More dangerous digits

On 25 April I did tell you that discussion of the digitisation of books was not about to cease, and so it has proved. On Sunday last, Robert McCrum reviewed Nigel Newton's pronouncements on the subject, and tactfully declared them to be less than satisfactory (two cheers, not three).

McCrum's view is that copyright is a robust device for protecting the rights of authors and publishers. In the meantime, he suggests, we should stop whingeing about Google; instead, 'we could celebrate the extraordinary technology that will bring a cornucopia of hitherto inaccessible material before a bigger international audience than ever before.'

Perhaps the key paragraph in McCrum's article is this:

The international copyright convention may have been drafted in the days of hot metal but if the publishers have the willpower and the savoir faire, copyright legislation can be redrafted to take account of the 'Napsterisation' threat.

Willpower and savoir faire you note. Well, willpower is one thing; savoir faire is another. That publishers are desperate to protect their sources of income is in no doubt; that they have the intellectual resources to come up with sensible digital-rights-management policies is not so certain. The present rather feeble and counter-productive efforts can only be regarded, if you're feeling generous, as the first faltering footsteps on a steep learning curve.

The Rule of Four -- again

Debra Hamel tells me that I was too kind to Caldwell and Thomason's The Rule of Four. She posted her own review on 4 August last year, no less. Having read what she has to say, I am inclined to think that I was a bit too generous. At any rate you might care to look at her take on the book before investing time and money on it.

POD confusion resolved

There are, as you may have observed, a considerable number of thoughtful and intelligent people out there, people who are prepared to put in substantial amounts of work for no immediate benefit -- and not much obvious long-term benefit, either. Thank goodness for them; we are all indebted to them.

One of these hard-working people is Paula Guran, who has produced a lengthy essay (I suppose you'd have to call it) on Print on Demand and the treatment of same by Locus magazine.

Just by way of background: Locus concentrates on science fiction, fantasy and horror, and its web site always includes a generous amount of free info and lots of links to more of the same. I look at it once a month and never fail to learn something new and to garner the title of a book or two worth searching for.

Print on demand (aka POD) is a modern publishing technique which the phrase itself more or less describes. In other words, it is a computer-based printing system which makes it unnecessary for publishers to print 1,000 copies of a book and store them in a warehouse until a bookseller orders one. Instead, the publisher simply stores the book, in digital form, on a computer, and the system prints off one copy, or 43, or whatever, as and when they are needed.

Because POD has been used by several vanity presses, some people have got all sniffy about it -- Locus, it seems, being to the forefront. Paula Guran has taken it upon herself to sort out fact from confusion in this area.

Anyone who is interested in the economics of publishing, or the chances of getting published, should take a careful look at Paula's essay. And congratulations to Locus for listing it on their web site and admitting that she puts them straight on the issue.

Later note, 11 May. Paula Guran has written to me as follows:

I do feel I should point out that the article is not completely germane to anything other than the specific LOCUS article, though, rather than POD per se.

To put it in context: Locus is the trade magazine of the sf/f field. As such, it offers a yearly summary of the year in sf/f books. What started out around five years ago to be a reasonable (or at least consistent) definition of POD has eroded with time. What was said year-to-year became somewhat nonsensical and their policy concerning POD books became inconsistent. I'm just hoping to get them to update their thinking.

Also, the print magazine has no editorial connection with the Web magazine. So LOCUS has not "admitted" anything nor have they acknowledged the article that came out on April 30.

Reminders

Just in case you have forgotten:

If you are looking for a present for a bookish friend -- or just something to go in the guest room -- you might care to consider the book version of the Grumpy Old Bookman. This features all 130 posts from the first six months or so of the GOB's existence and provides 304 pages of good reading. It is available in paperback format from either Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com -- in either case at a healthy discount.

Also still available, and absolutely FREE, is a 72-page essay entitled On the Survival of Rats in the Slush Pile. Full details here.

Resilient writers

Catherine Wald is currently beating the drum for her new book The Resilient Writer -- tales of rejection and triumph by 23 top authors.

Catherine and her book are noteworthy for a number of reasons, so let's go through them.

