Does the publishing industry do a good job of selecting fiction?

Isn't this an intrinsically impossible question to answer unless one has read numerous unpublished manuscripts? Oh shit, the internet.

I trust the industry to publish things people will read (or buy and let sit on their shelves). I mean, if they didn't do that, they wouldn't be around anymore.

I trust them to recognize marketable material and whenever possible not to think in terms of whether or not said material is worthwhile, because fiction editors are involved with story at an intimate and structural level which does not necessarily qualify them to tell if it's "good" or not -- only if people want to read it (assuming you care about any definition of good beyond that; which, actually, I don't).

Beyond that, since I can't see the slush pile, I can't gauge what they're leaving out. There's a wide variety in what's published -- people often complain otherwise, but I think the complaints better reflect what's easily found than what's actually out there.

I'm not crazy about the phrase "publishers as gatekeepers." It seems to imply publishers have some duty -- or could be accused of having some duty -- of giving the public "what they should have," or "what they deserve," instead of what they're willing to pay for. I'm not sure if that's what you mean, though, or if there are specific things you're fishing for.

Or, put much more briefly: if they were in construction, I'd trust them to build houses people want to live in, and since they're not in construction, unpack the metaphor to say everything I just did.

Is it possible to talk about the "publishing industry"? I'll confess to ignorance as to the full range of contemporary fiction publishing. As for the (nonprofit) press I work for, we have very specific and narrow priorities and it often seems as though no one working here is interested in the quality of the books being published, just (a) how many of them there are per season and (b) whether they'll fit into an easily-grasped niche of some kind. But like I said I don't know if this is at all reflective of problems in the industry writ large.

As for Tep's first sentence, isn't the industry undergoing a protracted crisis, and indeed many houses are going out of business/being absorbed by larger houses? I hear competing analyses--some are doomsaying and others suggest there is something of a "return to the book." But I'm not sure which analysis is better supported by the figures. Certainly nobody seems to be reading *our* books.

I guess there are two related sets of questions here (perhaps--Nabisco tell me if I'm sidetracking the discussion).

One: is there a body of tragically unpublished literature out there? and does this body (real or imagined) share some common characteristics? is it fundmentally different in form/content from the body of literature that is published or is it simply in the same vein but overlooked?

Two: this tragically overlooked literature *is* published, by and large, except on smaller presses that don't have the budgets and wherewithal to promote them? and if they are not promoted, few will have read them and the sort of large-scale discussion I believe Nabisco prizes is not likely to get underway?

Those last two were tragically not actually phrased as questions but I still hope you get my gist.

I'll answer the question when my manuscript is selected. ;-)

The definition of "publishing industry" I have in mind: major publishers and those small presses that are seen to fall inside what we might term a certain literary "establishment." The definition of not-publishing-industry I have in mind, apart from the slush pile: self-publishing programs, DIY magazines, etc. I think I'm just asking for your gut reaction -- do you think "good" fiction, by your own standard, tends to be made available through the established and accessible channels? Or do you suspect or believe there are great writers out there denied access to those established channels?

I suspect that most of the entertaining stuff (the 'good reads') are published and that the worth of difficult stuff, published and unpublished, is largely in the eye of the beholder.

Given that I occasionally see the sort of MSS that the larger houses pass on, my gut reaction would be "yes."

Sorry for derailingn the thread, but a quick question: is it bad form to hand-write my contact info on an otherwise typewritten piece when submitting it? In this case it's a pome I'm going to send to a quarterly.

My gut reaction is that the majority of potentially-great fiction which goes unpublished does so because of the writer (an unwillingness to publish, lack of desire to do so, lack of initiative, etc.), but that the publishing industry often fails to market and otherwise effectively sell some of the good stuff -- which affects what people are accustomed to reading, and hence what they're likely to seek out next time, and so it goes in a little cycle type thing.

Mind you, I also think the best reasons to write are money, chicks, and ego, so take everything I say with a grain of salt.

Leee don't hand write it. It might become the butt of jokes amongst the too-jaded-for-comfort acquisitions staff. Best not to have your submission stand out in any way except for it being a good piece of writing.

I'll answer this question more fully tomorrow. I'm a literary editor for what publishers see as a younger, trendy placement when it comes to profiling or review coverage for their authors. I have also been a first-time author with tons of amazing contacts - what they always say they'd like to attract - and been completely flummoxed by slapdash PRs in a way that directly related to the size of my advance.

I think Tep probably has it on the money. I think if you have something interesting (difficult or not) you can get it published as long as you are willing to constantly batter down those doors until one of them publishes it. Whether this kind of aggressive self promotion fits in the general character of a lot of people doing the writing I'm not so sure. (You also have to be pretty aggressive with yourself at the same time, rewriting stuff within an inch of its life until you KNOW that it is good).

