lay in streaks across her forehead (45)
… grief that sets in when death falls thickly in the home (47)
I catch the words as they slither through the gap between this
room and the next (128)
ere were smears of violet that swelled against darkness of
the night (143)
Autumn fell upon the valley like a gasp (198)
He sniffed and wiped his nose on his glove, leaving a shiny
smear upon the wool (280)
… the verses lifted over the snowy field and fell about them
like a mist (328)
One begins to see patterns: a penchant for painterly descriptions
(‘smudge’, ‘smear’, ‘streaks’); striking analogies, such as the alignment
of humans and weather (Autumn/gasp, verse/mist), often mobilised
by an unexpected verb (to fall); metonymy of quality for noun
(‘smudge of skirt’); the animation of language (words that ‘slither’,
verses that ‘lift’); and modifiers that have verbal connotations (‘swell’,
‘slice’). ese examples, and numerous others like them, tend to come
towards the beginning of chapters or sections.
e greater technical demands come in the passages of first-person
narration. Without the guide of archival materials, Agnes’s interiority
must be summoned through a mixture of historical empathy and the
means available from literary style. It cannot be doubted that there
e Return of Print?
120
is consistency in these sections. A handful of conspicuous rhetorical
devices are repeatedly called upon. Take the following examples,
which appear over three pages of text:
they have strapped me to the saddle like a corpse being taken to
the burial ground … bruises, blossoming like star clusters under
the skin … I am tied like a lamb for slaughter … I wonder where
they will store me, cellar me like butter, like smoked meat. Like
a corpse … like a cow I go where I am led … it is as though the
winter has set up home in my marrow … rotting slowly in a
room like a body in a coffin … Like a woman, he said. e sea is
a nag … e light had arrived like a hunted thing. (35–37)
It could be that the density of simile reflects Agnes’s mental state
as she is transported to the farm. Although they do not come as
thickly again, similes are a continual feature of her voice. We are to
believe that Agnes has a strongly lyrical spirit, so this has grounds in
the characterisation. It just makes her lyricism a bit annoying.
e frequency of rhetorical or leading questions and syntactic
parallels, however, raises questions about the technical range. e
following examples are only a small sample:
Rhetorical and Leading Questions
What would I say to him anyway, now that it has come to
this? (43)
But what is the use of protesting against language? (62)
Do they sing hymns in the winter here? (70)
Is this happiness, this warmth against my chest? Like
another’s hand placed there? (78)
How do men ever see women like me? (101)
121
How to Read a Big Book
When the Reverend saw my name and birth in the church
book, did he only see the writing and understand only the
date? Or did he see the fog of that day, and hear the ravens
cawing at the smell of blood? Did he imagine it as I have
imagined it? (110)
Is the Reverend the person in my memory, or is he another
altogether? Did I do that, or was it another? Magnús or Jón?
[…] did my mother look down at her baby daughter and think:
‘One day I will leave you’? Did she look at my scrunched face,
hoping I would die, or did she silently urge me to stick to life
like a burr? (111)
Why am I trembling like this? (119)
Did I author my own fate, then? […] Did I hold her too
tightly? (150)
Are my eyes open or shut? Perhaps it was a ghost who woke
me—how can I explain these lights appearing in the murk
before me? […] Was I dreaming? (156)
What else is God good for other than a distraction from the
mire we’re all stranded in? […] When was the last time I even
attended church? (248)
… where all the birds have gone, where have they gone? (317)
Syntactic Parallels
You, Agnes Magnúsdóttir, have been found guilty of accessory
to murder. You, Agnes Magnúsdóttir have been found guilty
of arson, and conspiracy to murder. You, Agnes Magnúsdóttir,
have been sentenced to death. You, Agnes. Agnes. (29)
I was two dead men. I was burning farm. I was a knife. I was
blood. (35)
e Return of Print?
122
He knew me as one knows the seasons, knows the tide. Knew
me like the smell of smoke, knew what I was, and what I
wanted. And now he is dead. (83)
Until I feel that I’m not moving myself, and that the sun
is driving me. Until I am a puppet of the wind, and of the
scythe, and of the long, slow strokes that propel my body
forward. Until I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. (103)
A lie for a father. A head of dark hair. A hayrack to sleep in. A
kiss. A stone, so that I might learn to understand the birds and
never be lonely. (111)
I craved his weight, then. I craved the breath of him: the
quickening inhalation and the warm pressure of his mouth.
[…] I could feel him, the heat of him, the very quick of him.
He groaned and the sound lingered in the air like a cloud of
ash over a volcano. (220)
I am barren; nothing will grow from me anymore. I am the
dead fish drying in the cold air. I am the dead bird on the
shore. I am dry, I am not certain I will bleed when they drag
me out to meet the axe. (317)
Of course it is somewhat unfair to pick out and line up all instances
of a stylistic feature—each might find justification in its context.
e point is that at moments of earnest meaning-making, the same
strategies are employed. By the time the novel climaxes, the prose
feels exhausted:
Don’t feed me or I will bite you, I will bite the hand that feeds
me, that refuses to love me, that leaves me. Where is my stone?
You don’t understand! I have nothing to say to you, where are
the ravens? Jóas has sent them all away, they never speak to me,
it’s not fair. See what I do for them? It’s strange, I shatter my
teeth, and they still will not speak to me. Only the wind. Only
123
How to Read a Big Book
the wind speaks and it will not talk sense, it screams like the
widow of the world and will not wait for a reply. (321)
Agnes is at the point of derangement, yet little further affect is to be
wrung from the same devices. One suspects that the emotional arc
of the death-row novel will propel many first-time readers through; a
closer reading reveals the substance to be a little thin.
I was confirmed in this judgement when reflecting on the relentless
symbolism of ravens and stones. It seems that one or the other, or
both, appear every couple of pages, as though repetition will of itself
accumulate significance. ere is an attempt to integrate them into
the narrative—her mother gives her a stone on abandonment; ravens
are present at significant moments in life; and in a moment of light
magic realism right at the end, Agnes chokes on and spits out a stone
on the road to her execution—but without sensing any basis in the
novel’s purpose, I was nonplussed. e function would seem to be
more a kind of cinematic cue—a visual ornament, an atmospheric
device.
* * *
Hannah Kent received a seven-figure advance comprising offers from
three publishers for Burial Rites as part of a two-book deal (Deahl).
is is her first novel, written towards completing a PhD at Flinders
University. She was 28 when it was published.
In the Sydney Review of Books, Stuart Glover has written an
illuminating essay on Kent and three other recently published first-
time novelists in Australia. He focuses on the interplay between
publishers and creative writing programs at universities, whose job
it is to elicit a certain base-level competence from students, or, as
he puts it, a ‘lack of incompetence’. Increasingly the acquisition of
institutional credentials, recognition and advances is the platform
on which new writers enter the commercial sphere. is creates the
e Return of Print?
124
strange scenario in which there can be incentive for publishers to
increase advances in order to create a first wave of publicity. In the
case of Burial Rites, Critic Watch found seven articles announcing
the book deal from July 2012.
A first-time novelist is already a difficult assignment for a reviewer.
With such a large sum hanging over the book, a public judgement
of its literary value becomes trickier: a positive review might look
like commercial complicity, a negative one mean-spirited. In order to
think about what might constitute a meaningful aesthetic response
to Burial Rites, it will help to digress a little to consider what the
advance for Burial Rites signals about its place in the logic of trade
book publishing in our time. In the absence of industry experience,
Critic Watch’s guide is the sociologist John B. ompson’s gripping
analysis, Merchants of Culture: e Publishing Business in the Twenty-
First Century.
A large advance for a young first-time novelist might easily be
supposed to mean that the novel is mass-market pulp. Alternatively
it could suggest that we have a prodigy on our hands and the money
reflects the quality of the work. In fact, it can have only one certain
meaning: that the publisher believes it will at least recoup costs. In
addition to the advance (which includes agent’s fees), a publisher will
pay for marketing (which averages at around 6.5% of projected rev-
enue), production and distribution costs, and overheads. Dan Brown
received an advance of US$400,000 for a two-book deal that included
e Da Vinci Code (ompson 200). He was an established author
and had published several books. So how is it possible that a studious
historical novel by an unknown first-time author can receive nearly
three times the advance of the novel that has defined the parameters
of the market for contemporary popular fiction?
To answer this question we need to look at recent developments
in the collection of sales data. At the turn of the century, Nielsen
Company developed a service called BookScan. is makes available
125
How to Read a Big Book
to subscribers the collated point-of-sale data purchased from retail
outlets. An author’s sales figures were previously known only to her
publisher and her agent. With BookScan covering around ninety
per cent of sales, everyone can now see everyone else’s business. Two
or three books into their careers, authors are pretty much bound to
their track record. If they have failed to garner enough sales to make
them attractive to their publisher’s bottom line, either the marketing
budget for their work is reduced or they are cut loose. If they seek
to move publisher, their ‘track’ hovers over them like a dark cloud.
Dan Brown’s modest track before his mega hit meant that he and his
agent had no numerical basis to negotiate a higher advance. e work
of a new author, however, is all clear skies and so one of the very few
occasions when the imaginations and enthusiasms of publishers can
roam a little. To the unpublished masses the industry may seem
impenetrable, but it is not true that it is geared to serve those who
have already been published.
e seven-figure advance for Burial Rites is not an aberration. What
it signals is that, ahead of publication, Burial Rites had attained the
status of a Big Book: a priority title to which a publisher will assign
sizeable editing and marketing resources in the hopes of generating
income well above costs. is creates incentives for commissioning
editors, who compete with each other—even within an imprint—
to hype their titles in a way that prompts big offers. As ompson
observes:
the more you pay, the bigger the book is and the more likely
it is that it will be seen and treated as a big book all the way
down the line, from positioning within the catalogue and the
allocating of marketing spend to prioritization by the sales
directors and the way the book is worked by the reps. (210)
e ascension of Burial Rites to Big Book status is not a fairy tale,
though it is unusual for a writer so far from London and New York, or
e Return of Print?
126
even Sydney and Melbourne. It follows a typical sequence, which we
can analyse as the conversion of ‘hype’ about the book’s quality into
‘buzz’ about its real prospects as a commodity. Hype requires only
superlatives and a rhetoric of sincerity. Buzz comes when a publisher
is prepared to lay down hard cash. In a competitive environment,
Burial Rites is remarkable for having travelled so smoothly through
this process.
First there would need to be objective-seeming indicators of the
book’s quality. is would usually be found in the judgement of the
literary agent, who must protect her reputation to remain in business.
Burial Rites was given a significant leg-up when it won the Writing
Australia Unpublished Manuscript Award. is helped to secure an
agent from the multinational agency Curtis Brown and a well-known
mentor, Geraldine Brooks, whose appraisal appears on the cover of
Burial Rites: ‘an accomplished gem, its prose as crisp and sparkling as
its northern setting’.
e well-connected agent would have approached commissioning
editors who could be expected to be sympathetic to the novel’s premise
and aesthetic. A phone call or covering letter would have hyped the
book in terms that would guarantee buzzability. is would not
be anything resembling literary criticism, but rather an assessment
peculiar to the industry’s imperatives. In the absence of a track record,
the agent would stress the marketing opportunities offered by Burial
Rites’s prize-winning status and the endorsement of a well-known
author. Comparison would be made to similar novels that had
enjoyed significant sales, and there would be references to cultural
trends. Kent was fortunate to have been entering the market with a
historical novel set in Scandinavia at a time when historical novels
and Scandinavian themes were fashionable. e agent would also
have pointed out the ways in which both the novel and the author
could be marketed—what gets called the author’s ‘platform’. Picador’s
initial sales catalogue entry for Burial Rites, for example, explicitly
127
How to Read a Big Book
lists ‘selling points’ (‘“Burial Rites” was the subject of an international
bidding war’) and product placement information ‘dumpbins, book-
marks, and samplers available’ (Pan Macmillan Australia). e agent
would have highlighted specific demographics that would constitute
a ready, in-built market for the title. For literary fiction, the book
club is one of the strongest word-of-mouth instruments—Picador,
in fact, put together notes for reading groups ahead of Burial Rites’s
release (Picador). With thought to publicity tours and media, there
might also have been comments on the author’s personality and
appearance. e potential for cinematic adaptation may have also
been raised. (Jennifer Lawrence has apparently signed onto the
cinematic adaptation of Burial Rites, to be directed by Gary Ross
(Ianella).)
e commissioning editor convinced, the book would next have
been recommended to the head of the imprint and an offer made.
Hype has become buzz, but it is still not a Big Book. A debut only
reaches Big Book status by way of an auction: a so-called ‘bidding
war’. When two or more publishers bid on a novel, notes ompson,
it confirms their respective internal processes of evaluation: ‘e auc-
tion is a continuous process of re-evaluating the value of the book,
testing one’s own judgements and opinions against the judgements
and opinions of others and adjusting them in this light. e higher
others are prepared to go, the more likely it is that you will be inclined
to think that you should go higher too’ (209). It is no longer one or
two bees, but a hive, and the publishers feel certain that someone is
going to collect the honey. On this occasion the winning bids that
formed the two-book deal came from Picador Australia (who are
reported to have paid $350,000), Picador UK (both are imprints of
Pan Macmillan international) and Little, Brown in the United States
(an imprint of Hachette, which reportedly paid seven figures).
e index for ompson’s Merchants of Culture does not have a
listing under ‘reviews’ or ‘reviewers’. Evidently reviewing is not a
e Return of Print?
128
signifi cant ele ment in the logic of the trade book industry. e single
page that does consider reviewing only points to its declining signifi-
cance. Unlike cinema, literary works are not usually judged with
easily visible stars. We are just as likely to see the recommendation
of a prom inent novelist or the mention of a prize on the cover as we
are a line from a review. When an outlay has been made on a Big
Book, the publisher needs to create a market for it—and the route to
a mass readership is not through disinterested judgements. Ideally,
a Big Book will enter the bestseller list in its first week of release,
usually ahead of, or concurrent with, the first reviews. e job of the
marketing team is to reach out to the target readership well ahead
of time, and to generate a large cache of pre-orders that will count
as first-day sales. Once secured, the ‘bestseller’ label will be used to
push the book hard in the six-to-eight-week window that most books
have to establish themselves. Failing that, marketing resources are
quickly pulled. ompson quotes one publicity manager at a large
publishing corporation saying: ‘If a book is not working there’s not
a lot you can do. And if the fish is dead you let it float downstream.
