A Publisher's Confession

by Unknown

It will probably always be believed by many persons that publishing houses do not give careful attention to book manuscripts that come from strangers. The case of “David Harum” did much to fix this notion in the public mind. The manuscript was declined by three or four publishers before it was accepted by the Appletons. Its declination was an evidence of bad financial book-judgment, but it is not proof that it was carelessly considered. Most publishers’ readers are literary folk, pure and simple. Not one in a hundred has a good financial judgment of a manuscript. As a literary product, judged by academic standards, there was not much in “David Harum” to commend it. The publishers who rejected it acted on the readers’ reports. When it went to the Appletons, somebody was shrewd enough to see that if it were shortened and put in somewhat better form, it would have a commercial value. A publishing judgment was passed on it there and not merely a conventional literary judgment.

Or, take the case of “Graustark.” It was declined at least by one publisher. There is, perhaps, not a “literary” reader in the world who would have commended it in manuscript, or (for that matter) who will commend it now. It does violence to every literary canon. But a Chicago publisher, by some divine or subterranean suggestion, saw a chance for it. Its roughest edges were hewn off with an axe, and it was put forth. There have now appeared four “Graustark” books, three of which have each sold perhaps a hundred times as many copies as Mr. Howell’s latest novel will sell.

The difference between a mere literary judgment and a publishing judgment indicates the greatest weakness in the organizations of most publishing houses. The publisher himself is usually a business man. He has to concern himself with the financial work of his house—with the manufacture and the sale of books. In a great measure he relies, for his judgment of literary values, on his advisers and readers. As a rule these advisers and readers are employed men or women. They know nothing about what may be called the commercial value of books. Many of them know nothing about the losses or the profits on the books that they have commended. They have had no experience in selling books. These facts indicate the wrong organization of most publishing houses. Yet the faithfulness that they show to aspiring authors is amazing; they plough conscientiously through thousands of manuscripts looking for the light of some possible genius, and they commend dozens of books where their employers accept a single volume.

But the publisher does acquire a sort of sixth sense about a book. He may or he may not know literary values, but he comes to have a peculiar sort of knowledge of the commercial possibilities of books. If he takes “literary readers’” judgments and does not read manuscripts himself, he will now and then let a “David Harum” pass through his hands. To avoid such mistakes every publishing house has at least two readers, and these read manuscripts independently of one another. The publisher then makes his judgment from them both, or perhaps from a third reading by a specialist, if the manuscript seem good enough to warrant a third reading.

The mistake of permitting a profitable manuscript to be rejected does not come, therefore, from inattention to the work of strangers, but from sheer fallibility of judgment. And the work of strangers is very carefully considered in every publishing house that I know anything about. Every publisher in these days is just as eager to get a new good writer on his list as any unknown writer is eager to get a publisher; and no manuscript above the grade of illiteracy is neglected.

A “first reader”—a man of all around general knowledge of books, and he ought to be a man full of hard common-sense, common-sense being worth more than technical literary knowledge—the “first reader” examines the manuscript. If it be a shopworn piece of commonplace work, obviously hopeless, he may not read it from preface to end, but he must say in his written report whether he has read it all. Whether he condemn it or approve it, it is examined or read by another reader. If both these condemn it as hopeless, the publisher declines it without more ado.

The greater number of manuscripts that come to publishing houses are hopeless. Three-fourths of them, or more, are novels that have been written by lonely women or by men who have no successful occupation; and most of these are conscious or unconscious imitations of recent popular novels. It does not require very shrewd judgment to see that they are hopeless. But it does require time. If they are above the grade of illiteracy somebody must read a hundred pages or more to make sure that the dulness of the early chapters may not be merely a beginner’s way of finding his gait. And many of these manuscripts go from publishing house to publishing house. There are, I should say, a thousand hopeless novels in manuscript at all times making this weary journey.

Sometimes one comes back to the same publisher a second time, the author having perhaps not kept an accurate record of its itinerary. Sometimes it comes back a year later, somewhat changed. There is one novel-manuscript that has come to me four times within two years, every time in a somewhat different form, and twice with different titles—obviously to fool the “careless” publisher.

While very few mistakes are made or are likely to be made with these manuscripts that two readers independently declare hopeless, the class next to these require a great deal of work and care. This class includes those books by unknown writers that are not bad. One reader will say that they are worth considering. The next reader will say that they have some sort of merit. Then the publisher must go slowly. A third person must read them. If the publisher be an ideal publisher, he will read them himself. (The weakness of most American publishing houses of this generation comes just here—the publisher himself does not read many manuscripts.)

In the best publishing houses (this, I know, is the habit of three) the reports on books of this class are all read at a meeting of the firm, or (better) at a meeting of the firm and of the heads of departments. At such a meeting the judgment of a sensible man who is at the head of the sales department of a publishing house is very useful. He knows by his everyday work what sort of books the public is buying. Some of them are books that the “literary” world knows nothing about or has forgotten.