The Building of a Book / A Series of Practical Articles Written by Experts in the Various Departments of Book Making and Distributing

by Unknown

All of which, while interesting to the historian of the publishing trade, carries us too far in advance of our text. Let us therefore return to "Last Year's Nests"—12mo, cloth, illustrated, gilt top, uncut edges, price $1.50.

The first edition—it may be one thousand copies or ten thousand—has been delivered to the publisher by the beaming binder, who alone, in some instances, knows his profit on them. "Last Year's Nests" is by a well-known author, and contains some elements of popularity. The literary adviser has written a beautiful and scholarly appreciation of it, one of the lady stenographers has declared it grand, and the salesman, if he is given to reading anything beyond the title-page, says it's a corker. He starts out with it; along with a trunkful of other books, to be sure, but our sympathies are wholly with the "Nests," and it is only its career that we shall follow.

He may be one of a force of salesmen, each of whom has his own territory. One may visit only the larger cities, Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Pittsburg, Chicago; another may take in the smaller towns along this route; another, the Middle West, Southern or Southwestern territory. Still another, the cities west of Chicago, including those on the Pacific coast. Houses publishing competitive lines and non-copyright books have other methods and machinery for distribution. I speak only for the copyright salesman, and not to be too prolix, take only the copyright novel as an illustration of the day's work.

The salesman arrives at a town, say Chicago. He goes to the hotel, orders his trunks and sample tables sent to his room. The tables are set up—well-worn pine boards on trestles and covered with sheeting. He unpacks his trunk and arranges his books on the tables as effectively as his artistic sense permits. Then he visits his customers and makes appointments that cover a full week. Previous to his arrival his office had informed the booksellers of his coming, inclosing a catalogue. This the bookseller handed to a clerk to be marked up. The clerk had gone over their stock of this particular publisher's books and had marked opposite each title in the catalogue the number of copies on hand. Armed with this catalogue the bookseller keeps his appointment at the room of the traveller. [It ought to be mentioned in passing that this is a purely hypothetical case, invented for the purposes of illustration. The clerk who marks up the catalogue in advance of the salesman's arrival is as fictitious as the bookseller who keeps his appointment promptly. Perhaps this delightful uncertainty is another of the many influences that make the book business, from the writing of the manuscript to the reading of the printed book, so fascinating.]

In the salesman's room the customer examines the new books, asks questions, hears arguments (many of them fearfully and wonderfully made), and eventually, after much debate, gives his order. Having ordered all the new books that he wishes, he goes over the catalogue and gives what is called his stock order; that is to say, he orders the books on which his stock is low but for which there is still a demand.

Perhaps the salesman has reserved for his final battle the sale of "Last Year's Nests." As prices cut some figure in this argument, we are driven, for a moment, to the dry bones of prices and discounts.

Listed in the publisher's catalogue at $1.50, the ordinary discount to a dealer ordering two or three copies is thirty-three and one-third per cent, or $1.00 net, the bookseller paying transportation charges. Competition, however, has increased this discount to forty per cent, so that we shall assume that in small quantities the book can be had at $.90 net. In larger quantities extra discounts are given; some publishers give forty and five per cent on fifty copies and forty and ten per cent on one hundred copies; others increase the quantities to one hundred and two hundred and fifty copies respectively for the extra discounts. But, as has been pointed out, the growing tendency is not to overload the bookseller, especially in view of the fact that it is the publisher who loses when the bookseller assigns.

Assuming that the "Last Year's Nests" is likely to have a large sale and that the salesman wishes to sell Mr. Bookseller two hundred and fifty copies, he quotes the extra discount of forty and ten per cent on that quantity. If he can persuade the bookseller to take two hundred and fifty copies, he has not only swollen his sales by that amount, but he has forced a probable retail sale of that quantity. For once on the bookseller's tables, the very size of the order inspires every clerk to help reduce the pile, not to mention the fact that the books are bought and must be paid for. Had the bookseller bought five copies, extra efforts toward sales would not be forthcoming; the energy would be applied to another novel. Hence the salesman's efforts to effect a large sale.

There is another reason for this extra quantity. Two hundred and fifty copies of "Last Year's Nests," piled in a pyramid, is a gentle reminder to the bookseller's customers that it is a mighty important book. Such an argument is often more potent than the disagreeing opinions of critics. Here is a case in point.

A novelist wrote an altogether charming and spirited novel. The reviewers spoke well of it, but the sale of the book hung fire. It was the dull season,—May or June,—and there was no other novel of any worth in the public mind. The salesman said to his employer: "Here's a book that has a good chance for success. If you'll back me with some good advertising, I'll guarantee to make that novel sell."