I’m sorry, but you just let her go, baby’ (265). e marketing team
is responsible for ensuring that buzz becomes honey. If it fails, the
publisher makes a loss, the agent loses commercial credibility and the
author floats away.
For literary fiction, face-to-face events remain a key marketing
instrument. (According to her website, in the six months following
the May 2013 release, Kent appeared at 24 bookstores, three libraries
and four literary festivals.) ere will also be macromedia advertising:
newspaper and magazine ads, ‘light walls’ and dump bins in shopping
centres and airports. Australian publishers still favour the backs
of buses. ere will be cooperative arrangements with bookstores
to ensure that the novel is the first thing that meets the eye of the
customer. Effectively this means that publishers rent window and
front-of-store table space from chain bookstores. is will also ex-
129
How to Read a Big Book
tend to the catalogues and bookstore promotions, including online
ones. e publicist will attempt to get interviews for the author in
news papers (Critic Watch found seven with Kent on the internet)
and in magazines and on the radio (Critic Watch found evidence
of four). Kent’s publicists managed to snag an episode of Australian
Story, which caused a great surge in sales (see below).
As with most retail industries, trade book publishing has needed
rapidly to adapt its marketing strategies. Online has not replaced tradi-
tional forms, but it is now more likely to form the focus of any cam-
paign. Rather than the dogfight for eyeballs in physical space, the
internet makes available fine-grained methods for reaching a target
reader ship. is particularly suits first-time authors, who can develop
their name from blog to blog. Of course the author must have her
own website, and there will be the usual Facebook and Twitter. ere
will also be online versions of traditional media formats, whether
print (Critic Watch found five online-only interviews), audio (Critic
Watch found three) or video (Critic Watch found seven).
Of most relevance to book reviewing is the targeting of book-
related sites and blogs. It used to be that review copies were sent
to professional reviewers and established names who would suffer
reputational damage if they were perceived to be for hire. Now a
publisher will send out dozens, even hundreds of advance copies
to internet loudmouths and online communities. Word-of-mouth
recommendations are not hoped for but concertedly generated. Critic
Watch found 12 blogs that mentioned being forwarded such copies.
e standard caveat seems to be that the free copy is in ‘exchange for
my honest opinion’—an admission that the bloggers are not expected
to be vocational. Whether by such fabricated means or genuine word-
of-blog, once a book is taken up, it circulates at velocity. Critic Watch
found 45 blog reviews and posts on Burial Rites: a non-exhaustive,
mostly Australian list that was compiled in the early days of the
release into the UK and US markets.
e Return of Print?
130
For literary fiction, the end of the rainbow is the book club circuit.
When a literary novel takes hold here, it has hit the commercial sweet
spot of accessibility and gravitas. Critic Watch found online evidence
of ten different book clubs reading the book. Some of these reported
being forwarded copies. When this is combined with the promotional
‘reviews’ of bookstores (Critic Watch found three such, though, did
not look extensively) we confront a billowing cloud of opinion. ere
are, no doubt, acute and sensitive readers within this cloud, and the
subject of reviewing in the blogging world requires careful delineation
and discrimination. However, seen as a whole—and this is the view
taken by the publishers—the overwhelming tendency in this liminal
sphere of criticism is towards opinions without responsibility, in
which judgements assume the tone of assertions of self-worth and
identity. Lacking self-awareness but big on naive honesty, it is no
wonder that the cloud can be commercially manipulated. is subtle
infusion of the commercial into the domain of literary judgement
makes cash-for-comment endorsements and product placements in
films look like clumsy prototypes.
An inspection of BookScan revealed that by 19 October 2013,
Burial Rites had sold almost 51,000 copies in Australia. On a bet
of $350,000, Picador Australia had generated, by Critic Watch’s
estimation, over $1.4 million in revenue. e Australian Story episode
boosted sales in the week following its broadcast by nearly $100,000
and, according to Critic Watch’s calculations, by around $450,000
overall before weekly sales returned to pre-broadcast levels.
* * *
So, whether or not by manipulated means, you’ve heard about that
book about the woman on death row in Greenland or somewhere. You
want to know if it’s any good, so you track down the title and search
for reviews. As things stand, most readers of literary fiction are likely
to search among the results for reviews from respected print sources.
131
How to Read a Big Book
However, as online and print spheres merge and consumers seek
quick advice on quality, it is ever more likely that an impressionistic
or commercially infused response will stand in for the subjectively
universal judgement of the vocational critic. is is intensified in the
case of a Big Book, when the publisher has done everything it can to
generate a reception that circumvents the need for such appraisals.
When Burial Rites had only been released in Australia, it took some
searching to locate professional reviews within the billowing cloud.
By October, there was a diligent and astute review in e New York
Times that could be found at the top of the search results (considered
below).
e entire field of literary criticism is shifting, and the delineation
of the cloud becomes increasingly important for monitoring criticism’s
career in the broad public sphere. e great challenge at present is
for the established domain of disinterested judgement to retain its
integrity as transformations take place in formats, revenue structures
and reading habits. In the case of Burial Rites, there is the added
challenge of the hype surrounding the novel’s advance, in which a
reviewer can easily be destabilised by the interpenetration of literary
and commercial values.
Writing in e Monthly, Alexandra Coghlan, perhaps a little dis-
ingenuously, places the burden of hype back on the prose, suggesting
that the hype is ‘pressure this competent debut could do without’.
Coghlan’s short review gives the novel relatively short shrift: it is
‘solid enough’ revisionist history, the lyricism ‘occasionally spilling
over into excess’. Coghlan provides a pithy summary of the novel’s
composition and ethical premise, no less accurate for being so: ‘e
lists and stock phrases of municipal discourse offer a hard surface
for the protagonist’s first-person monologues to rebound against,
animating the issue of historical absolutes: these documents tell the
truth, but do they tell the story?’ Mischievously, she appropriates
the novel’s rhetoric in order to describe it: ‘Our heroine emerges
e Return of Print?
132
in a smudgy collage of events.’ Coghlan evidently wants to counter
the novel’s melodrama and commercial hype with sharp wit. Not
surprisingly, the review did not appear among those listed on the
author’s website.
e opposite treatment is given by Michael McGirr in e Sydney
Morning Herald. A summary of the novel’s historical premise and plot
precedes high praise. He finds Agnes’s voice ‘mellifluous’, citing several
lines that made Critic Watch wince, such as ‘only the outlying tongues
of rock scarred the perfect kiss of sea and sky’. Unfazed, or perhaps not
sensitive to the arioso aspect of Agnes’s voice, McGirr finds that her
voice ‘hums gently’ through the novel. e review closes with praise
for the novelist for embracing a non-Australian subject.
Not so Bronwyn Lea in Australian Book Review, whose explicit
appraisal, tellingly, is confined to a short final paragraph. For all its
evident narrative skill, the book is ‘not a particularly challenging read’
and ‘leans heavily’ on its genre devices. e rest of a decent-sized
review is given to the historical background of the case of Agnes—a
reviewing approach more typical for non-fiction, suggesting that
more worth is to be found in the history than the novelisation. In a
comment concerning a potential Hollywood remake of the episode,
one senses scepticism about commercial imperatives.
Over at e Australian, Geordie Williamson’s penchant for aphor-
isms is on display: a line from Auden gets him in the mood and he
warms down with another from Woolf. He touches on the backstory
of Kent’s time researching in Iceland, but avoids mentioning the
advance and the commercial context. Williamson is most concerned
with the novel’s gender politics, and is the only critic across blogs and
print media to characterise it as an ‘angry depiction’. Compliments for
Kent’s ‘uncanny knack for narrative’, the novel’s successful historical
realism and the strength of the Agnes sections come before a closing
criticism of what he regards as overdone gender politics. e male
characters are flat, if not stereotypes, it is claimed, and Woolf is used
133
How to Read a Big Book
in a rather sharp manner to suggest that aspects of the novel are
politics dressed up as fiction.
In e Melbourne Review, Tali Lavi attempts to shield consideration
of the novel from the commercial hype, but in doing so explicitly
falls into the trap of repeating it. In a not very ambitious and mostly
descriptive appraisal, Lavi admires the lyricism, or ‘poeticism’, of
Agnes’s voice, but notes that the control over language falters at
times. In his brief comments on the novel in his Sydney Review of
Books essay, Stuart Glover’s assessment is that the novel is impressive
in psychological detail, but the shifts in narrative perspective are
perhaps too frequent. e material is well chosen, but the novelist is
not entirely in control of it.
Aside from McGirr, who does not make a particularly convincing
case, there were no greatly positive reviews. All of the critics could
see that it is a novel with clear strengths, even if there was no agree-
ment about what these were. Certainly there was no favouritism for
Kent as a first-time novelist attracting international attention. e
hype over the advance was present, but it could not be judged to have
greatly skewed consideration. Across the reviews the sense emerged
of a competent-to-skilfully-written historical novel on a compelling
theme with some unevenness in style and char ac terisation. It hardly
seems worth pointing out that the novel’s commercial success and
its critical reception in Australia were at odds. And Critic Watch
certainly would not wish to suggest that this selection of reviews
was definitive. In setting judge ments of literary value against the
enveloping background of contem porary marketing, I have sought
to signal the importance of distinguishing the two. If good reviewers
wish to ensure that this remains possible, diligence and faint praise
may not be enough.
I will leave consideration of the overseas reception of Burial Rites to
interested readers. e novel did well in the United Kingdom, with e
Observer, Telegraph, Daily Express and e Sunday Times all reviewing
e Return of Print?
134
positively. e Guardian gave a mixed assessment. At the time that
this essay was first published, the reception in the United States was
not yet greatly developed. Special mention must be given, though, for
Steven Heighton in e New York Times. He does not select the aspects
of the novel that it occurs to him to discuss, but, in 860 words, seeks
to give a full sense of the qualities of the work. Refreshingly, and
so rarely in contemporary newspaper reviewing, there is a concise,
supported and convincing discussion of the novel’s style as it pertains
to the realisation of narrative. Rather than lazy, non-specific adjectives
or aphorisms (‘beautiful prose’, ‘as sparkling as the northern setting’),
there is sharp characterisation and incisive quotation. For example,
Agnes’s self-description as ‘beached in a peat bog of poverty’ is rec-
ognised as inventive, but its ‘metrical jauntiness deeply at odds with
[the] meaning’. is shows a reader who is attentive to the inter play
of style and meaning; too often the reviewer’s ear is alert only for one.
Works Cited
Coghlan, Alexandra. ‘“Burial Rites” by Hannah Kent.’ e Monthly. Schwartz
Publishing, May 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.themonthly.com.au/
issue/2013/may/1366950580/alexandra-coghlan/burial-rites-hannah-kent>.
Deahl, Rachel. ‘Little, Brown Pays Seven Figures for Debut Novel by Aussie
Author.’ Publishers Weekly. PWxyz, LLC, 12 Jul. 2012. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
<http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/international/international-
deals/article/52967-little-brown-pays-seven-figures-for-debut-novel-by-
aussie-author.html>.
Glover, Stuart. ‘So Many Paths at Wind and Wind.’ Sydney Review of Books.
Writing and Society Research Centre, e University of Western Sydney,
4 Oct. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.sydneyreviewofbooks.com/
so-many-paths-that-wind-and-wind/>.
Heighton, Steven. ‘Fire and Ice.’ e New York Times. e New York Times
Company, 27 Sept. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.nytimes.
com/2013/09/29/books/review/burial-rites-by-hannah-kent.html?_r=1&>.
135
How to Read a Big Book
Ianella, Antimo. ‘Oscar Winner Jennifer Lawrence Signs Up for Film Version
of SA Author’s Debut Novel.’ Herald Sun. e Herald and Weekly Times,
2 Oct. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/
national/oscar-winner-jennifer-lawrence-signs-up-for-film-version-of-sa-
author8217s-debut-novel/story-fnii5yv7-1226731884188>.
Kent, Hannah. Burial Rites. Sydney: Picador, 2013.
Lea, Bronwyn. ‘Ambiguous Agnes.’ Australian Book Review. Australian Book
Review, May 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <https://www.australianbookreview.
com.au/component/k2/100-may-2013-no-351/1475-ambiguous-agnes>.
Lavi, Tali. ‘Review: Burial Rites.’ e Melbourne Review 19 (2013): 18. Web. 15
Apr. 2016. <http://issuu.com/themelbournereview/docs/tmr_may/18>.
McGirr, Michael. ‘Prejudice Melts Away in a Frigid Landscape.’ e Sydney
Morning Herald. Fairfax Media, 25 May 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/burial-rites-review--prejudice-
melts-away-in-a-frigid-landscape-20130524-2k6gs.html>.
Pan Macmillan Australia. ‘Sales Catalogue.’ Pan MacMillan Australia, May
2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <https://www.yumpu.com/en/document/
view/25135985/may-2013-pan-macmillan-australia>.
Picador. ‘Notes for Reading Groups.’ Picador, 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://
d7e3a2ab67f1ad794b7c-58ee2046ea610b14668745360eaa8ac0.r44.cf2.
rackcdn.com/reading-guides/9781742612829-notes.pdf>.
ompson, John B. Merchants of Culture: e Publishing Business in the Twenty-
First Century. Cambridge, UK: Polity, 2010.
Williamson, Geordie. ‘Outcast Doomed by Conformity in Hannah Kent’s
Debut.’ e Australian. News Corp Australia, 27 Apr. 2013. Web. 15 Apr.
2016. <http://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/review/outcast-doomed-by-
conformity-in-hannah-kents-debut/story-fn9n8gph-1226630256683?nk=
b87681a0feea8018020558f2735ab7aa>.