First, the book. It consists of interviews with 23 writers who tell us how often, and how painfully, they were rejected, and then how they finally made it to success of one kind or another. More specifically, the writers are Elizabeth Benedict, Mary Kay Blakely, Chris Bohjalian, Wesley Brown, Frederick Busch, David Ebershoff, Bret Easton Ellis, Janet Fitch, Arthur Golden, Joy Harjo, E. Lynn Harris, Kathryn Harrison, Bill Henderson, Wally Lamb, Betsy Lerner, Elinor Lipman, Bret Lott, M. J. Rose, Esmeralda Santiago, Bob Shacochis, Amy Tan, Edmund White, and William Zinsser.

Chris Bohjalian, for example, opened 250 rejection letters before he sold his first short story. Joy Harjo submitted three different collections of poetry to the same publishing house until she was finally accepted; and E. Lynn Harris published and hawked his own first novel, though he is now published by Random House.

If you want a taster of the book's contents, you can find the interview with Arthur Golden here.

Should Catherine's book appeal to you, and it certainly looks interesting in principle, it is available at a modest cost from both Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk. The author's purpose is to provide both inspiration and guidance. And if, she says, her book convinces some people that the writing life is not for them, then that might not be such a bad thing either.

Catherine's latest also illustrates a circumstance which modern authors have to deal with, namely that they are well advised to devote some time and attention to marketing their own work.

In Catherine's case, she is published by a relatively small press, Persea Books. Unfortunately, unless I am pressing the wrong buttons, the Persea Books web site does not seem to have been updated recently. And although Catherine's book is listed on both major English-speaking Amazon sites, the UK site carries almost zero information about it. Such are the problems created by small presses -- and even big ones from time to time.

Very sensibly, Catherine is running her own push for the book. This has involved sending out a press release and a Q and A sheet, and she is shortly to go on a virtual book tour, details of which will be given here when I have them.

Prior to writing The Resilient Writer, Catherine had also made a notable mark on the scene by master-minding The Rejection Collection, a web site which collects all sorts of other information about the problems of rejection. This has about 3,000 visitors a week and features a variety of material, ranging from bitter complaints about the shortcomings of agents and publishers (a never-ending story) to much more constructive items such as the interview with Bill Henderson of Pushcart Press.

Meanwhile, over at the Book Standard, there is an interesting piece about how some of the big publishers are using the ramifications of the web to find new ways of generating that all-important word-of-mouth recommendation which steadily builds sales. Nowadays there are even companies specifically set up to help firms to provide free samples of books (and many other products) to people who have volunteered to act as publicity agents for anything that they feel able to endorse. Definitely worth a look.

Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason: The Rule of Four

I am instinctively suspicious of novels with two authors. Non-fiction books with two authors strike me as dubious enough: can the authors really have a united vision of their subject, and a common style? But a novel with two writers.... Brrr.

So, The Rule of Four had me doubtful from the start. And another cause for worry was the fact that it was being touted as the next Da Vinci Code. And OK, so I read the Da Vinci thing and enjoyed it, up to a point, but it was instantly forgettable. What sort of a book was going to be produced by a couple of guys who were (apparently) trying to come in on Dan Brown's coat-tails?

Well, a darn sight better one than you might imagine, is the answer. But it took me a while to get to that conclusion. (And the book was, by the way, written before Da Vinci appeared.)

When I began to read The Rule of Four, my first impression was that it was going to be a typically over-hyped piece of commercial fiction. On the strength of the first chapter it seemed that these two (presumably inexperienced) writers just didn't have the technique to bolt together a gripping book: for my taste, they introduced far too many characters, too quickly. Indeed it took me a great many chapters to figure out who all these people were, and I'm not sure that I ever got a clear hold on some of them.

However, the book was never quite bad enough to persuade me to chuck it on one side, and as time went by I began to see that it had very considerable virtues.

First of all, it is a book set in a university, Princeton, and it is written by two educated men. And since I spent my entire working life in education, and still have an eccentric faith in its power to transform the world, that was something I welcomed. Furthermore, we have here two American writers who evidently have some respect for European culture, and that too was encouraging.

Another element which began to emerge was that, although the book is a whodunit, of sorts, with a solve-the-code mystery thrown in for good measure, it is actually a book about obsession. And that is interesting.

