Books
Writes of Passage
When Austinite Louise Redd’s first novel was published, she thought the hard part was over. In fact, it was just beginning.
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“An estimated seventy percent of all books are bought by women,” explained agent Cherie Burns of the New York— and Boston-based Zachary Shuster Literary Agency, who earlier this year brokered a six-figure advance for a biography of Secretary of State Madeleine Albright. “The chains cater to that. They have not only caused the homogenization of the novel, but they influence what kind of fiction will be marketed and, to some degree, the kind of fiction that’s now being written. The chains don’t waste space on marginal books—they just want best-sellers. I’ve even heard editors say that they sometimes consult the chains before they decide how much of an offer to make the author.”
Indeed, a front-page story in the New York Times this August reported that publishing executives are now turning to Barnes and Noble and Borders for guidance in commercial decisions about dust jacket designs and creating punchier titles, and on whether to even publish certain books. The Times article states that Harold Evans, the president of Random House, the leading publisher of adult hardcover books in the United States, recently decided to pass on a first novel by a British author after consulting with superstore buyers. “I think all of us recognize the common interest that we have,” Evans said. “They reinforced our doubts. We didn’t buy it.”
That reality angers Philip Sansone, who has run Book People since 1978—which, with more than 225,000 titles in stock, is the biggest bookstore in Texas. “The buyers at the superstore chains are buying books for a thousand stores in hundreds of cities,” he said, “so they have to concentrate on books that appeal to a wide audience. Does anyone really think they are capable of fine-tuning their selection for each and every neighborhood?” Sansone refers to this trend as the “Wal-Martizing” of literature, and at least as far as the big picture goes, the analogy seems apt. As recently as 1991, independents accounted for the largest chunk of the overall bookselling market—more than 32 percent—while the superstore chains had only 22 percent. But today, the superstores have enjoyed explosive growth similar to that of Wal-Mart: They now account for 26 percent, while the independents have less than 19 percent.
The small picture is just as revealing. With more than 1,000 stores nationwide, including 454 superstores (such as Bookstop and Bookstar) and 559 mall stores (such as B. Dalton Booksellers), Barnes and Noble is by far America’s largest bookseller and is growing faster than ever. (Borders has become the second-biggest bookstore chain, with 170 superstores nationwide.) Barnes and Noble reported $2.4 bil- lion in revenues for the 1996 fiscal year, almost half a billion more than in 1995. A publicist for Barnes and Noble in New York told me that only four or five people order all of the literary fiction for its thousand or so stores. (So too with Borders, which has just two people ordering all of its general fiction, according to one of its publicists.) The potential ramifications are clear: If this select group of megastore buyers chooses not to order copies of, say, Playing the Bones or a novel by Cormac McCarthy, you may have a tough time finding it—period. If a prospective publishing house feels it may have difficulty placing a recently completed first novel with Barnes and Noble or Borders, it probably won’t get published.
To be fair, the bottom line is that the entire publishing world—not just the superstores—has determined that fiction is no longer cost-effective. Even a store like Book People, one that promotes fiction and often draws hundreds to its reading events (two thousand copies of Anne Rice’s latest novel were sold during her appearance there in August 1995), makes only about 15 percent of its profit from novels and short-story collections. And fiction by young, untested writers sells slowly. Once upon a time, Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl and Herman Wouk’s The Caine Mutiny were typical best-sellers. Among this season’s hits are country singer Tanya Tucker’s autobiography, a memoir by former Los Angeles police detective Mark Fuhrman, and Success Is a Choice, by the Boston Celtics’ new head coach, Rick Pitino.
It will be interesting to see if Redd’s second novel for Little, Brown will be marketed differently—yet no matter what happens, she insists she does not regret having dedicated her life thus far to writing novels. “It has been a learning experience for me,” she said. “And not everything this past year was unpleasant. I’ve gotten a kick out of meeting readers who connected with my book. Barron’s, a small independently owned bookshop over in Longview, was even nice enough to hire a blues band for the night I read there.”
With a delicate wave of her hand Redd shooed away my question about what, if anything, she got paid for the paperback version of Playing the Bones and continued detailing what had helped make the hard work worthwhile. “Recently I was invited back to Hockaday, the high school I attended while growing up in Dallas, to talk to a creative-writing class. It turned out to be one of the best days of my life. The man who had taught my sophomore English class pulled out an old report card of mine that he had saved. He had written on it, ‘I fully expect to be reading Louise’s novels in the years to come.’ He was so happy, now that he’s read my novel, to show me the report card, and I felt very flattered that he had bothered to save a report card from 1984.
“As I was leaving at the end of the day,” she continued, “a girl whose very fine short story we had discussed in class came up to me in the hallway and said, ‘I want to be a novelist.’ She had drawn tattoos in ballpoint all over her arm, like it wasn’t enough to have written those great words in her notebook. I thought for a moment, wanting to encourage her obvious talent but fearing I might sugarcoat what I have discovered is a very unstable existence, and finally answered, ‘If you simply have to write, even if it means you have to scribble on the backs of napkins or the soles of your feet, then sure, try it.’ The young woman nodded, and I felt that she had heard me. Then she had me sign her copy of Playing the Bones, and I wrote, ‘I look forward to getting a signed copy of your first novel.’ And I truly hope that someday I can.”
Keith Kachtick profiled author Michael Lind in the March 1997 Texas Monthly.
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