137
C S
Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award
E S
In a recent essay, I compared the literary output of all Australian large
publishers with that of eight prominent small publishers in the year
2012. In so doing, I noted that the major publishing houses produced
only 27 works of book-length literary fiction in that year, while
the eight smaller presses generated 73 literary titles, comprising 40
book-length works of fiction and 33 collections of poetry (Stinson).
is research indicates that Australian small publishers are now the
primary mediators of Australian literature, given that they publish
the vast majority of new Australian literary titles; indeed, the total
literary output of Australian small presses is almost certainly much
larger than my limited survey suggests, since there are more than a
hundred members of the Small Press Network, the industry peak
body for Australian independent presses. Examining the catalogues
of all of these presses would likely yield an even larger number of
literary titles.
is state of affairs represents a decisive shift from earlier decades,
when many of the large publishers carried extensive lists of local
literary work, as Mark Davis has argued (120). But, in 2012, each
of the seven (now six) large publishers—Random House, Penguin,
Allen & Unwin, Pan Macmillan, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster
and Hachette—only produced an average of 3.86 local literary
titles per year. Indeed, several scholars, such as Mark Davis (120),
David Carter (239) and Katherine Bode (85), have noted a decline
in literary publishing at the major publishing houses over the last
several decades. It appears, however, that this decline at the major
e Return of Print?
138
houses has been supplemented by a new productivity among small
publishers and independent publishers in the literary realm.
But this shift in the mediation of literary works has not necessar-
ily been particularly visible to anyone other than those intimately
fam iliar with the dynamics of the Australian publishing industry.
Indeed, consumers—except for certain readers of genre fiction—
generally do not pay a great deal of attention to either publishers
or imprints. e average book buyer might struggle to name any
publisher beyond the most well-known international houses, such
as the now-merged Penguin and Random House. Part of the reason
for consumers’ ignorance of these matters is that publishers have
traditionally promoted their individual authors as brands, instead
of developing their own name recognition with the public, as John
B.ompson has noted (211–19). But, if public ignorance of these
facts is understandable, what’s potentially more concerning is the
question of whether or not Australian literary culture has registered
these changes at the level of praxis.
Indeed, there have been some developments that reflect small
publishers’ increasingly dominant position in Australian literary pro-
duc tion. e creation of the Small Press Network in 2007 and the
institution of its annual publishing conference in 2011, for example,
demonstrate that small publishers have sought to organise, network
and advocate on their own behalf outside of existing industry bodies,
such as the Australian Publishers Association. Authors and industry
professionals from small presses are also regularly involved with
events at the major writers festivals and at literary hubs, such as the
Wheeler Centre for Books, Writing and Ideas in Melbourne. But,
in these situations, small publishers are effectively accommodated
within already existing literary institutional structures, which are
fundamentally unaltered. To put it simply, while small publishers
have a larger presence in Australian literary culture, the fact that they
are now the most significant mediators of Australian literature has
139
Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award
not resulted in substantial institutional change. e various lit-
er ary institutions that support, promote and foster communities
around literary works still employ models that reflect an older mode
of literary production, which is primarily mediated by large and
inter nation ally owned Australian publishers. As a result, there is
a dis juncture be tween the way that Australian literary works are
produced and brought to market and the way that this same culture
is received, shaped and symbolically recognised. I will argue that
this disjuncture is most evident in relation to the institution of liter ary
prizes in Australia, in general, and the Miles Franklin Award, in
particular.
Although the Miles Franklin arguably remains Australia’s most
significant literary award (despite the recent creation of the Prime
Minister’s Literary Awards), the composition of its longlists, short-
lists and prize-winners, as I will argue, reflects an obsolete mode
of Australian literary production. is disjuncture in the Miles
Franklin’s symbolic recognition of literary works matters because of
the key role that prizes play in literary culture. As ompson argues,
book prizes are particularly important for regulating the reception
of ‘literary fiction and serious non-fiction’ in two different ways: on
one hand, book prizes add ‘symbolic value to every individual and
organization associated with the book—to the author, above all,
but also to the agent and the publishing house’; on the other hand,
they create enormous potential economic value (277). According
to ompson, titles shortlisted for the Man Booker prize might
sell 25,000 extra copies, while winning titles might sell as many
as 200,000 extra copies (277). is economic boost is particularly
important for literary publishing, since high-prestige literary works,
as Davis has argued, are often not particularly profitable in their own
right (126). When Beth Driscoll rightly argues that literary prizes
‘are some of the most powerful literary institutions in contemporary
culture’ (150), she may, if anything, be understating the case.
e Return of Print?
140
e aura that is conferred on prize-winning and commended works
profoundly shapes their reception. is is increasingly true even of
works by debut authors in Australia, since a variety of prizes—such as
the Vogel and various state awards for unpublished manuscripts—can
affect how these works are received both by readers and publishers.
Sam Cooney, for example, recently reflected on the awarding of
the 2014 Victorian Premier’s Literary Award for an Unpublished
Manuscript to Miles Allinson’s Fever of Animals by saying, ‘I was
stoked for the manuscript to win the award because I knew it would
mean that publishers would read it not as they might have one day
(as an unsolicited submission, probably offhandedly) but instead as
a book-in-waiting.’ As Cooney suggests here, judges are aware that
prize-winning titles accrue symbolic capital in a way that influences
reception among other cultural intermediaries, as well as the general
public. is serves to illustrate James English’s claim that prizes
facilitate ‘cultural “market transactions”’ by enabling a ‘collective
project of value production’ (26). Prizes, for better or worse, are
one of the chief mechanisms by which the literary field establishes
notions of literary value.
e importance of winning a prize is, however, linked to that
prize’s own symbolic capital within the field, and the reality is, as
English notes, that it is ‘nearly impossible for a newer prize to super-
sede an older one that has begun to be recognized as the “Nobel”
of its subfield’ (63). Major prizes exert a disproportionate effect on
the way that cultural products within a given field are valued. It is for
this reason that the Miles Franklin Award—either despite or because
of the controversy it has generated over the years—continues to be
an important reflection of the way that the Australian literary field
values itself. What I want to suggest, however, is that the provenance
of the books that are longlisted, shortlisted and that ultimately win
the Miles Franklin suggests that the prize’s notion of literary value is
disconnected from the realities of contemporary literary production.
141
Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award
To put it more simply, the Miles Franklin Award disproportionately
rewards novels published by large publishers, despite the fact that small
publishers are now the primary mediators of Australian literature.
I have surveyed the longlists, shortlists and winners of the Miles
Franklin Award since the year 2000 to examine the number of small
press titles that have been recognised by the prize in the twenty-
first century. ere are a few complications with this data since
Miles Franklin longlists were only made public starting in the year
2005, and—as I will discuss later—it is not currently possible to
examine the list of submitted titles. Nonetheless, this data shows
that small press titles are still drastically under-represented in rela-
tion to the proportion of literary titles that they produce. Of the
113 titles that have been longlisted since 2005, 31 were small press
titles—accounting for 26.7% of all longlisted works. Of the 83
works shortlisted since the year 2000, 16 were small press titles—
accounting for 19.2% of all shortlisted works. Of the 17 winning
titles since 2000 (there were two winners that year), only three have
been small press titles—accounting for only 17.6% of all of winners
of the Miles Franklin Award.
While this data demonstrates that small press works are recognised
and commended by the Miles Franklin Award, this consideration is
not reflective of the fact that small presses produce the majority of
literary novels in Australia. Simply based on the number of novels
produced by small presses, one would expect that small press works
would represent just over half of longlisted, shortlisted and winning
works. But small press works represent only a quarter of longlisted
titles. Of equal concern is the downward trend that appears across the
levels of commendation: while 26.7% of longlisted works are small
press books, this drops to 19.2% for the shortlists and to 17.6% for
winning works. In other words, as the degree of symbolic recognition
being bestowed by the Miles Franklin increases, the likelihood of a
small press work being selected decreases.
e Return of Print?
142
What this suggests is that the provenance of works—in particular,
which publisher produces them—has a major effect on the likelihood
of winning a literary award. More specifically, works published by
small presses are far less likely to be recognised in any way by the
Miles Franklin. is is underscored by the fact that the vast maj-
ority of commended small press titles are published by a few small
presses with particularly strong reputations as literary publishers.
e stand-out, in this regard, is Text Publishing, which has had
twelve works longlisted for the Miles Franklin. University of
Queens land Press and Giramondo have also had six and five works,
re spectively, on the longlist. ese three presses account for 21 of
the 31 small press titles that have been longlisted since 2005. Only
two other small publishers—Fremantle Press with three listings,
and Scribe with two—have had works commended more than once
in this span. ere are also many well-regarded small publishers,
such as Melbourne’s Sleepers Publishing, which have never had
a work commended by the Miles Franklin. What this suggests is
that, unless authors publish with a large publishing house or one
of the three highly respected small houses, there is vir tually no
chance that their books will be symbolically recognised by the
Miles Franklin.
is state of affairs simultaneously reflects and complicates the
notion of literary symbolic value that Pierre Bourdieu describes in
e Rules of Art, which, as Beth Driscoll has noted, posits two rival
‘poles’ of production: an autonomous, avant-garde ‘pole’ with high
symbolic capital, and a heteronymous, commercial ‘pole’ with high
economic capital (12). In Bourdieu’s account, avant-garde authors
with high symbolic capital traditionally align themselves with ‘a
small publisher … thereby contributing to the upsurge of a field of
publishers homologous with that of writers’ (67). ere continue to
be some instances of this in Australia. Not only would Text appear
to represent one such publisher, but also, all five of Giramondo’s
143
Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award
Miles Franklin commendations (and its lone win) have been related
to books written by either Alexis Wright or Brian Castro. Here,
the alliance between a high-status publisher and two high-status
authors seems to exemplify the mutually reinforcing relationship that
Bourdieu imagines. But the reality is that the majority of works
that are recognised by the Miles Franklin are actually produced by
the large commercial publishers. is suggests a complex mixture
between commercial capital and symbolic capital within the struc-
ture of the award, which Driscoll has described as constitutive of
middlebrow literary cultures (151). Ultimately, I will argue that it is
literary awards’ reliance on the mixture of commerce and prestige
that effectively disadvantages small publishers.
Before making this claim, however, it is important to address
two other material factors that may also influence small publishers’
recognition by the Miles Franklin. For one, the Miles Franklin, like
most literary awards, charges an entry fee to underwrite its admin-
istrative costs. While the current fee of $75 does not seem significant,
such fees become considerably more expensive when multiplied across
titles and, indeed, across the many other literary awards. ese fees,
taken in aggregate, can discourage submissions from publishers who
lack capital reserves; in a recent polemical article about prizes in the
Sydney Review of Books, Giramondo founder Ivor Indyk complained
about ‘the thousands of dollars in entry fees I have to pay each year to
support the administration of prizes’. For small publishers, entering
titles for every significant award may be prohibitive, or, at the very
least, present an opportunity cost. e result is that, while small
publishers may produce the majority of Australian literary works, it
does not follow that they comprise the majority of entrants to the
Miles Franklin Award. At present, the Miles Franklin does not
disclose which titles have been entered, so it is impossible to know
if the results are skewed by entry costs. If it is the case that small
publishers are not submitting in adequate numbers, however, then
e Return of Print?
144
it would seem there would be scope for the prize’s administrators to
re-examine their fee structure.
Another possible reason for the under-representation of small
publishers lies in the claim that works of significant literary merit
are mostly published by large Australian publishers; under this view,
small publishers’ work—although of a greater quantity—cannot com-
pare in quality with that of the large publishing houses. ere are
elements of truth to this assertion; certainly it is the case that most
established Australian writers, who are also saleable commodities,
are published by large houses, which can offer larger advances and
better distribution for their works. A brief review of recent winners
would appear to confirm that established authors of this kind are
more likely to win the Miles Franklin than debut authors or those
with a low public profile. But it is also increasingly the case that
well-known Australian authors are published by smaller presses.
Giramondo not only publishes Alexis Wright and Brian Castro, as I
mentioned earlier, but has also been largely responsible for the late-
career resurgence of Gerald Murnane. Amanda Lohrey’s last two
books have been brought out by Melbourne independent publisher
Black Inc. Text Publishing has a large stable of such authors, most
notably Nobel Laureate J. M. Coetzee. Moreover, it is no longer the
case (if it ever was) that large publishers seek out works based on their
literary merit; as Mark Davis has argued, decisions made by large
publishers increasingly reflect an entirely commercial logic, backed
by point-of-sale data provided by Nielsen BookScan (125–26). In
point of fact, small publishers are far more likely to publish a book
based on its literary qualities rather than its market potential; this
is so because small publishers typically have low overheads, fewer
employees and are generally motivated by non-economic notions
of value, as Aaron Mannion and Amy Espeseth have argued (74).
Given this, you would expect that a literary award, such as the
Miles Franklin, which claims to recognise ‘the novel of the highest
145
Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award
literary merit that presents Australian life in any of its phases’ would,
in fact, disproportionately commend small press works that are not
concerned with either public appeal or success in the market—but
this is not the case.
While small presses may be put at a disadvantage by entry fees
and the fact that established authors are frequently lured to larger
houses, I want to suggest that the Miles Franklin’s privileging of
large publishers’ titles derives from an inherent dynamic within the
cultural positioning of literary prizes. Here, I am indebted to Beth
Driscoll’s view of literary prizes as primarily middlebrow institutions
that are ‘reader-oriented, commercial, reverent towards elite culture
and reliant on cultural intermediaries’ (120). Of key interest here is
literary prizes’ mixture of commercial imperatives and ‘elite’ culture.
Driscoll is right to note that literary awards are not simply commercial
entities and that such imperatives do not ‘brutally impose’ their
‘logics on the world of art’; on the contrary, Driscoll convincingly
argues that awards, as middlebrow institutions, combine ‘respect for
culture with entrepreneurialism’ (131). Driscoll sums up the inter-
mingling of these values in middlebrow literary prizes by noting that
the combination of ‘credibility and sales’ comprises ‘the ultimate
middlebrow dream’ (151).
While I am in no way suggesting that the Miles Franklin, as an
institution, actively discriminates against small press titles, I none-
theless want to suggest that the convergence of ‘credibility and
sales’ effectively offers an advantage to large publishers, which are
best placed both to accumulate a list of prestigious authors and to
sell books in large volumes. In this sense, I would suggest that the
inherent sensibilities cultivated by literary prizes produce a climate
in which it is generally undesirable for lesser-known titles without
obvious commercial appeal to win with any regularity (although, as
Driscoll notes, an occasional win by this kind of work creates the
media controversy that such prizes covet). Put more simply, literary
e Return of Print?