Obsessions, of course, take various forms. This one happens to be an obsession with a book published in Venice in 1499, but that can act as a metaphor (if you care for such things) for obsessions of various other kinds.

So, all in all, this book got better as it went along. And by the time I got to the end I was really quite impressed. True, the ending is far-fetched, if you look at it in the cold light of day. But you don't read the ending in the cold light of day, that's the point. You read it as a culmination of all that has gone before, and in that context I found it both moving and hopeful for the future.

Congratulations, then, to these two young authors. They have produced a powerful novel, which is, I suggest, in a wholly different league from Da Vinci. The UK paperback edition is said to have sold 250,000 copies in a few weeks, presumably on the Da Vinci connection, but whether all those hopeful punters will have actually read it all the way through I am inclined to doubt. It is by no means what you would expect from the hype.

Biographical note: Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason are apparently old school friends. Caldwell attended Princeton University, where he studied history; he graduated Phi Beta Kappa in 1998. Dustin Thomason attended Harvard University, where he studied anthropology and medicine. He won the Hoopes Prize for undergraduate writing, and graduated in 1998. Thomason also received his M.D. and MBA from Columbia University in 2003.

Whether two such highly talented young men will ever write any more fiction, either separately or together, remains to be seen.

New thinking by bookseller -- world grinds to halt again

AuthorHouse UK, a self-publishing outfit which is a subsidiary of the AuthorHouse of Bloomington, Indiana, has put out a press release (noted by booktrade.info) which explains a new deal that it has struck with Waterstone's, which is the UK's largest bookseller.

AuthorHouse UK and Waterstone's will combine to offer a Waterstone's self-publishing package. This will include, among other things, guaranteed shelf space for self-published authors in Waterstone's flagship store at 311 Oxford Street in London.

Well, if nothing else, this is interesting. But what is even more interesting is the quote from Scott Pack, the buying manager for Waterstone's. 'Big publishers do not have the monopoly on good books,' he says. 'Some of the most exciting books we see nowadays are from small independent publishers or self-published authors.'

And that, you have to admit, is definitely a bit different from what we have heard before.

The press release also tells us that Waterstone's has hosted a book signing with Luke Rhinehart, author of The Dice Man. Rhinehart was originally published traditionally, but choose to self-publish his latest work through AuthorHouse UK.

'We're starting to see this trend in the United States as well,' says Bryan Smith, President and CEO of AuthorHouse. 'Traditionally published authors are coming to AuthorHouse to regain control over their work. These authors understand the importance of owning their copyrights and maintaining editorial control. Consequently, they also reap the financial benefits of higher royalty payments on books sold.'

Hmm. As I say, interesting. No guarantee, of course, that you will sell any books, but no one can reasonably argue that it's hard to get a book into print any longer.

Other people's efforts

The British constitution (unwritten, by the way) provides for the state to reward those who have contributed to the public good by being awarded honours of one kind or another. Perhaps the most famous of these are the titles awarded to life members of the House of Lords (John Smith becomes Lord Smith) or to those who are knighted (John Smith becomes Sir John Smith).

However, there are lesser honours, which in their abbreviated forms are known as the MBE, the OBE, CBE, and so forth. The OBE, for instance, stands for Order of the British Empire -- a relic of the days when we actually had an empire.

Human nature being what it is, the award of these honours is not always greeted with universal approval. The OBE, for instance, is sometimes said to stand for Other Buggers' Efforts, the criticism being based on the idea that Smith often gets the credit for work which has actually been done by Jones, Brown, and a number of others.

Well, all that is by way of saying that today's post consists entirely of OBEs -- bits and pieces created by others and not by me.

First, Maud Newton leads us to a story by Jill Bauerle, who tells us that, while working as a waitress in a glamorous New York restaurant, she found herself serving her own agent -- or, at any rate, the woman who, four years earlier, had undertaken to sell Jill's novel. A bit depressing really, but all too credible, dear Readers, all too credible. Anyway, the story has a happy ending. Of sorts.

