BookAngst 101

Recently I posted the comments of an anonymous author who took issue with the line (oft-repeated by publishers) that “ads don’t sell books.”

"When my own book was published -- a work of history published not long ago by an imprint of a major New York publisher] -- the publisher aggressively advertised the book -- Wall Street Journal, NYTBR, elsewhere. Though I had no name to trade on, the book smoked through eight printings. We had few reviews. No majors. The only broad exposure it got, beyond a BookTV appearance, were those ads."

This sparked a vigorous round of commentary, along with a desire for more information. The author, who we’ll call William, generously supplied the specificity I requested—bravely, even, since his publisher wasn’t keen on him doing so, and chose not to provide information about advertising expenditures and so on.

William’s is the story of a genuine success—not a PERFECT STORM level blockbuster, but the sort of black-ink narrative that would make any editor (and most writers) proud. Despite the happy outcome, William warns that “there is not a lesson or a plan or a prototype [here] for any publisher to replicate. Nonfiction publishing is alchemy.” Like the crucial matter of chemistry in affairs of the heart, William’s point is that a book’s capturing the consumer’s attention depends, in part, on some indefinable X factor. And if it’s in play, it doesn’t much matter how attractive and intelligent the other eight women (or men, or books) in the room are. This alchemy—and William’s book “had it boiling over the cauldron”—is the difference between his publication and a dozen others that fall short.

Alchemy indeed—still, I disagree that there are no lessons to be learned. William’s was as close to perfect as a publication could be: the book’s potential was recognized by all from the outset; the manuscript, with expert guidance from his editor, delivered the goods; the publisher took an aggressive stand and never wavered in its support; and execution of the 1,001 details—from design and cover to advertising and promotion (any one of which has the potential to derail the enterprise)—went off without a hitch.

If William is reluctance to hold up his book’s publication as a template for certain success, it’s because he knows that even perfect execution of the 1,001 details guarantees nothing except a ticket to the ball. Just as writers wonder about the capriciousness of publishers, publishers scratch our heads at the virtual impossibility of knowing—even when you’ve done everything right—what’s going to happentranspire when the books appear on the shelves, and the consumer approaches. What happens then isn’t science. It’s alchemy.

Here’s what happened in William’s case.

THE BOOK: an unlikely tale of personal fortitude in the face of adversity that marries popular history and narrative drama—the sort of book that one might compare to David Hackett Fischer’s PAUL REVERE’S RIDE or Robert Kurson’s SHADOW DIVERS.

THE AUTHOR: Someone experienced in the world of book publishing but completely unknown to the reading public. No platform. No close personal friendship with Matt Lauer. Never shared a taxi with Oprah. Never went sailing with Walter Cronkite.

THE PUBLISHER: one of the Biggies, who ponied up a six-figure advance to acquire the book.

THE FIRST BIG BREAK: William’s editor was “off the charts on all fronts” in terms of supporting the book, having a vision for its publication, and responding to the author. It was a dream match. “[The editor] really cared, editing several drafts very closely and thoughtfully. And positively kicking heads in-house to get a number of special touches from the production department.” From Day One, William’s editor, highly respected in-house, positioned it as a big book—“and lo and behold, it was treated that way.”

THE SET-UP: His editor’s enthusiasm radiated throughout the house, buoyed by good in-house reads, several early blurbs, and a cover that the sales department adored. The house demonstrated its high hopes by devoting a two-page spread to the book, producing handsome four-color Advance Reading Editions and announcing a 60,000 copy first printing. The back-panel bullets went on to promise an extensive marketing push, including radio promotion, floor displays (a.k.a. “dumps”) and a major national print advertising campaign. William was delighted.

THE SECOND BIG BREAK: William remembers getting the news from his giddy editor: the book had been selected by three book clubs, and as a Main Selection for two of the three. William was stunned. This “book club trifecta” was a crucial piece of confirmation to everybody involved that opinion makers were taking notice—and that the book had the potential to be something special.

PUB DATE APPROACHES: The pre-pub reviews—one of which was starred—were strong and laden with adoring and invigorating adjectives. Even so, the orders came in lower than William expected; the initial quantity out the door was roughly 30,000 copies. But if William was disappointed, the feeling didn’t last long. A second printing was ordered a week later—still almost two weeks before the official publication date—followed quickly by two or three more.

[Lest there be any confusion, the management here at BookAngst 101 wants to acknowledge that in many, many cases, shipping 30,000 hardcovers is an accomplishment not to be sneezed at.]