146
prizes are, by their nature, less hospitable to small presses, which—
although they may possess stores of symbolic capital—rarely have
sufficient stores of economic capital. e result is that small press
works are less likely to be commended by ‘premier’ awards like the
Miles Franklin, since they are not ideally placed at the cultural nexus
between prestige and commercial success.
is state of affairs, however, seems problematic given that small
presses play an increasingly central role in mediating literary culture,
even though they are less likely to be symbolically recognised by
valuing institutions. Although it may not be a matter of life-and-
death, it does speak to a significant disconnect in Australian literary
culture between the ways that works of literature are produced and
the ways that they are institutionally valued, mediated, and, indeed,
promoted to the larger public. In the long run, institutions like the
Miles Franklin produce a set of winners and (de facto) losers that are
only tenuously linked to the material realities of Australian literary
production. If nothing else, it is worth rigorously questioning if this
is either the best or even the least-worst state of affairs. Given the
massive changes that have occurred among the mediators of literary
production, is it not reasonable to advocate for a similar shift within
the institutions that mediate and value literary culture?
Works Cited
Bode, Katherine. Reading by Numbers: Recalibrating the Literary Field. London:
Anthem Press, 2012.
Bourdieu, Pierre. e Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field.
Trans. Susan Emanuel. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP, 1996.
Carter, David. ‘Boom, Bust, or Business as Usual? Literary Fiction Publishing.’
Making Books: Contemporary Australian Publishing. Eds. David Carter and
Anne Galligan. St Lucia: U of Queensland P, 2007. 231–46.
147
Small Publishers and the Miles Franklin Award
Cooney, Sam. ‘Review of Fever of Animals by Miles Allinson.’ Readings.
Readings, 27 Aug. 2015. Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.readings.com.
au/review/fever-of-animals-by-miles-allinson>.
Davis, Mark. ‘e Decline of the Literary Paradigm in Australian Publishing.’
Making Books: Contemporary Australian Publishing. Eds. David Carter and
Anne Galligan. St Lucia: U of Queensland P, 2007. 116–31.
Driscoll, Beth. e New Literary Middlebrow: Tastemakers and Reading in the
Twenty-First Century. London: Pan Macmillan, 2014.
English, James. e Economy of Prestige: Prizes, Awards, and the Circulation of
Cultural Value. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2005.
Indyk, Ivor. ‘e Cult of the Middlebrow.’ Sydney Review of Books. Writing and
Society Research Centre, e University of Western Sydney, 4 Sept. 2015.
Web. 15 Apr. 2016. <http://www.sydneyreviewofbooks.com/4-september-
2015-literary-prizes/>.
Mannion, Aaron and Amy Espeseth. ‘Small Press Social Entrepreneurship.’
By the Book? Contemporary Publishing in Australia. Ed. Emmett Stinson.
Clayton, Vic: Monash UP, 2013.
Stinson, Emmett. ‘Small Publishers and the Emerging Network of Australian
Literary Prosumption.’ Australian Humanities Review. Association for the
Study of Australian Literature, Apr/May 2016. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
ompson, John B. Merchants of Culture: e Publishing Business in the Twenty-
First Century. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2010.
149
C E
The Transition to Book
Problems of Narrative Structure in Journalists’ Manuscripts
S N
Journalists are sought-after authors of trade nonfiction, thanks not
only to the stories they bring to the table but also to their superlative
agency. e best of them are immensely energetic individuals with
bulging contact books, networks most writers can only dream of, and
established paths into the topics they write about. ey are trained to
believe the truth is out there and tend to be tenacious about hunting
it down. ey know the meaning of a deadline and usually stick to it.
Last, but not least from a publisher’s point of view, they understand
the value of publicity and are well placed to obtain it.
Yet while books written by journalists make up a significant seg-
ment of trade nonfiction publishing in Australia, comparatively few
journalists break through to become bestselling authors in their own
right. Nielsen BookScan data shows that eight such homegrown jour-
nalists featured in the top 100 Australian nonfiction titles of 2014.
All were experienced authors with several titles to their name, and
most were also media celebrities in their chosen fields. ey included
former rugby international and popular broadcaster Peter FitzSimons,
Andrew Rule of Underbelly fame, ABC TV’s Annabel Crabb and the
novelist, TV broadcaster and former model Tara Moss.
After this high-profile group, another seven journalists featured in
the second hundred titles on BookScan’s list. Behind them would
have come many more, trailing down the list with sales results
ranging from respectable to disappointing, or failing even to find
a publisher. Making the transition to book is not nearly as easy as it
e Return of Print?
150
may seem to journalists setting out to produce their first bestseller.
One of the main reasons is the writing. Journalists’ professional
training and years in harness can habituate them to ways of writing
(and thinking about writing) that differ distinctly from the ways of
other authors. Geoffrey Wheatcroft, a journalist who has worked in
publishing, broached the subject in a recent review of Nick Davies’s
book Hack Attack: How the Truth Caught Up with Rupert Murdoch.
Davies, a British freelancer, is surely one of the best-known names
in contemporary journalism for his brave exposure of phone hacking
in the Fleet Street tabloid press, yet his writing is problematic for
Wheatcroft:
Like many of the best reporters, his work is less happy at
book length, unconstrained by deadlines and length limits.
So we get much fancy prose and fanciful imagery. Abuse of
power in a democracy ‘needs concealment like a vampire needs
the dark,’ or ‘the story hit the power elite like a fan dancer
at a funeral.’ And when describing his anonymous contacts
Davies sounds like a thriller writer decidedly manqué: ‘I’ll
call him Mr Apollo,’ ‘I’ll call him Mango,’ ‘I’ll call her Lola.’
(Wheatcroft 32)
is critique reminded me of developmental editor Scott Norton’s
observation that some journalists have ‘a limited stylistic repertoire
that becomes apparent only when sustained over the length of a
book’ (159).
Illuminating these limitations is the main purpose of this chapter.
Given the ethical and legal obligation for editors to protect the
author’s work, the difficulties that many journalists confront in neg-
otiating the transition to book publication are not often discussed
publicly. Editors are bound by a professional code (usually tacit, but
in some contexts written down) to respect the author’s work and
creative vision (van Emden; Lee): paying respect involves keeping
151
e Transition to Book
mum about the editing performed to improve a work. Freelance
editors employed by publishing houses may also be bound by contract
from making disclosures about authorship and editing. Only in rare
instances have the inner workings of the editor–author relationship
been exposed to public gaze—as in the case of American writer
Raymond Carver and his editor Gordon Lish (Wood). While the
consequences of exposure can be immensely damaging, the con-
straints on frank discussion of journalist-authors’ work can be equally
destructive.
As a nonfiction editor with a background in journalism, I have
worked with many journalists, assessing their book proposals or early
manuscripts, performing structural edits and copyedits on their work,
and talking to them in workshops and other settings. In the process
I have encountered some astounding textual infelicities and narrative
missteps. is experience leads me to conclude that journalists who
turn to writing at book length often encounter obstacles that are
less a matter of talent than of training: journalists’ training, while
it fits them well for the highly specific demands of their primary
professional role, apparently creates internalised impediments to
effective writing in longer genres such as the 80,000-word book of
nonfiction intended for general readers.
A burgeoning corpus of writing by journalists and journalism
scholars analyses the production of book-length journalism (including,
but far from limited to, Hartsock; Kramer and Call; Keeble and
Tulloch; Marshall; Ricketson). is essay approaches the issue from
a different perspective, that of the publisher. It is not interested in
the literary subjectivity of journalists, nor is it intended to add to the
extensive literature about editing that offers solution-focused advice.
My approach here is adopted from creative arts scholarship, especially
in the field of the performing arts. I am particularly indebted to
Grove, Stevens and McKechnie’s term ‘thinking in four dimensions’,
which they coined in relation to the study of choreography. Its idea
e Return of Print?
152
of an extra dimension of cognition also neatly evokes the process of
what might be called ‘thinking about thinking about writing’, which
is the focus of this article. I am interested in the problem of narrative
structure in journalists’ manuscripts, and in describing from different
angles some of the conceptual problems journalists face when they
turn their hands to writing at book length. My hope is that publishers
and editors will find this discussion useful in the commissioning and
development of trade nonfiction.
My methodology is in two steps: first, I review discourse analysis
studies of news texts, suggesting their relevance to the structure of
longer writing by journalists; secondly, I analyse a sample of text-
books widely used for teaching journalism, examining their peda-
gogic rhe toric. e rhetorical forcefulness of these texts supports my
hypothesis that journalism training tends to inculcate journalists
with writing habits and ideas about what constitutes ‘good writing’
that must be reformed in order for these new authors to make the
successful transition from journalism to book.
Discourse Analysis and the Struggle for Meaning
For more than a quarter of a century, the news media have constituted
a major locus of study for linguists and media studies scholars who
use the tools of discourse analysis (Bell). Despite this there has been
only limited application of discourse analysis methods to book-
length nonfiction by journalists, and where such studies exist they are
mainly concerned with ethical issues—for example, Philip Mitchell’s
study of the ethics of speech and thought representation in literary
journalism. Most discourse analysis concerned with journalism takes
the news text, whether written or spoken, as the ultimate object of
its study.
Such research can usefully be extended to book-length texts pro-
duced by journalists. Particularly relevant is the contribution of Allan
Bell, an experienced journalist and distinguished academic socio-
153
e Transition to Book
linguist (Trudgill). Bell has documented how news story structure
works against comprehension, because of its apparently arbitrary
deployment of the elements of ‘who, what, when, where and how’.
He finds that the ‘discontinuous, non-chronological’ structure of
newswriting inhibits readers’ understanding of news texts (‘Discourse
Structure’). He cites research by Ohtsuka and Brewer into the effects
of ‘event structure’ (the actual order in which events unfold) and
‘discourse structure’ (the way these events are related in the text)
on reader comprehension. is research demonstrates that, in order
to comprehend a narrative, ‘the reader must be able to derive the
underlying event sequence from the given text sequence’ (3).
Ohtsuka and Brewer produced several variants of the same text,
then took a sample group of 100 students and tested their compre-
hension of the different versions:
[ey] found that readers understood the canonical/
chronological version of a story most easily. ere was a
significant drop in comprehension level for a second version
of the same story which was presented in directly reverse
chronological order, and for a third version which told some
of the events using flashbacks. A final version contained
‘flashforwards’ which could not be immediately related to what
had already been narrated, and here comprehension was little
better than chance. (Bell, ‘Discourse Structure’ 99)
Bell argues that newswriting is most similar to the third version of
the text, which used flashbacks and was more difficult to understand
than the chronological version (‘Discourse Structure’ 99). Reading
Ohtsuka and Brewer’s own description of their experiment makes
it clear that the flashbacks in version three are produced by simply
reordering events in the original story, rather than introducing sub stan-
tial discourse around secondary events. Event structure (e-structure)
can be represented as follows:
e Return of Print?
154
e-1, e-2, e-3, e-4.
Canonical structure closely follows event structure. But the re-
ordered events of flashback text, in contrast, read like this:
e-1, e-3, e-4, e-2 (Ohtsuka and Brewer 7).
And a more developed flashback text might look something like
this:
e-1, e-2, e-3, e-4, e-5, e-1, e-2, e-3, e-4, e-6, e-7.
In Ohtsuka and Brewer’s experiment, flashbacks were created
simply by removing narrative context and reintroducing it signif-
icantly later in the event sequence. is is strongly analogous to
the process of newswriting, in which, as one journalism trainer has
written, the reporter has to decide which information to ‘judiciously
jettison’ (Jervis 82). e most newsworthy aspects of the story go at
the head of the text, the least towards the end, in an arbitrary hierarchy
of value determined by the journalist and associated subeditors.
eir decision-making involves concomitant determinations about
what context to force further down the discourse order, or to lose
altogether if the story has to be cut because of limitations on page
space or bulletin duration.
Bell asks provocatively (he knows the answer from his own
professional experience) why journalists ‘write in an order which
we know to be less easily comprehended, when one of their declared
goals is reader comprehension’ (‘Discourse Structure’ 100). His
obser vations offer rich scope for understanding journalists’ prob-
lems in longer narrative. Many book editors will have experienced
apparent ly arbitrary arrangements of event-time in manuscripts by
journalist-authors. At its most incomprehensible, such writing is
somewhat akin to a telescope on a free-swinging stand. e focus
of the text moves backward and forward in time, sequentially fore-
grounding events which, counter to readers’ intuitive sense of story
155
e Transition to Book
progression, share no discernible patterning of time, and seem only
to reflect some unknown imperative of the author. e results can be
giddying, depriving the reader of the depth of perspective necessary
to make sense of a text or judge its value.
Even if an editor convinces a journalist-author of the desirability of
writing in chronological order, the writer may still reach for language
that performs the foregrounding function. Nick Davies’ phrase ‘like
a fan dancer at a funeral’ (283) is a form of flag waving: he flaps in
our faces, ‘Hey, over here, this is important.’ Such crude signalling is
inimical to the immersive reading experience that underpins success-
ful narrative nonfiction.
Journalists habitually toil in a literary space in which immersive
reading happens by accident, if at all; even if they are sophisticated
readers themselves, they may be ill equipped to understand the
require ments of writing for immersive reading. Most news media
vehicles (whether print, online or broadcast) are curated miscellanies
of content that compete for the attention of already distracted readers
or viewers. Even feature writers know they have just a few seconds to
secure a reader’s attention. In this sense, the publications journalists
write for are more akin to reference works than to narrative nonfict-
ion. eir repertoire of paratextual conventions may include banner
head lines, keyword headings for search engine optimisation, and
a hier archy of display to direct the reader’s attention. eir in-text
conven tions include short sentences and loosely linked one-sentence
paragraphs that compound readers’ difficulties in understanding
news (Bell, ‘Discourse Structures’ 90), and become straitjackets in
writing longer nonfiction.