Next, Mad Max on Bookangst 101 gives us (3 May) an account from 'Richard', another of Max's cohort of anonymous, published, yet aggrieved authors. This is yet another tale of woe about the horrors of modern publishing, featuring tales of the disasters which can await you even if, by some extraordinary circumstance, you ever end up in print. See, I am doing my best to teach you to see sense, and if you will persevere in your folly then it ain't my fault.

Finally, 'Archer', who has commented on various posts on this blog, has produced an interesting quote from H.L. Mencken in relation to my post of 2 May about long-term career prospects for writers. Because comments can get overlooked, I have fished this one out and reproduce the Mencken quote here:

Like most other editors, I receive a great many letters from them [young authors], and many of those letters ask for counsel. One question is in nearly all of them: Shall I throw up my job in the rolling mills and devote my whole time to poetry (or to short stories, or to criticism, or to the novel), or shall I hang on to my job and try to write in the scant leisure of my evenings, or on the Sabbath, when I should be engaged in religious exercises?

My answer is always the same: I advise them all to stick to their jobs. And for a plain reason: I do not believe it is possible for a man to write more in a day of 10 hours--that is, more of the best that is in him, more that is genuinely worth writing--than he writes in a day of three hours. The view to the contrary, so common among young authors, is a great delusion. It is grounded upon the error of assuming that creative work is a mere matter of time. It is, in fact, nothing of the sort; it is a matter purely of ideas. The more good ideas, the better the artist. I believe thoroughly that the world has never seen a poet or a novelist who had more good ideas than he could get on paper in three hours' work a day. There have been plenty of men, of course, who write more, but what they wrote after the three hours were up was second-rate stuff--and sometimes third-rate, sixth- and tenth-rate stuff.

The danger that confronts the young author with nothing to do all day but write lies in the temptation to go on after the period of good work is up. The day lies before him. He still has paper on his table and ink in his well. He has notions of industry; it seems shameful to quit so soon; moreover, it is apt to cause talk within his family. So he plugs away gallantly and the result is a great mass of stuff that begins by being good, then proceeds to be indifferent and ends by being dreadful. But it is all precious to him. Contemplating it, he quickly loses his critical sense. In the end he is judged by his average; and his average tends to go lower and lower. I could name names, but refrain in Christian charity. The beaches of beautiful letters are strewn with the corpses of diligent men.

Interesting, no?

Clive Ponting: 1940 -- myth and reality

Anyone who wishes to understand the history of the twentieth century would do well to read Clive Ponting's 1940.

Clive Ponting is a name which will be remembered by some older readers in the UK. In the early 1980s, Ponting was a British civil servant. At a certain point, he decided that the saintly Margaret Thatcher was trying to mislead the House of Commons, and the British people, about the conduct of the Falklands war. He therefore 'leaked' two key documents to a Member of Parliament.

As a result of this act of conscience, Ponting was prosecuted for breach of the Official Secrets Act. Rather to most people's surprise, the jury acquitted him, but Ponting's career as a civil servant was most definitely over at that point, and he subsequently wrote a number of books about government and British history. He is currently a member of staff in the Department of Politics and International Relations at the University of Swansea.

Ponting's 1940 -- Myth and Reality was first published in 1990. I came across it when the widow of an old friend of mine invited me to go through his library and remove any books which appealed, and this was one of the ones that I chose.

As the title suggests, the book deals with the events occurring in the first full year of World War II, though it necessarily refers to developments both before and after.

As it happens, I was under the impression, until I read this book, that I already knew quite a lot about 1940. The reason for that is that, about six or seven years ago, I wrote a thriller set in that year (Beautiful Lady, written under the pen-name Patrick Read). As background research for my novel, I read about twenty books dealing with the politics and personalities of that era, and as a result, as I say, I thought I was pretty well informed. It is a measure of the quality of Ponting's work, however, that I now realise that I had acquired only half the story, if that.

There is no reason why American readers of this blog should know anything much about the early years of WWII, but Brits -- especially Brits of my age -- will usually be familiar with the key events. These include the heroic evacuation of British troops from the beaches of Dunkirk, before they were all captured or killed by the German army; and the Battle of Britain, when a handful of British airmen, flying Spitfires, managed to prevent the German air force from dominating the skies over the UK, and hence prevented a German invasion. The year 1940 is, above all, remembered as the year in which the British people, under the charismatic leadership of Winston Churchill, resolved to stand alone against the German war machine, and were united in their determination never to surrender.

