Literature, served a la carte

It would be hard to find a trade in the capitalist world as strange as publishing. Should there be anyone out there who doesn’t already know this, then the much-publicized crisis of late should give them a clue. Of course, I do not mean, first and foremost, those companies that produce road atlases, cookbooks or advice to the lovelorn (even if things have gotten a little tough for them too), but rather those houses who want to give the people literature. It’s a peculiar trade, dependent on people, burdened with vestiges of patriarchy, ambitious and completely unpredictable. The pay is usually bad, profits are minimal and the risks murderous. There’s nothing new about that; the business has always been that way.

And it isn’t as if several attempts hadn’t been made to change the situation either. Large industries have gotten into the business, greedy for their share in the market, aiming for a 10% to 15% capital gain. The wizards of finance are notorious for their complete lack of interest in the product. Their criteria for judging literature is profound and can be described in a single sentence: What doesn’t pay off within six months dies.

Luckily, it’s impossible to predict either successes or flops. That’s why the black knights of big business haven’t been spared their share of disappointments and those who once found their salvation in megalomania are now desperate to rid themselves of their burden. Advances that haven’t paid off, crises of overproduction, competitors, sinking profits and layoffs -- all of these have dampened the mood in the executive offices. The corporations have had to admit there isn’t much money to be made with books. Much to their astonishment, it would appear that small and mid-size literary publishers haven’t died out as they had hoped. For reasons that can only baffle the experts, they continue to fight. The anachronism lives on!

How is it possible? Perhaps a comparison can help solve the puzzle. The only industry with a similar structure to publishing is gastronomy. A certain old-fashioned quality clings to this trade too. Even today, you can find small and mid-size restaurants whose sole ambition is to offer their patrons excellence; here too, the goal is not just to make a profit but to achieve fame and quality. As with publishing, giant corporations have entered the fray, hoping to conquer the market and destroy the traditional eatery. Like the publishing trade, they are only interested in maximizing their profits and their disinterest in the product is legendary. In this case, they have been more successful than their brothers in the media. Most likely it has to do with the fact that hamburgers are easier to standardize than a book, and hungry people are less finicky than readers.

The comparison might offend Platonic souls, but from an economic perspective it makes absolute sense. Perhaps we can even draw a few rational conclusions from this observation. Literary publishers face a divided market, but instead of courageously dealing with it, like the restaurant owners, they simply ignore it. As far as I can tell, book production is the only business in which a hamburger costs as much as a filet mignon and a portion of French fries as much as truffle pate.

Wherever we look, whether we are dealing with clothes, jewels, porcelain or furniture, first-class quality is more expensive than junk; only with book production this isn’t the case. This is highly suspect, or I should say just plain superstitious. Any normal calculation shows that this can’t continue. An age-old and certainly honorable tradition prevents publishers from demanding a decent price. For a decade or so, a book in America could not cost more than $19.95 (which at the time was considered a magical threshold). A handsomely bound novel didn’t dare cost a single penny more! They stubbornly insisted on sticking to the holy threshold of $19.95. A few people decided to take a gamble, selling books for $20, $22 and $25.

And what happened? To everyone’s astonishment, the public accepted these prices. Sales didn’t drop, just as a good restaurant doesn’t go empty if the menu is more expensive than the pizzeria next door. Any divided market must lead to divided prices. This is a new idea in the book trade, and like all new ideas, we just have to get used to it. Until recently, a paperback cost less than a movie ticket, regardless of whether it was by Rosamunde Pilcher or Jorge Luis Borges, Uwe Johnson or Heinz Konsalik. The future is starting to look a bit different -- that is, whoever doesn’t want to pay for quality is just going to have to do without it. This rule may not seem terribly people-friendly, but in the long run, whoever disregards it will be punished. Otherwise, quality products will simply disappear from the market.

Another economic downside of the trade concerns auxiliary rights. The expression originated from a time when these rights were considered secondary (some minor clerk in a backroom was responsible for dealing with them). Here a license for an anthology, there a radio program, and if you were lucky you might make a few thousand euros on translation rights. Today these rights are not marginal at all; in fact, apart from book sales, they are the only way to make a profit. Any publishing company that doesn’t have a professional media department runs the risk of going under in the long run. By exploiting auxiliary rights, a publisher is able to subsidize those titles that don’t promise large sales.

By the way, publishers could learn something from the restaurant business in this respect too. The only reason restaurants have been able to survive is because they exploit their auxiliary rights to the maximum. In this case, they capitalize on beverages. Any top-notch restaurant subsidizes the kitchen with a good wine cellar for the simple reason that the margin of profit is far greater than with food.

Other prospects, risks and side effects will likely determine the appropriate marketing channels. According to an old custom, a book’s price doubles on the way from the publisher to the reader. The big chains are pushing the quotas higher, which means that, sooner or later, minor titles will disappear from the market. Those who wish to continue publishing will have to embrace all sorts of new ideas: subscriptions through the Internet, production according to demand, decentralized printing, reducing warehouse costs, no more wholesale, self-operated delivery -- in a word, a little less routine and a lot more fantasy.

Anyone who wants to eat and drink well has a plenitude of guides at their disposal. I’m not thinking only of the good old dependable Michelin or the fashionable Gault-Millau; every European country has its own guide that describes what a place has to offer and at what price. The consumer is given a choice. The poor reader, on the other hand, has only himself to rely on. He is expected to come to terms with thousands of new releases, read dozens of lengthy newspaper and magazine reviews, and usually he doesn’t have a clue as to whom he might rely on (as one might rely on a chef and sommelier) who can guarantee that he is being offered something of value. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for every country with a readership to publish a handy little book and store guide annually, compiled by rigorous, independent, feared testers capable of separating the wheat from the chaff.

In the first part, the reader could learn about the various publishing companies. Are we dealing with a factory or a manufacturer? What can the client expect: fast food or quality? The whole program would be put to the test. Not only a company’s profile, literary caliber, willingness to take risks and specialties, but also its design, typography and longevity would be evaluated. In the guide’s second half, the reader would find out what a bookstore can offer its clients: choice of titles, expertise and service.

In this way, the minority who does not want to be deceived can orient themselves, not by stars and chef’s hats, but with beautiful, frugally dispensed symbols -- for example, little red and black comets. The old expression applies to literature too: “Appetite comes with food.”