In summary, writers who are trained in the narrative mode of
newswriting are taught to write in ways far removed from event
struc ture. Experienced journalists become immensely adept at
writing short pieces in which they produce the effect of heightened
focus. eir discourse structures ignore the impact of time on
e Return of Print?
156
comprehension, and bizarre language choices may be used to add
emphasis. e deliberate omission of context (signposting, in editors’
terms) further mili tates against reader comprehension and the pleas-
ure of immersive reading. Why, to echo Bell’s question, do journalists
do it?
Bell says that ‘the answer lies in a marriage of journalistic values,
journalistic practices and technological development, which is strong
enough to overturn the drive to comprehensibility’ (‘Discourse
Struc tures’ 101). News story structure, Bell suggests, can be partly
explained by the ‘stop-watch culture’ of the newsroom, wherein the
fun damental imperative of journalism is ‘the drive to get the news
first’. is culture ‘is embedded deep in the news ethos, and radically
affects the structure of the news text’ (‘Discourse Structures’ 101).
In the news regime, the freshest angle on a running story must go
at the top, whether or not it is the strongest, and even if it is actually
older than the information it replaces. Bell’s analysis makes it clear
that journalists are trained to prioritise a particular aspect of a story
in reckless disregard of the consequences for comprehension. Narr-
ative becomes hyper-malleable, a series of paragraphs deployed in
a discourse structure often far removed from the underlying event
structure. As discussed below, the process of journalism education
and training means that these lessons about news structure may have
been deeply internalised.
e Rhetoric of Journalism Training
Traditional newsrooms are hierarchical in structure: at the top sits
the editor of the newspaper or TV or radio news service, below him
or her a ladder of senior journalists (news editors, chiefs of staff and
subeditors) manage the reporters at the front-line of news gathering.
Discussions up and down the hierarchy about the stories produced in
the newsroom can be extremely robust. Nevertheless, at the end of the
day, the reporter is expected to carry out the hierarchy’s instructions.
157
e Transition to Book
Deadlines and the imperative of timely production—Bell’s ‘stop-
watch culture’—make this necessary.
ese expectations are reflected in the language of journalism
textbooks, particularly those related to the fundamental skill of
news writing. Such texts tend to be notable for their use of what
linguists call directives: utterances ‘expressing an obligation on the
reader either to do or not do something’ (Hyland 216). In academic
and educational writing, the nature of such directives can range from
textual suggestions (e.g. to refer to the work of another author) to
more emphatic directives about what to do (‘an instruction to take
a real-world action’) or how to think (‘an injunction to under stand a
point in a particular way’) (Hyland 217). e approach a writer takes
will depend on the purpose of and audience for the work:
Whether writers decide to establish an equal or hierarchical
affiliation, adopt an involved or removed stance, or choose a
convivial or indifferent interpersonal tenor, they are at least
partly influenced by the dominant ideologies of their disciplines
which are exercised through the patterns of the genre [of
academic writing] they are participating in. ese ideologies
help establish cohesion and co-ordinate understanding through
mutual expectations and so provide writers with the means to
display their credentials as disciplinary insiders and to persuade
readers of their claims. (Hyland 219)
Textbooks, Hyland notes, are ‘generally far less equal encounters’
than scholarly journal articles (219). is is certainly reflected in
journalism textbooks such as Sally White’s canonical Reporting in
Australia, which through two editions (1991 and 1996) was used by
hundreds, if not thousands, of university-educated journalists. e
second edition was in use at RMIT’s journalism school when I left
teaching there in 2003. At the time of writing it was still available in
the campus bookstore of the University of Melbourne.
e Return of Print?
158
Although the economic forces reshaping the news media industry
in the post-digital era have led to the gradual abandonment of the
traditional newsroom, many of the journalist-authors writing today
would have been trained under the old system, and during their
formal studies would have been exposed to texts that emerged from
the newsroom tradition.
Until the end of the 1980s at least, there was great emphasis laid on
on-the-job training, which occurred not only in newsrooms but also
in adjunct training carried out by senior journalists and shorthand
teachers. is training framework also produced influential texts such
as Bob Jervis’s News Sense (1989), written by a long-serving cadet
counsellor at the Adelaide Advertiser’. Wittingly or unwittingly, Jervis
depicts the closed shop of the mid- to late-twentieth-century news-
room, a universe constituted by arcane rules relating particularly to
language and its production. In this universe, ‘word wastage is rife in
cadet copy’ (115) and cadets ‘as a race are woefully ignorant of the
existence of voice in grammar’ (17). Some write ‘too long’ (94) or
‘lack confidence in written expression’ (92–93), some use clichés (94).
White’s Reporting in Australia, though it primarily addresses
journalism students in the university context, also emerges from this
news room framework. Reporting in Australia excludes from its scope
genres other than the traditional journalistic ones of hard news, soft
news and features. White’s style is authoritative, her advice firm, as
the following examples illustrate:
e language of news ideally uses simple words, snappy sen-
ten ces, short paragraphs, strong verbs, the active voice, few
ab strac tions and a minimum of modifiers and value-laden
words. (143)
Many journalists are fond of ‘you’, especially when they write
soft news. Because it is a straight appeal to the reader, it seems
less cold and formal than the third person. But it is the lazy
159
e Transition to Book
writer’s way out. A reporter does not always grab attention
with the kind of linguistic whistle. (158)
Denotative words are unambiguous and value-free. Connotative
words are more dangerous because they are value-laden and
often pejorative. (160)
e pedagogical strategy here reflects the fact that many journal-
ism students struggle to unlearn the canonical narrative structure
that they absorbed from childhood, and the idea that good writing
is affective. Journalism instruction resembles instruction in just
about any counterintuitive skill set, from learning to ride a bicycle to
mastering classical singing. e teacher has to create the illusion of
firm ground beneath the learner: if the learner does not look down,
and just follows the rules, one day they will achieve competence
effortlessly and unself consciously.
More recent journalism textbooks, though they tend to countenance
alter native modes of telling news, still make use of strong directives.
Stephen Lamble’s News as It Happens: An Introduction to Journalism
contains a chapter, ‘Writing News for Print’, which includes almost
three consecutive pages of bulleted lists outlining ‘common conven-
tions’ of journalistic style. Half of these bullet points begin with ‘Do
not’, ‘Never’, ‘Always’, or ‘Avoid’ (137–40). Many of these points
are nothing more than genre conventions, but they often stray into
the territory of rules about what constitutes good writing. A clear
instance of this is journalism’s almost slavish reverence for active
voice. Lamble’s advice is typical:
Use active voice, not passive, when writing. Active voice is
more direct and has greater impact. “e crocodile ate the
man” is active, but “e man was eaten by the crocodile” is
passive—it is also more words (138).
What is true for newswriting is not at all true for book-length
nonfiction. Passive voice is immensely useful for building stronger
e Return of Print?
160
transitions between sentences and for placing emphasis just where the
writer wants it. Far from being a sin against good writing, it plays a
creditable role in creating memorable reading experiences. Speaking
from my own experience, I find that the ‘active voice good/passive
voice bad’ doctrine is one that journalists find particularly hard to
abandon, perhaps because it aligns so well with their professional
model of agency in the world.
Conclusion
e reasons why journalists often struggle when engaged on book
projects are more complex than they first appear, and may not be
apprehended by publishers who commission from them. is essay
has examined issues associated with narrative and the heavily in-
scribed directives of journalism education, which teach journalists
first and foremost that narrative structure is hyper-malleable, and
often conflate the journalism style manual with rules of good writing.
Understanding the professional journalist’s disciplinary preparation
for writing, and their deeply learned experience of writing in jour-
nalistic genres, will make it easier for publishers to assess the potential
of journalists creating their first books and to play a positive role in
their development as authors. Without that understanding, damage
can be done to the author’s career, their book project, the reputation
of the editor who works on it, and to the publishing house’s bottom
line. Difficulties in a writer’s transition from journalism to book can
prove a critical limitation on their value to trade publishers.
161
e Transition to Book
Rank Author Title
7Peter FitzSimons Gallipoli
32 Andrew Rule Kerry Stokes: e Boy from Nowhere
57 Annabel Crabb e Wife Drought
64 Peter Rees Anzac Girls: e Extraordinary Story of our World War I Nurses
76 Tara Moss e Fictional Woman
78 Matthew Condon Jacks and Jokers: e Extraordinary True Story Continues
88 Robert Wainwright Sheila: e Australian Beauty Who Bewitched British Society
100 Kathryn Bonella Hotel Kerobokan: e Shocking Inside Story of Bali’s Most
Notorious Jail
Table 8.1: Australian journalists in BookScan’s top 100 non-ction sales, 2014
Compiled by the author from Australian Nielsen BookScan data, and used with
Nielsen Book Scan’s permission. Only titles attributed entirely to journalists were
included in this sample.
Works Cited
Bell, Allan. ‘e Discourse Structure of News Stories.’ Approaches to Media
Discourse. Eds. Allan Bell and Peter Garrett. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1998.
64–104.
———. e Language of News Media. Oxford: Basil Blackwell,1991.
———. ‘News language.’ Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics. 2nd ed. Ed.
Keith Brown. Boston: Elsevier, 2006. 615–17.
Davies, Nick. Hack Attack: e Inside Story of How the Truth Caught Up With
Rupert Murdoch. London: Chatto & Windus, 2014.
Grove, Robin, Catherine Stevens and Shirley McKechnie. inking in Four
Dimensions: Creativity and Cognition in Contemporary Dance. Melbourne:
Melbourne UP, 2005.
Hartsock, John. A History of American Literary Journalism: e Emergence of a
Modern Narrative Form. Amherst: U of Massachusetts P, 2000.
Hyland, Ken. ‘Directives: Argument and Engagement in Academic Writing.’
Applied Linguistics 23.2 (2002): 215–39.
e Return of Print?
162
Jervis, Bob. News Sense. Adelaide: Advertiser Newspapers Ltd, 1989.
Keeble, Richard Lance and John Tulloch, eds. Global Literary Journalism:
Exploring the Journalistic Imagination. 2nd ed. New York: Peter Lang, 2012.
Kramer, Mark and Wendy Call. Telling True Stories: A Nonfiction Writers’ Guide.
New York: Plume, 2007.
Lamble, Stephen. News As It Happens: An Introduction to Journalism. Melbourne:
Oxford UP, 2011.
Lee, Jenny. Structural Editing course materials, Master of Publishing and
Communications program. University of Melbourne, 2004–10.
Mitchell, Philip. ‘e Ethics of Speech and ought Representation in Literary
Journalism.’ Journalism 15.5 (2014): 533–47.
Nielsen BookScan Australia. 2014 nonfiction sales data, Sybil Nolan email with
Michael Webster, 3 Mar. 2015. Email.
Norton, Scott. Developmental Editing: A Handbook for Freelancers, Authors, and
Publishers. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2009.
Ohtsuka, Keisuke and William F. Brewer. ‘Discourse Organization in the
Comprehension of Narrative Texts. Technical Report No. 428.’ Illinois:
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1988.
Ricketson, Matthew. Telling True Stories: Navigating the Challenges of Writing
Narrative Nonfiction. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2014.
Trudgill, Peter. ‘Editor’s Preface.’ e Language of News Media. Ed. Allan Bell.
Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1991.
Van Emden, Eva. ‘Ethics for Editors Seminar.’ Vancouver Editor. Vancouver
Editor, 7 Nov. 2014. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Wheatcroft, Geoffrey. ‘How the Murdoch Gang Got Away.’ New York Review of
Books 8 Jan. 2015: 31–33.
White, Sally A. Reporting in Australia. Melbourne: Macmillan, 1991.
———. Reporting in Australia. 2nd ed. Melbourne: Macmillan, 1996.
Wood, Gaby. ‘Raymond Carver: e Kindest Cut.’ e Guardian. Guardian
News and Media Limited, 27 Sept. 2009. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
163
C N
Coming Out
Reframing the Public Face of Publishing
A R
Introduction
e author is dead; the book is dead; the publisher is dead; the reader
lives in the ultimate democratic universe. While some analysts
applaud the death of the traditional book and what they regard as
its commercialised, elitist industry, others lament the implications of
this revolution, fearing the death of long text narrative and the death
of public discourse. In fact, in the current state of emergencies and
disruptive technologies, fear tends to rule the discourse of traditional
publishing and its associated industries.
One reason for this is that fear and calamity have assumed a
commodity value in the media, since they sell newspapers, books,
movies. ere is an instant attention grab, exciting an emotional
response whenever the word ‘death’ is used or when that deep voice
whispers, ‘Be afraid, be very afraid.’ It might only last an instant, but
the blip is on the screen. erefore, in our media-saturated consumer
society, these keywords are overused.
is paper argues that this fear dialogue has created a crisis of
confidence in the publishing industry and its many participants.
While some shrug off the negative labels, argue the logistics of
the local industry or ignore developments, the Australian industry
would benefit from a more empowering discourse. Research strongly
indicates that, ‘[i]f you want to make the right decision for the
e Return of Print?
164
future, fear is not a very good consultant’ (Auletta). More specific-
ally, Rieger argues, ‘Fear destroys companies. Fear leads companies
to destroy themselves’ from within (2). Publishing firms, individ-
ually and collectively, need to vault across the fault lines and create
a positive framework to confront the future—which is, after all, still
unwritten.
Death Discourse
When Roland Barthes announced the death of the author, it was
an incendiary moment that set off a chain reaction. Foucault went
further, asking, ‘what is an author’ and ‘what does it matter who is
speaking?’ Derrida and others swung into the debate, further dis-
rupting traditional notions of the text, its languages and its authors.
Academics sharpened their wits and rebooted their vocabulary.
ese debates made headlines and reputations, starting a million
conversations. ey also created a subgenre of literary criticism that
has sold a great many academic books. Sean Burke is correct in
more ways than one when he states in e Death and Return of the
Author that ‘the concept of the author is never more alive than when
pronounced dead’ (7). And I would like to elaborate on this return
in response to recent work by John Logie and Jane Gallop, which
highlight some relevant issues concerning Barthes’ infamous essay.