Ponting, however, goes through the history of that vital year, and attempts to show us the truth. And the truth, as is often the case, proves to be not quite as heroic and impressive as the myth which was fostered at the time, and which has become more and more embedded in the public memory as the years have gone by.

There is far too much good stuff in the book for me to summarise it all here. But I do want to place on record the fact that this book has given me a whole new perspective on the history of my country, and of its position in relation to the world as a whole. And that is a substantial achievement on Ponting's part, because I am, after all, a man with a first degree in history, someone who taught history for a while in schools, and someone who (as mentioned above) has read about the year 1940 in some detail.

Ponting's book has led me to the following conclusions.

In the nineteenth century, Great Britain could lay reasonable claim to being the richest and most powerful nation on earth. True, this was a historical accident, and the position was not likely to last, but that is the way it was. In 1880, for example, Britain produced 23% of the entire world's manufacturing output, which was 50% more than the USA and three times the level of Germany's output.

What is more, Europe in the year 1900 could reasonably lay claim to having been the source of almost all significant progress in the world to that date, whether you measure progress in terms of the production of wealth, science, philosophy, political systems, the arts, or any other important factor.

The first world war brought a catastrophic end to the steady development of European civilisation. The impact of the war was shattering. In almost every European country of any consequence, a whole generation of young men -- invariably the brightest and the best -- was wiped out. By the time the war was over, the wealth of nations had drained away: it had all been spent on armaments, which had been used to destroy the seed-corn of the future.

In particular, Britain ceased to be the financial centre of the world, which now shifted to New York. The UK ended up in debt to the USA, owing £1,365 million (at 1918 prices). In short, we were broke, and we had lost perhaps 90% of our most vigorous and active young men.

The effects of this were far-reaching, in every sphere of activity, but were particularly important in terms of our relationship with the US. From now on, Britain was no longer in a position to defend all of it overseas possessions, especially in the Far East. And we were obliged, for all practical purposes, to do what the Americans told us.

Example: Britain had since 1902 had a formal alliance with the Japanese. In fact, in WWI, Japanese ships had helped to clear the Indian Ocean of German ships, and had even patrolled the Mediterranean. Now, however, the Americans insisted that the Anglo-Japanese alliance should not be renewed, and the UK had no choice but to accept that decision.

In the twenty-one years between the end of WWI and the start of WWII, Britain declined still further as a world power. In the 1930s, for example, 80% of British blast furnaces were obsolescent, and the average output per furnace was lower than that which the Americans had achieved in 1910. We still thought of ourselves as one of the world's great powers (and we tend to do so even today!) but we were largely deluding ourselves, even then.

The 1930s also, of course, saw the rise to power of Hitler and his merry men. And it has been fashionable in the past -- still is -- to criticise, usually in bitter terms, the alleged cowardice and lack of wisdom of those who sought to appease Hitler by negotiating with him and giving him at least part of what he wanted. However, when you read Ponting's book, you will realise that the appeasers were nothing like as dumb as they looked. On the contrary, it is certainly possible to argue that they were the wise ones, because they seem to have understood the desperate weakness of the British position. We still had, on paper, a vast empire. But we lacked the resources to defend it. What is more, the appeasers appear to have understood that, if there was a new war, and even if we won it, Britain would emerge weaker than ever.

Once WWII began, Ponting's research shows us that the British cabinet, if not the British people, were left in no doubt about the desperate position in which the nation found itself. Only a week after war was declared, the cabinet was given a paper which showed that Britain's total resources for financing the war were about £700 million, a vastly smaller sum than was available in 1914; and there was no chance of increasing it.

One the war began, the events can only be described as catastrophic. The French collapsed in the face of the German attack, though Ponting shows us that they performed rather better than they are often thought to have done. In the first world war, the French had had 1.5 million men killed. In WWII, before they asked for an armistice, they had 120,000 killed, 250,000 wounded, and 1.5 million taken prisoner.