John Logie uncovers a Barthes persona largely unheralded. In
recon textualising the essay within the art multimedia package where
it was first published, he claims that ‘the circumstances of its compo-
sition make clear that it was never meant to be a traditional literary
or scholarly essay’ (494). Barthes-as-participant and essay-as-chunk
are subsumed into a broader artistic ‘happening’ that was presented
in ‘e Minimalism Issue’ of Aspen: e Magazine in a Box. From
1965 to 1971, Aspen delivered each issue in boxes of various shapes
and sizes.
165
Coming Out
e boxes housed an array of print artefacts (booklets, posters,
cards, cardboard cut-outs), recordings, music scores, videos and games.
ere were contributions from John Cage, John Cale, Kate Millett,
Susan Sontag, Yoko Ono, Samuel Beckett and William Burroughs.
ere was a ‘Pocket Diary of the Future’ by John Lennon and con-
ference papers on LSD by Timothy Leary. e third issue of Aspen,
on Pop Art, arrived in what appeared to be a Fab detergent carton
designed by Andy Warhol. Marshall McLuhan presided over one
issue, and video artist Nam June Paik pointed out several issues later
that McLuhan’s ‘biggest inconsistency is that he still writes books’
(qtd. in Allen 48).
Aspen was not an academic, ivory-tower journal for what would
become a seminal scholarly article. Since textual critics have force-
fully argued that the artefact embodying the text is a funda mental
part-determinant of its meaning (Shillingsburg; McGann), this early
vaulting from the established format and container for academic
deliverances is significant. Barthes’ essay was commissioned specific-
ally for the minimalism issue dedicated to Stéphane Mallarmé. It was
not an interjection into a diachronic academic conversation, but rather
part of a synchronic, international cultural moment. As polemic, it
was embedded into a ‘rhizomatic network’ of artistic provocations
(Logie 500). e essay was released into a ‘pointedly multimedia
conversation about the artistic process and the relationships among
artists and their audiences’ (Logie 500). It is difficult not to agree
with Logie’s argument that it remains a ‘deeply site-specific piece of
writing’ (503). However, there is also a sophisticated reception process
written into the life of Barthes’ article and its many interpretations
that is highlighted by Jane Gallop in 2011 in e Deaths of the Author:
Reading and Writing in Time.
Jane Gallop argues that while the author might have died under
Barthes’ pen in 1967, he presided over the ‘friendly return’ of the
author, just two years later (27). Barthes found that in the text he
e Return of Print?
166
desired the author’s presence. e author who returns is not the
insti tutional Author, but one who comes ‘out of his text and into
our lives’ (Gallop 39)—which is indeed a friendly gesture. However,
this friendly return occurred in the least known of Barthes’ works:
Sade, Fourier, Loyola. Gallop makes the salient point: ‘e author
dies in an overexposed Barthes, and returns in an underexposed
Barthes; the imbalance in the reception of the texts tends to obscure
the return and exaggerate the finality of the death’ (30). ere is a
disturbing imbalance here that supports the ongoing privileging of
the death discourse. Clearly, the production and reception processes
surrounding Barthes’ essay support Shillingsburg’s argument that
‘the contexts we identify as relevant to the text’ frame and determine
our interpretation of that text (59).
e tragic fate of the author also serves as an accepted precursor
to the death of the book. It is as if the institutional sentinels that
inhibited the free flow of the text to the readers’ understanding were
falling, and that this should be applauded. e book-as-container
limited the contours of the text, its embellishment, its dimensionality.
It also limited the reader’s capacity to answer back, since all things
in this interconnected global communication environment must now
be immediate.
Most accounts of the death of the book also assume the death of
the publisher as an inevitable consequence. I was mistakenly think-
ing that the publishing industry died in 2011, since that seemed to
be when all the bells were tolling, but found I was misguided when
Google led me to an article announcing, ‘e publishing industry
died last week’ on 12 June 2008 (Levin). It seems that the global
economic meltdown was ‘the meteorite that hit the dinosaur right in
the forehead’ (Levin), serving a fatal blow. But it seems some of us
missed that!
So death still rules the discussion, as Derrida lamented, ‘as if one
could add more deaths to death and thus indecently pluralize it’
167
Coming Out
(‘Deaths’ 275). But are any of these deaths real or have we indecently
pluralised death to further erode the current publishing scene? Or
is it true? Are we allowing the already dead ‘a sort of survivance, a
kind of a living on, not only after their death, their actual death, but
even before, as if they were already living on posthumously before
their death’ (Brault and Naas 23)? ese questions demand close
examination as the ‘survivance’ of this discourse continues to impact
the contemporary outworking and future framing of the publishing
industry.
Impact of the D Discourse
One of the negative impacts of this constant airing of ‘death’ across
the media sphere is that the industry lives in a constant state of crisis.
ere is a disturbing book of essays called Cultures of Insecurity: States,
Communities, and the Production of Danger (Weldes et al.). When a
nation, a culture, a community—or, I would suggest, an industry—
lives in crisis mode, fear takes over as a primary driver of discourse.
Extensive studies in change management and crisis management
indicate that while a state of crisis generates a sense of urgency and
reduces complacency—which enables positive action—long-term
fear can cause paralysis and narrow vision, and can restrict decision-
making processes. Fear is an enemy of creativity, and in a creative
industry it is doubly damaging. Ongoing fear can be paralysing to a
workplace; it demoralises personnel, causing staff to be self-protective,
‘driving them under their desks’ as Kotter consistently argues (qtd.
in Nebenzahl 2008).
I will illustrate this with two brief examples. e first concerns
the Australian Book Fair in 2000; usually a three-day event, the
fair was forsaken on the last day as booksellers rushed back to their
stores to preside over the dominant event of the year, the release of
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. is was certainly a bleak day for
e Return of Print?
168
Australian publishing. ere was a firm belief that no-one was going
to buy any other books that month; few other conversations were
worth the investment of time and energy. As Miller has remarked,
‘publishing is one of those businesses that is brilliant at thinking it’s
perpetually at crisis point’ (qtd. in Clark).
Several years later, at an Australian Publishers Association closed-
door seminar in 2007, the staging was solemn and dark. Richard
Flanagan, as guest author and wearing the only white shirt, delivered
a stirring address that lamented the media focus on greedy multi-
national publishers and pessimistic book nostalgia, ‘which bears little
relation to our situation’ in Australia (Carter and Galligan 133).
Flanagan endorsed the commitment and professional standards of
Australian publishers and editors, then challenged the industry to
develop a united institutional voice to address the significant threats
to financial viability facing the local industry. Editors and middle
managers responded from group discussions with enthusiasm and
creativity. e momentum and motivation was lost, however, as
the following key speakers presented an unrelenting account of the
negative impact of government policies, book dumping, discount
bins and the growth of non-traditional sales outlets. e audience
settled into a familiar, disempowering conversation.
It would seem that the industry is stuck looking through an obituary
frame with a jaded gaze. e resultant culture of insecurity can limit
opportunities and innovative solutions, contaminating activity with
negative dialogue, despite ongoing individual or group achievement
and more optimistic analyses of the future of the industry. Of course,
the level of insecurity all depends on the individual workplace, its
level of understanding and its acceptance of this state of play. It
depends on a firm’s driving agenda. It also depends on the culture of
the local industry and the languages it uses to legitimise its existence.
is is where the publishing industry should excel: incorporating
languages of creativity and innovation, professional expertise and
169
Coming Out
specialist knowledge, nurturing in-house cultures, as well as its many
stories of achievement and deserved acclaim. Admittedly, the website
branding of a publishing company presents a strong public face, but
for most outsiders, the focus is firmly on marketing the books and
their authors. ere is a great deal of truth in the statement that
‘publishers have been utterly crap at explaining what they do. And
most of what they do is intrinsically invisible’ (Clark).
ere is a ghosting of publishing professionals written into the
literary sphere that is arguably disempowering in our highly visible,
‘everything out there’ contemporary culture. In this context the pub-
lishing industry operates at a disadvantage across a number of levels
that deserve examination.
e Publisher’s Persona
Publisher as Backdrop
One of defining narratives of the role of the publisher is as an
enabling agent. e publisher provides a platform but remains at a
distance, a retiring backdrop for the creative spark in the literary
sphere—the author. Hilary McPhee described this demeanour well:
‘Publishers’, she said, ‘are a little like literary footnotes, necessary
but better tucked away at the back out of sight’ (19). While there are
strong justifications for this retiring disposition that are steeped in
tradition, there are negatives as well. ere is a complex psychology
behind this adopted positioning.
One explanation lies in the contradictory nature of all cultural
industries—the interplay between culture and commerce. While the
author is the genius, the publisher is the capitalist of the book world—
the Shylock whose underlying intention is predatory. is might seem
extreme, but the imagery is written into the historical narrative of
the industry and still reappears. e publisher is also portrayed as the
powerful multinational exploiter of the nation’s intellectual property,
e Return of Print?
170
caring little for the local literary milieu. But this narrative is complex
and debatable within the Australian industry (Galligan ‘Culture’
45–46). Certainly it is not the game played by the small and medium
publishers (SMPs), and it is these SMPs that constitute the ‘basic
fabric’ of cultural industries everywhere, although the marketplace
doesn’t necessarily reflect this (Garzón).
Culture of Secrecy
Another complex aspect of the publishing persona is a culture of
secrecy that governs in-house activities, decision-making processes
and the preparation of a text for publication. Again, this is under-
standable and historically endorsed. Selection processes are firmly
rooted in the publisher-as-gatekeeper role, which is often conten-
tious. Publishers and commissioning editors perform a major role
and exert considerable power in the selection and legitimisation of a
text and its author.
e complex layering of intangible values that operates across most
in-house publishing processes means that these in-house processes
are difficult transactions to define or measure. ere is no standard
formula for these evaluation and endorsement processes; there is no
valid measure of consistency—unless it is the final sales figures. is
obscurantist positioning about in-house decision making is arguably
motivated by a keen instinct for self-protection.
Culture of Respect and Discretion
e ethos of the publishing persona also incorporates a culture of
respect for the privacy of authors while working on their books.
Books are contracted at different levels of completion and this final-
ising of the text can be a painful process. Dramas between authors
and their publishers are rarely disclosed by the publisher unless they
are coordinated into a wider marketing strategy. Although there
is certainly covert sharing of tales of author tantrums or miscreant
171
Coming Out
behaviour, it is generally regarded as ‘secret business’. Non-disclosure
is written into the ethos of the publishing house.
e culture of discretion can extend to the contents of the text.
Some books require a cloak of secrecy since they might be contro-
ver sial, inflammatory or textually experimental. Peter Carey’s True
History of the Kelly Gang—where the narrative style is experimental—
was one example, while the sensitive political content of Goodbye
Jerusalem, by Bob Ellis, was always going to be explosive.
Publishers and editors are the keepers of many secrets.
Culture of Invisibility: Editor as Invisible Presence
Another driving narrative that builds this retiring disposition into
the public persona of the publisher concerns the role of the editor
as the ‘invisible mender’ of the text (Davis qtd. in Barker 21)—a
text already judged to have merit. Jacqueline Kent refers to editors as
‘self-effacing backroom people’, while Rosie Fitzgibbons referred to
this type of domestic imagery in describing her editorial practice as
‘understanding the author’s voice and working within that’ (interview
with Anne Richards 1996). is collusion between the author and
editor is an essential element of good publishing practice and is
integrated into the ongoing branding of the publishing house. ese
invisible processes of accrual of value are deeply, justifiably embedded
in the publishing ethos.
But editors can be ghosted both within the showcase identity of
the publishing house and during the production process (Galligan
‘Cultural Determinants’; Poland), and this invisibility is another
subscript historically accepted across the industry. Certainly, the
prominence of literary events and writers festivals has provided a
platform for publishers and editors to present themselves as articulate
spokespersons explaining their industry and expertise. While this
has contributed to a more visible presence, the culture of editor
invisibility still dominates.
e Return of Print?
172
Looking at this list, it is not surprising that publishing professionals
can feel undervalued, disempowered and frustrated. In a society
that has never had a strong appreciation of the value of the arts—
unlike most European countries—this invisibility within an always-
contested local industry is doubly challenging.
Dierent National Publishing Cultures
It is important to acknowledge the very different positioning of the
Australian industry compared with most English-speaking countries
and the major European publishing industries. In working on a col-
laborative project with German academics on the contemporary
industry in Germany and Australia, it was difficult for my colleagues to
understand the contested positioning of the industry in Australia. is
is, of course, a result of the very different book histories of the two
countries, which have produced very different publishing cultures.
e printing press was a German invention; the first printed
Bibles were displayed at the Frankfurt Fair in 1455 and books and
printing expertise spread across Europe from there. A vibrant trade
in illuminated manuscripts had been conducted at the Frankfurt Fair
since the twelfth century. e German industry has no need to justify
its existence to either the government or the general population—
readers or non-readers. e book industry is traditionally entrenched,
and has been culturally validated and financially sustainable for over
500 years.
is is not the case in Australia, where the industry still struggles
to justify its importance to government, cultural and institutional
bodies. is is a time-consuming, frustrating process. Any ground
won in one decade or under one government is too often lost with
the next financial meltdown. e local industry has never been able
to coordinate and finance a sustained strategy to address the major
supply-chain issues that continue to undermine the profitability of
the industry.
173
Coming Out
An additional struggle stems from Australian colonial history
and the long journey to legitimise Australian content, Australian
authors and locally produced books. Henry Lawson bemoaned the
popularity of ‘thievish imported rags’ as the major cause of the failure
of Australian literature in 1894. A deep sense of discouragement in
the state of Australian publishing is obvious in George Robertson’s
expression of retreat in the 1920s:
[A]fter nearly thirty years’ hard work (endeavouring to do
what I could for Australian literature) … for the future A&R
intend devoting all their time and energy to the much more
profitable, and infinitely less arduous, task of selling British
and American books. (qtd. in James 8)
By 1953 there were still only three Australian publishers, Angus
& Robertson, Melbourne University Press and Cheshire, who pro-
duced more than ten titles a year (Curtain 143). At this time a quarter
of all British book exports (24%) were bound for Australia. is was
only 60 years ago.
It was not until the 1970s and 1980s that the Australian publish ing
industry gathered momentum as a new wave of publishers and pub-
lish ing houses passionately committed to developing innovative lists
built on the high quality writing of emerging Australian authors. is
slowly revolutionised the reading habits of Australians to buy Aust-
ralian books. (Galligan ‘Cultural Determinants’; Galligan ‘Textual
Condition’). By the late 1990s, as much as 60% of all books bought
here were Australian titles. Now the Internet is changing not only
the book container, but reading habits and consumer patterns. My
final comment to my German colleagues was that while this looks
like a sad story, it is merely the reality of the Australian industry and
how it is positioned here.
Our industry is actually an amazing success story, which deserves
to be celebrated, something we don’t do particularly well. e trans-
formation of the Australian book market over the last 50 years by a
e Return of Print?
174
delightful mix of deeply committed, inspired publishers and editors
is a remarkable achievement. Nevertheless, current publishing ana-
lysts continue to project hard times for the Australian industry. In
this difficult climate, I personally recommend Alice Walker’s en-
couragement that ‘Hard Times Require Furious Dancing’. In addi-
tion, however, there are focused business strategies to consider.
Current State of Play
Certainly, the fracturing of traditional associations of content with
the book container is a radical disruption. In addition, the abundance
of content online increases the pressure on the industry to create
new and more effective methods of marketing content-rich products.
ere are indeed many points of crisis, but it is not the apocalypse.
It is wise to remember Shillingsburg’s argument (writing about the
circulation of books in nineteenth-century England) that authorship,
printing and publishing exist in a ‘complex of economic traditions and
interests in a continuous struggle with innovation—both technical
and moral—and with attitudes … particularly as they [reflect their]
audiences’ (29). So innovation and attitudes have always been key
determinants of industry developments.
e ground is unstable and this is unlikely to change. Every ter-
tiary management and business course is currently teaching that
change is the only constant for the future. In an innovation eager
environment, adaptability is becoming a primary driver, giving what
is now termed ‘an evolutionary advantage’ (Hammel and Breen 3).
Intensive research is being conducted on entrepreneurial motivation,
which indicates that fear is a dangerous consultant and can actually
fuel a self-destruction process in an organisation. Fear does two
things: it reduces the tendency to exploit a presenting opportunity,
and it reduces the tendency to evaluate an opportunity positively
(Welpe et al 89). ese principles are clearly demonstrated in the
175
Coming Out
following tables showing the direct effects of fear and joy on both the
evaluation process of a presenting opportunity and the probability of
a positive exploitation assessment.
Figure 9.1
(Welpe, Spörrle, Grichnik, Michl & Audretsch 2012, 81; Printed by permission John
Wiley & Sons)
is research on motivation in entrepreneurs is carefully mapping
attitudes, emotions, behaviours and decision making processes and
outcomes. Applying this to the publishing industry would indicate
that during the important evaluation process, a high level of fear
before a manuscript is read or a publishing meeting attended is likely to
produce a negative response, a negative exploitation value. Similarly,
a high level of joy will produce a more positive outcome, a positive
exploitation value. Welpe et al also argue that anger can function as a
primary driver which also generates a positive exploitation outcome.
While this might seem like common sense, these invisible processes
are actually very complex.
Essential factors in decision making processes are being system-
atically charted, with results demonstrating significant statistical
correlations, as the following table also indicates.
e Return of Print?
176
Predictors: Beta Sig. Beta Sig. Beta Sig. Beta Sig.
Founder (1 = yes) 0.05 0.03 0.03 0.04
Rank of participation 0.15 0.09 0.07 0.11
Age −0.03 0.03 0.02 −0.01
Sex (1 = female) 0.12 0.17 *0.15 ** 0.13 *
Perceived probability 0.30 *** 0.01 0.01
Perceived profit 0.19 ** 0.05 0.04
Perceived investment −0.08 0.04 0.01
Perceived duration 0.05 0.03 0.03
Evaluation 0.60 *** 0.54 ***
Fear 0.11 *
Joy 0.17 **
Anger 0.13 *
Evaluation × Fear 0.14 *
Evaluation × Joy 0.17 **
Evaluation × Anger 0.16 *
R2adj
0.02 0.16
*** 0.40 *** 0.45 ***
∆R2adj
0.04 0.15 *** 0.23 *** 0.07 ***
* p < 0.5, ** p < 0.1, *** p < .001
One-tailed tests for hypotheses, two-tailed tests for others; no collinearities were detected,
residuals suggest homoscedasticity.
Multiple Regression Models Predicting Entrepreneurial Exploitation (Study 2)
Figure 9.2
(Welpe, Spörrle, Grichnik, Michl & Audretsch 2012, 84; Printed by permission John
Wiley & Sons)
A simple application of this research to the publishing industry
is that a risky venture will be far less likely to proceed when there
is a strong negative fear factor functioning within an organisation.
is research indicates the centrality of emotional drivers at work
within decision-making processes. It demonstrates quite clearly that
decisions are not made in pure waters or, in French ‘theory-speak’, ‘are
not defined by a pure confrontation with pure possibles’ (Bourdieu
206). SMPs are indeed facing economic stringencies, which limits
the space of possibilities for positive action. is means that everyone
is being challenged to think outside the box. But the box is not the
book, the box is our limited mindset, which inhibits evaluation and
decision making processes.
177
Coming Out
Adaptability and Attitudes
I would suggest that two pivotal points for ongoing success are adapt-
ability and attitudes. In order to maximise successful outcomes from
adaptability strategies, a company, an industry, must be secure in
its mission and its foundational strengths. My previous research
(Galligan ‘Cultural Determinants’; Galligan ‘Textual Condition’)
demon strates that SMPs in Australia have a strong sense of mission,
which is clearly and forcefully articulated. So I will turn to core
strengths.
It is here that the Kierkegaardian notion of upbuilding can reaffirm
and strengthen both the ethos and the capability of an organisation—
its foundational strengths. Nielsen and Dufresne explain: ‘Instead of
the crisis being defined as how to change an organization so that it
can more prosperously adjust to an external environment, the problem
is, in a sense, reversed’ (323). e problems can be reframed in order
to ‘simultaneously maintain, stimulate, and enable the organization’s
ethical tradition while dealing with a problematical environment’
(323). In this way, a company can both respond more creatively to
crises and strengthen its own ethical traditions. An ‘upbuilding’
perspective, and it doesn’t matter what term you use, just grab the
concept, reframes a crisis dialogue.
e paradigmatic shift clearly identified in the Book Industry
Strategy Group (BISG) report creates an opportunity to reframe the
positive languages and enabling logics of a highly functional, though
invisible, cultural ethos within a publishing company. It is important
to recognise, however, that the choice of what is enabling and what is
dysfunctional is up to the individual publishing house and can change
over time. Language is always political and is actioned in everyday
practice. Attitudes and inherent behaviours can work creatively to
expedite organisational operations.
Within a company, individual staff do take account of structural
and emotional circumstances, and there is often a self-conscious
e Return of Print?
178
position ing within an intellectual and creative space. is has both
positive and negative outworkings, affecting perceptions, decision-
making processes and the range of options that are posed for action.
e fact is that the level of personal commitment is always variable
and, as Blainey realistically observed, ‘principles are often bruised by
daily pressures and occupational hazards’ (9). e grit of the grind
takes its toll.
e centrality of an in-house culture in influencing the attitudes
and behaviours of staff as innovative and active participants, both
with their own responsibilities and within a broader cultural context,
should not be underestimated. Each publishing house is a space for
creative action. While there are many different positions based on the
mission of the individual house, there is an overall theory of practice
predicated on a belief in the cultural and political value of literary
practice (Carter and Galligan 1–14). ere is a strong commitment
to an aesthetics of value and to a broader social good that drives in-
house decisions, modes of operation and final outcomes.
Passion
One simple word to describe the complex motivations behind the
publishing industry, whether or not these become jaded over time,
is the old-fashioned but newly located word: passion. Interestingly,
passion as a driver of entrepreneurial success in both for-profit and
not-for-profit organisations is now an area of intense research, draw-
ing together academic studies in management, psychology, marketing
and economics.
Cardon et al developed the following model of entrepreneurial
passion, carefully mapping the complex interrelationships between
goal-related cognitions, entrepreneurial behaviours and entrepre neu r-
ial effectiveness, with each contributing element awarded a statistical
value:
179
Coming Out
Figure 9.3
(Cardon, Wincent, Singh & Drnovsek 2009, 519; Printed by permission Academy of Management Review)
e Return of Print?
180
e results indicate that passion in entrepreneurs creates pride,
enthusiasm, energy and the drive to complete challenging tasks to a
high standard (Cardon et al 512). Passion generates ‘drive, tenacity,
a willingness to work long hours, courage, high levels of initiative,
and persistence in the face of obstacles’ (Bierly et al in Cardon et al
512). For the poetic among us, the authors also confirm that passion
‘promotes intense, flowlike states of total absorption in one’s activities’
(Csikszentmihalyi in Cardon et al 515). Passion involves feelings that
are hot, overpowering, and suffused with the fire of desire (Cardon
et al 515). ese comments are all made in this extensive, quite dry
research paper replete with multiple statistical tables, charts, graphs
and complicated Venn diagrams. Passion is not an outmoded word;
it is being newly legitimised and reframed.
My argument is that the publishing industry in Australia would not
exist at all without this essential ingredient. It is possibly the biggest
resource that SMPs have available. Activities in the literary field and
its enabling publishing houses were traditionally justified by altruistic
agendas (alongside commercial motivations of course). is dialogue
of passionate commitment was an accepted and respected justification
underlying decision making processes—as the many interviews with
publishers in the National Library Oral History archives demonstrate.
ese motivations have been devalued by dom inant economic criteria
and discouraged by the death discourse and its rhetoric of fear.
Nevertheless, passion, commitment, a joy of working in a creative
environment, a love of the text and of books, a sense of obligation to
recognise and promote good writing, and the desire to make some
worthwhile contribution are all completely valid motivational drivers,
as the business sector is discovering. is is the creative ‘fire of desire’
within a cultural industry and also, I suggest, within humanities
faculties in the university, which are also struggling to reframe their
position within the business oriented tertiary sector.
181
Coming Out
e argument here is that the publishing industry needs an inject-
ion of passion into its artisan culture and creative languages. Publishers
and editors on steroids are required: pumped up, bronzed, oiled, text
savvy and brazen. And publishers, in coming out as fearless entrepren-
eurs, might not have the same retiring, diffident identity. ey do not
have to dress in black. ey can have more fun. ey can celebrate not
only their authors and their books, but each other. I would also suggest
that it might require more than one steroidal intervention to cope with
the deluge of authors, diversity of container options, writing styles and
multimodal formats of a supersaturated, clouded marketplace.
Author Explosion
e author-personage has multiplied exponentially. e dramatic
increase in the number of people with high levels of social, intellectual
and cultural capital means that there is a justifiable increase in the
number of writers capable of creating long-form narratives (Nash
117). Traditionally, the author wrote with the expectation of finding
readers. Now readers want to be authors too.
is expansionist shift in the pool of writers will grow with the
next generation. is is a generation that will not sit through the qual-
ifying rounds, seeking some element of legitimisation before tagging
themselves as book authors. ey have been endorsed through out
their short careers. A strong element of narcissism is written into this
next individualistic culture, which is now being charted (De). ere
are both positive and negative features, but it is obvious that self-
publishing is becoming an extension of social media for the ‘Can’t
Wait’ generation.
However, self-published authors are finding that what they also
crave is readers; it is not enough to release their book into the public
sphere; the next step of recognition is desired. is is part of a normal
reception process—the recognition that something of value has been
contributed. e desire for recognition or endorsement of value might
e Return of Print?
182
be supplied by strong sales or reviews from critics or experts in a
particular field, or by different forms of ‘social confirmation’ such as
Facebook likes, website feedback or tweets, for those more at home
with a tweet than a metaphor.
Self-publishing is actually a hard road to travel long term unless
the author already has a substantial network, established platform
or broader commitment to a cause or genre. A recent author survey
conducted by FutureBook in late 2012 examined satisfaction levels
of 240 traditionally published and 125 self-published authors. e
results are significant. Self-published authors are slightly more satis-
fied with the overall experience, appreciating their control over the
publishing process. However, only 12.5% of respondents were not
interested in securing a trade book-publishing deal.
For selfies, the obvious hooks of validation and professional exper-
tise found in a traditional publisher were confirmed. e other key
advantage was the availability of better marketing and publicity.
Unfortunately, the same survey also demonstrated that marketing,
or the lack of it, was the most significant cause of dissatisfaction for
authors with traditional publishers. So marketing remains ‘the dark
matter’ of publishing on both sides of the fence (Lichtenberg 108).
e final surprise was the clear perception from the selfies of greater
financial security with mainstream publishers. is result dismayed
even the survey conductors since greater financial reward in going it
alone is advocated as the self-publishing drawcard: ‘Don’t share your
profits with a publisher.’ But a large percentage of these newbies are
hoping to find a traditional publisher.
An additional explosion on the horizon is the newly educated
millions from Africa and Asia who are beginning to write long-form
narratives with or without multimedia add-ons. ese stories are
going to be extraordinary, whether they are well written or not—
and many of them will be beautifully written. is should be hugely
exciting for publishers. e Big Five recognise this and are now
183
Coming Out
buying up smaller publishing houses throughout India and Asia.
ere are obvious opportunities opening in these areas.
I have a few suggestions that might not be immediately practicable,
but are worth some consideration. A publishing house could adopt
a publishing orphan in a third world country; do a joint print run in
English and Nigerian/Vietnamese/Spanish; help fund a scholarship;
set up an internship for a foreign student; or send out some scouts (e.g.
a small subsidy for an intern on vacation). Certainly everyone here is
challenged by a lack of funds and a lack of time, but there is no lack
of expertise in Australia and I urge you to be generous and share it.
Conclusion
e real challenge for publishers remains to develop models and
pathways for authors to present their best work in an easily accessible
container, and to find readers who will both read and recommend
their book. is is their traditional role. e expertise of the editor
in spotting and shaping a good story will remain critical to the
industry, as will providing authors with professional critique to assist
in developing their literary skills.
e diversity of Australian stories has been recognised and en-
dorsed over the last 60 years and this has been a great achievement.