The British government decided that the best story to tell the people back home was that the French had failed to fight effectively, and to declare that the British Expeditionary Force was undefeated; both statements, says Ponting, were travesties of the truth. But there were no journalists at Dunkirk, and so the government was able to get away with this picture of events, which was certainly better for morale.

Chapter after chapter of Ponting's book reveals that the myths of 1940 are often just that. In the Battle of Britain, for example, there were certainly many brave young Englishmen defending their country, and many of them died. But the most successful squadron was manned by Polish pilots, and the two most successful individual fighter pilots were a Czech and a Pole. Ponting also makes it clear that the nation was not united in its determination to overcome the enemy at whatever cost: many people were either bored, apathetic, or anxious to make peace at almost any price.

Perhaps the most important chapter in Ponting's book is number 10, 'The End of Independence'. In it, Ponting relates how the UK came to be largely dependent on American goodwill -- or, to be more precise, dependent on America's sense of self-interest.

It was abundantly obvious to the British government of 1940 that the UK could not survive without American assistance in various forms. And when, at the end of that year, the US government decided to save the UK, it did so on the basis of self-interest rather than anything else. At that time, 80% of the US population was against their nation voluntarily getting involved in the war.

The Americans, oddly enough, seem to to have believed that the UK was rich; this was an illusion not shared by the British. In any event, the UK was allowed to place orders in the United States worth $10 billion -- far beyond the debts incurred in the whole of WWI. Thus the UK sold itself, if not into slavery, at least into a position in which it would be more or less for ever indebted to the US.

Britain was effectively a bankrupt nation, though the fact was seldom understood. And the financial crisis at the end of 1940 marked the end of Britain as an independent power. Ponting's title for chapter 11 is 'The Client State', which tells its own story.

There is much else that is fascinating in Ponting's book. There is, for instance, the fact that the British government consciously and deliberately set out to organise what it openly acknowledged as 'terrorist acts' in German-occupied territory. This is rather different, I think you will agree, from the attitude which the government now takes to terrorist acts carried out in the UK.

After the war was over, there were many in Britain, some of them in high places, who were foolish enough to believe that the nation still had its former standing in international affairs. There were those who believed that, because Britain had somehow emerged on the victorious side, it was possible to pretend that the recent nastiness had never happened. I have argued elsewhere that the two world wars had driven many Englishmen into a state which was, in some ways, indistinguishable from insanity, and this attitude is proof of that contention.

'Much of Britain's post-war economic, defence and foreign policy,' says Ponting, 'is based on an illusion.' It still is. 'The myth of the "special relationship" with the United States was sedulously cultivated... to disguise Britain's real role as a client state of the Americans.'

Those who criticise Mr Blair for behaving like George Bush's poodle should bear this in mind. For all his many shortcomings, Blair is at least a political realist. And he appears to understand full well that, when George whistles, he has little option but to come bounding up and wait for the stick to be thrown.

The two world wars of the twentieth century set back European civilisation by a hundred years. They left the way open for the Americans to emerge as the dominant world power. And soon it may be the Chinese. Unless, of course, the new Europe can somehow get its act back together and organise a new age of enlightenment.

New thinking by publisher -- world grinds to halt

Now here's an interesting thing. As a matter of fact it's the most interesting thing that I've come across -- at least in the book world -- for a very long time. What has happened is that a publisher has begun to do some fresh and original thinking; and if that doesn't stop you dead in your tracks then it jolly well ought to.

I have often wondered, as I sit here pondering upon the follies of mankind in general, and of publishers in particular, what the bloody hell publishers think they are playing at. To be precise, where do they think the big-selling authors of the future are going to come from?

After all, the established practice seems more or less lunatic. What happens in today's world, typically, is something like this. First, an agent finds a halfway competent book. Now the agent, of course, lives on her commission, so it is very much in her interest to get as big an advance for the writer as possible. Particularly as the agent knows full well that this book may be the only one the writer ever gets to publish, and it probably won't earn out its advance anyway.

So, having found something not too clueless, the agent then begins to tell every publisher in town what an amazing, astonishing, clock-stopping book she has in her possession. And, since every editor in town is desperate to find another big seller, otherwise she will be out of a job, there is a tendency to let hope triumph over experience, yet again, and to believe what the agent says. After all, she may actually be right this time.