But it remains absolutely vital that the next wave of stories and
information is released on a wide range of publishing platforms. In
a time when fear seems to rule most political discourse in a sea of
muddied and ignorant slogans, there has never been a more urgent
need for courageous publishing initiatives. A nation has never built a
prosperous, equitable future on a dialogue of fear. ere are at least
23 million reasons why Australia needs a strong publishing industry.
e local industry certainly faces huge challenges. As I have
argued, our mindset and language does influence our perceptions
and our choices. e future should be a new adventure, not a reason
e Return of Print?
184
to hit the disconnect button. e author did not die, but returned
different and more friendly, just two years later. e book is not
dead, just morphing and playing around. It is a trifle uncontained
and is causing anxiety, but perhaps it is merely adolescent. Publishing
isn’t dead, but it has some major identity issues. ere is a need for
regrouping and reframing the industry discourse.
Publishers should aspire to live in the future tense. As Spivak
explains, ‘we cannot keep up with the vanishing present’ (qtd. in
Gallop 14) and that is no reason to be afraid. It might also be useful to
know that statistically, as publishers and arts academics working in a
creative environment, according to recent management research, you
have a high positive, and therefore relevant, correlation coefficient.
And that is cause for celebration!
Works Cited
Allen, Gwen. Artists’ Magazines: An Alternative Space for Art. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press, 2011.
Auletta, Ken. ‘Publish or Perish: Can the iPad Topple the Kindle, and Save the
Book Business?’ e New Yorker. Condé Nast, 26 Apr. 2010. Web. 15 Apr.
2016.
Barker, Anthony. One of the First and One of the Finest: Beatrice Davis, Book
Editor. Carlton, Vic.: Society of Editors (Victoria), 1991.
Barthes, Roland. ‘e Death of the Author.’ Image—Music—Text. Trans.
Stephen Heath. New York: Hill & Wang, 1977. 142–48.
Blainey, Geoffrey. ‘Government Patronage and Literature.’ Overland 57 (1974):
37–43.
Bourdieu, Pierre. e Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field.
Trans. Susan Emanuel. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 1996.
Brault, Pascale-Anne, and Michael Naas. ‘Introduction.’ e Work of Mourning.
By Jacques Derrida. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2001.
Burke, Seán. e Death and Return of the Author: Criticism and Subjectivity in
Barthes, Foucault and Derrida. 2nd ed. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1998.
185
Coming Out
Carter, David and Anne Galligan. eds. Making Books: Contemporary Australian
Publishing. St Lucia, Qld: U of Queensland P, 2007.
———. ‘Introduction.’ Making Books: Contemporary Australian Publishing. St
Lucia, Qld: U of Queensland P, 2007: 1–14.
Clark, Alex. ‘e Lost Art of Editing.’ e Guardian, Guardian News and
Media Limited, 12 Feb. 2011. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Curtain, John. 1998. ‘How Australian Publishing Won its Way Against the
Odds.’ Logos 9.3 (1998): 141–46.
De, Sangita. ‘Workplace 2020: Managing the Millennials.’ 17th National
Conference Research Publication. Kolkata, India.
Derrida, Jacques. ‘e Deaths of Roland Barthes.’ Psyche: Inventions of the Other.
Vol. 1. Eds. Peggy Kamuf and Elizabeth Rottenberg. Stanford: Stanford
UP, 2007. 264–97.
Fitzgibbons, Rosie. Personal interview with Anne Richards. St Lucia, Qld: U of
Queensland P, Aug. 1996.
Foucault, Michel. ‘What is an Author?’ Textual Strategies: Perspectives in Post-
Structuralist Criticism. Ed. Josue V. Harari. New York: Cornell UP, 1979.
141–60.
Galligan, Anne (aka Anne Richards). ‘Cultural Determinants: e Publishing
House and the Australian Literary Estate 1990–2000.’ Australian Literary
Studies in the 21st Century. Ed. Philip Mead. Hobart: Association for the
Study of Australian Literature, 2001. 103–11.
———. ‘e Culture of the Publishing House: Structure and Strategies in the
Australian Publishing House.’ Making Books: Contemporary Australian
Publishing. St Lucia, Qld: U of Queensland P, 2007: 34–50.
———. ‘e Textual Condition: Publishing the Australian Literary Estate.’
Diss. University of Southern Queensland, 2001.
Gallop, Jane. e Deaths of the Author: Reading and Writing in Time. Durham:
Duke UP, 2011.
Garzón, Álvaro, ed. National Book Policy: A Guide for Users in the Field. Paris:
UNESCO, 1997.
e Return of Print?
186
James, Neil. ‘“e Fountainhead”: George Ferguson and Angus and Robertson.’
Publishing Studies 7 (1999): 6–16.
Kent, Jacqueline. ‘On Editors and Invisible Mending.’ Voices 6.4: (1996).
Kotter, John P. A Sense of Urgency. Boston: Harvard Business Press, 2008.
Lawson, Henry. ‘Preface.’ Short Stories in Prose and Verse. 1894. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Levin, Michael. ‘e Death of Traditional Publishing.’ e Authors & Speakers
Network. Larry James, n.d. Web. 20 Oct. 2013.
Lichtenberg, James. ‘In from the Edge: e Progressive Evolution of Publishing
in the Age of Digital Abundance.’ Publishing Research Quarterly 27.2
(2011): 101–12.
Logie, John. ‘1967: e Birth of “e Death of the Author”.’ College English 75.5
(2013): 493–512.
McGann, Jerome J. e Textual Condition. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1991.
McPhee, Hilary. ‘Australian Publishing at the Crossroads—Again!’ Publishing
Studies 2 (1996): 18–21.
Nash, Richard. ‘Publishing 2020.’ Publishing Research Quarterly 26.2 (2010): 114–18.
Nebenzahl, Donna. ‘Don’t Let Fear Rule. Author Warns: Business Expert
Says Crisis Management Often Backfires.’ e Ottawa Citizen, Postmedia
Network, 29 Nov 2008. Web. 17 Apr. 2013.
Nielsen, Richard P., and Ron Dufresne. ‘Can Ethical Organizational Character
Be Stimulated and Enabled?: “Upbuilding” Dialog as Crisis Management.’
Journal of Business Ethics 57.4 (2005): 311–26.
Poland, Louise. ‘e Business, Craft and Profession of the Book Editor.’
Making Books: Contemporary Australian Publishing. St Lucia, Qld: U of
Queensland P, 2007: 96–115.
Rieger, Tom. Breaking the Fear Barrier: How Fear Destroys Companies from the
Inside Out, and What to Do About It. New York: Gallup Press, 2011.
Shillingsburg, Peter. ‘e Autonomous Author, the Sociology of Texts, and
the Polemics of Textual Criticism.’ Devils and Angels: Textual Editing and
Literary eory. Ed. Philip Cohen. Virginia: UP of Virginia, 1991. 22–43.
Walker, Alice. Hard Times Require Furious Dancing. Novato, California: New
Library Press, 2010.
187
Coming Out
Weldes, Jutta, et al., eds. Cultures of Insecurity: States, Communities, and the
Production of Danger. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2011.
Welpe, Isabel M., et al. ‘Emotions and Opportunities: e Interplay of Oppor-
tunity Evaluation, Fear, Joy, and Anger as Antecedent of Entrepreneurial
Exploitation.’ Entrepreneurship: eory and Practice 36.1 (2012): 69–96.
Works Consulted
Bradley, Jana, and Heather Vokac. ‘Reframing Book Publishing in the Age of
Networking.’ iSchools Conference. iSchools Organization, 29 Feb. 2008, Los
Angeles. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Cardon, Melissa S., et al. ‘e Nature and Experience of Entrepreneurial
Passion.’ Academy of Management Review 34.3 (2009): 511–32.
Conover, Dan. ‘Narrative is Dead! Long Live Narrative!’ Xark. Xark Media, 30
Oct. 2009. Web. 20 Apr. 2013.
Derrida, Jacques. e Work of Mourning. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2001.
Dore, Amatesiro. ‘e Death of the Last Publishing House in Nigeria.’ Farafina
Books. Kachifo Limited, 12 Jul. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Hamel, Gary, and Bill Breen. ‘Aiming for an Evolutionary Advantage: Google:
Management Innovation in Action.’ e Future of Management. Boston:
Harvard Business School Publishing, 2007. 101–21.
O’Brien, John (Patrick Joseph Hartigan). ‘Said Hanrahan.’ Around the Boree Log
and Other Verses. 1921. Web. 15 Apr. 2016.
Rooney, Mick. ‘Are Publishers Fit for Purpose in a Digital Age?’ e Independent
Publishing Magazine. e Independent Publishing Magazine, 18 Apr.
2011. Web. 17 Apr. 2013.
Rosanas, Josep M. ‘Beyond Economic Criteria: A Humanistic Approach to
Organizational Survival.’ Journal of Business Ethics 78.3 (2007): 447–62.
Ruskin, Jennifer and Cynthia M. Webster. ‘Creating Value for Others: An
Exploration of Social Entrepreneurs’ Motives.’ Australian and New
Zealand Academy of Management Conference. Wellington, New Zealand.
7–9 Dec. 2011.
189
Notes on Editors and Contributors
Aaron Mannion is associate publisher at Vignette Press. He has
edited and co-edited a range of publications, including the post-
graduate magazine Plane Tree, the creative writing anthologies Muse
and Nth Degree, the reviews section of the peer-reviewed journal
Traffic and Vignette Press’s Geek Mook. He is currently fiction
editor at Antic. Aaron read English Literature at the University of
Cambridge and is currently completing a PhD at the University of
Melbourne. He is deputy chair of the Small Press Network and co-
convener of the Independent Publishing Conference’s academic day.
His work has been published in Wet Ink, e Sleepers Almanac, Island
and elsewhere. He’s been shortlisted for the 2011 Wet Ink Short Story
Prize and for the Penguin Manuscript Award in 2009 and 2011.
Emmett Stinson is a Lecturer in English at the University of
Newcastle and was previously a Lecturer in Publishing and Com-
munications at the University of Melbourne. He researches on con-
temporary Australian publishing, focusing on small publishers and
literary publishing. His col lection of short stories, Known Unknowns
(Affirm Press, 2010), was shortlisted for the Steele Rudd Award
in the Queensland Literary Awards. His monograph, Satirizing
Modernism: Romanticism, Aesthetic Autonomy, and the Avant-Garde
is forthcoming from Bloomsbury in 2017.
* * *
David Carter is Professor of Australian Literature and Cultural
History at the University of Queensland and a Fellow of the Aust-
ralian Academy of the Humanities. He is currently completing a his-
tory of American editions of Australian books and is engaged with
e Return of Print?
190
the Australian Cultural Fields project, investigating contem porary
Australian cultural tastes and participation.
Sarah Couper is a Sydney-based writer and editor. She is deputy
editor at Look, the monthly members’ magazine for the Art Gallery
of New South Wales. In 2013, she investigated the status of female
leadership in Australian trade publishing for the thesis component of
the Master of Publishing and Communication at the University of
Melbourne.
Critic Watch is Dr Ben Etherington, who is a lecturer in post-
colonial and world literary studies in the School of Humanities and
Communication Arts at Western Sydney University. He writes regu-
larly for the Sydney Review of Books on Australian literary criticism
and the politics of higher education. His academic work focusses on
the poetics of Caribbean creole poetry and, more broadly, on liter-
ature and decolonisation. His first monograph Literary Primi tivism
(Stanford) will be published next year, and he is currently co-editing
the Cambridge Companion to World Literature.
Mark Davis teaches and researches in the School of Culture and
Communication at the University of Melbourne. He has published
widely on Australia’s publishing industry, with an emphasis on literary
publishing and technological change.
Beth Driscoll is a lecturer in the publishing and communications
program at the University of Melbourne. She is the author of e New
Literary Middlebrow: Tastemakers and Reading in the Twenty-First
Century (Palgrave Macmillan, 2014) and has published articles on ro-
mance fiction, Harry Potter, literary prizes and festivals, and online
literary culture.
191
Notes on Editors and Contributors
Lisa Fletcher is senior lecturer in English at the University of
Tasmania. She is the author of Historical Romance Fiction: Hetero-
sexuality and Performativity (Ashgate, 2008) and co-authored Cave:
Nature and Culture (Reaktion, 2015) with Ralph Crane.
Dr Sybil Nolan has worked in newspaper journalism and book pub-
lishing, and is a lecturer in publishing and communications at the
University of Melbourne.
Tracy O’Shaughnessy is a trade book publisher with over 20 years’
experience. roughout her diverse career she has specialised in
illustrated publishing and worked at a number of Australia’s leading
pub lishing houses, including Hardie Grant Books, Melbourne Uni-
versity Publishing as the Miegunyah Publisher, and Allen & Unwin.
In 2014 she moved to RMIT University to be the Program Director
of the Graduate Diploma in Editing and Publishing and developed
RMIT’s new Master of Writing and Publishing. In addition to her
advocacy and mentoring role within the publishing industry, she
continues to work as a publishing consultant.
Dr Anne Richards (also known as Anne Galligan) is an Adjunct
Senior Lecturer with Griffith University. She has published ex-
tensively on the contemporary publishing industry and is co-editor
with Prof David Carter of Making Books: Contemporary Australian
Publishing. Currently Anne is working on a collaborative project
comparing the German and Australian publishing industries. Other
research interests include the history of Victorian critical weeklies.
Kim Wilkins is a senior lecturer in writing at the University of
Queensland. Her research interests include genre, medievalism and
popular fiction, which she also publishes under her own name and
the pseudonym Kimberley Freeman. She has published 26 books
across 19 languages.
193
Editors’ Acknowledgments
We would like to acknowledge the work of the copyeditors: Samantha
Anderson, Robyn Dennison, Sarah Farquharson and Tony Ryan.
Students in the publishing program at the University of Melbourne,
they edited the book with exceptional care, skill and intelligence. It
was truly a joy to work with them.
We would also like to thank everyone at Monash University
Publishing, particularly Nathan Hollier, for their assistance in
putting this book together.