There follows a bidding war, in which five or six firms compete for the right to publish this totally untried and untested book which everyone hopes will be a big seller. And since no one has a clue how real sellers are manufactured, other than through the grace of God, the bidding can go quite high, sustained only by the spirit of competition and several stiff drinks to strengthen the nerve.

And then what? Book is published, doesn't do very well, editors all change the firms they work for, and the farce starts all over again.

As I say, I have often wondered, as I survey this display of incompetent, crass, and hopelessly ill-informed activity, how it is that publishers imagine that they are going to find the writers of the future who will turn out steady sellers year after year, as the survival of the publishing industry requires. Are they going to depend upon the forces of randomness alone? In which case editors are not needed. You might just as well depend upon the judgement of agents, or pick manuscripts with a pin.

But now, it seems, one publisher, at least, has begun to address the problem. Dear God, will my heart withstand the shock? Pause to recover.

Take a look at this page on the Pan Macmillan (UK) web site and you will see what I mean. Macmillan have set up an imprint called Macmillan New Writing, and are actually encouraging new authors to send in their mss -- without benefit of agent.

This is akin, roughly speaking, to opening the gates of the city and inviting the barbarian hordes to come in and have a cup of tea. It constitutes a wholly new approach by a big-time publisher.

If you look at the invitation page, you will also note that Macmillan are doing some other sensible things. They are taking submissions in the form of digital files, for a start. No more bloody great piles of paper everywhere. And they are discouraging you from telling them your life story in the covering letter. And they say that there will 'a minimum of communication between publisher and author'. Which would suit me just fine. I don't want to be close personal buddies with my publisher; I just want him to do a decent professional job.

Macmillan seem to have all sorts of reasonable ideas like that. Life gets weirder by the minute, doesn't it? Who is running this operation? What medication is she on? Is it available on the NHS?

And how did I come to hear about all this? Well, there is an article in the Guardian, which I found courtesy of booktrade.info. That's how. And guess what -- it seems that the Macmillan initiative is not universally welcomed. In fact it is regarded with deep suspicion. Some writing professionals have referred to the scheme as 'a scam', or 'an exercise in futility'. There's just no pleasing some people.

The objections, apparently, are to the nature of the contract, which is absolutely standard and not negotiable. We aren't given a copy of the full contract, of course, so judgement would have to be reserved. But if someone with the clout of Macmillan offered to take world rights in one of my books, without an advance, but with a royalty of 20%, I reckon I would be pretty damn pleased.

Objection is also made to Macmillan's statement that they will copy edit a book, but not provide any more detailed, hands-on editing of the kind which used to be, once upon a time, provided by certain big-time publishers, usually of the literary variety (Max Perkins and all that).

Well, hellfire, I have always taken the view that a writer ought to write her own damn book anyway, and take responsibility for it. And if the thing isn't highly polished and ready to go by the time you send it in, then it ought to be. It shouldn't need any hand-holding by some so-called expert. So Macmillan's editing proviso doesn't bother me in the slightest.

There are other grumblings quoted by the Guardian, most of which seem to me to be wholly unrealistic. We are told, for instance, that it is wrong to sign a world-rights contract: writers ought to retain their rights. To do what, precisely? Do you think that you, the unknown and unconnected writer, are going to be able to sell the Peruvian rights, or interest a Hollywood film producer? Good luck if you do. The fact is that rights of that kind, in the majority of cases, are of zero commercial value because no one will want them. But if, by some rare chance, your book starts to take off by word of mouth, then Macmillan will have a strong incentive to sell these rights on your behalf; and, what is more, they will know the best people to do it.

If you have a ms in your bottom drawer, you really ought to take a long hard look at the Macmillan offer, and at the Guardian article. But my personal view is that the Macmillan deal sounds like bloody good offer, and it is the most attractive piece of new thinking that I've come across in a long time. Subject to sight of the small print, I congratulate Macmillan on doing something eminently sensible and worthwhile.

What has brought about this initiative, I wonder? Is it possible that someone's been reading my essay On the Survival of Rats in the Slush Pile, and has decided that it is time to start thinking clearly for a change?

No, no. Couldn't possibly be.