Some people have it lucky, that's very few people and not worth bitching about.

I am certain there are however some fantastic books out there that haven't been published, some of which the authros haven't even tried to get published. I wouldn't put all the blame on the industry (and as it is an industry, I don't blame them for following their bottom line).

Q&A with Deborah Treisman, fiction editor for The New Yorker:

Q: So, do you feel the power coursing through your veins yet?
A: Not yet. It feels very much like life as usual. Nothing all that much has changed yet except that everyone outside this office thinks it has.

Q: Have people suddenly become much friendlier?
A: Um, I've had a lot of response.

Q: That's diplomatic.
A: Well, there's nothing like being featured in the Times to make people notice.

Q: What was your first publishing job?
A: After my first year of college I worked at a book publishing company in Vancouver, Canada. I was seventeen, and was typing correspondence mostly, and doing some copyediting, which was fun. My most dramatic memory is when the head of the company asked me to type up a fax. I had never heard that word before, so I typed it up as a letter, and I brought it to him with an envelope. That was 1987. And he said, "Uh, Deborah, you know you don't need an envelope with a fax, right?" And I was like, "Oh no, of course not, I just, um, forgot that that's what it was." I thought maybe he'd said Fedex. I suppose I've learned a few things since then. I hope I have.

Q: You were the managing editor at Grand Street immediately before you came to The New Yorker, right? How big is the staff of Grand Street?
A: It's very small—it was four or five people. So it was a lot of work. On the other hand, it was only coming out every three months. I was running everything, so that in addition to doing all the reading and editing I was also dealing with the business side and getting it printed. Then I moved over here and sat at my desk and said, "So, wait, I, I ... I just edit?" It took a little while to get used to.

Q: Have you ever rescued anything notable from the slush pile?
A: Someone who's submitting themselves directly to the fiction editor probably isn't all that savvy about publishing and probably not about writing either. Though I'm sure there are exceptions to that. Particularly in poetry. A lot of poetry comes from the slush pile, because poets don't have agents.

Q: A big fuss has been made of the differences between you and Bill Buford—in age, in temperament, in gender. What do you think is the main difference between your tastes and Buford's tastes?
A: I'm sure that things will gradually feel a little different. But I've never been able to put a finger on what it is that Bill likes in a story that I don't, or what I like in a story that he doesn't. We—probably 80 percent of the time— agree. And so in those 20 percent of stories it feels as though there's a different reason for each one. But it's never that he likes men writers and I like women writers. We both are drawn to different things in different stories. So I'm sure that things will start to feel a little different. But I'm actually looking forward to finding out how. And also, you know, neither of us works alone. There's a whole department and we do sit around and discuss things endlessly and argue about them.

Q: Well, what's the main difference between your office and Buford's office?
A: His is bigger. It's very uniform in here—we all have the same furniture. But he has a nicer lamp and I have a nicer rug. He has two walls of windows, I have one wall of windows. I think he has some boxing gloves in his office. I don't have those. His is also full of National Magazine Award statues.

Q: Where do you look for new writers? You must spend a lot of time looking through smaller literary journals.
A: Most often if it's not from an agent, then it's coming from someone in the writing world who happens to have stumbled across a person of talent. I've tried going down to the sidewalk and just yelling for writers, but ....

Q: Well, I can't believe people don't come running. Maybe if you wore your New Yorker T-shirt and baseball hat?
A: Maybe! And then it's kind of an international thing. You get people all over the country and all over the world whom you know somehow and who refer talented people to you.

Q: Is there a literary movement in another country that you're particularly excited about right now?
A: There were a lot of really interesting writers coming out of Eastern Europe in the '90s. You know, just a sudden release of them, particularly in the second half of the '90s. At the moment I'm not sure. There seems to be some interesting writing in China which is trickling out.

Q: Do you see that as the result of a particular movement?
A: I'm not sure I really believe so much in movements. I think sometimes there are just coincidences brought about by cultural change. And suddenly a certain number of people of talent appear. But they all seem to spring up individually, and then we lump them together because it's easier to talk about them that way. I mean, it always seems to go in waves. You know, you look at America and you once had a certain wave of new voices with Foster Wallace and Franzen and Antrim and Eugenides—people that we now think of as the sage, established set, though they're all still under fifty. I think you go through lulls, and then suddenly a bunch of people crop up and they may not have anything to do with each other except that they somehow feel empowered to start writing at the same time.

Q: When was the last time you were really blown away by something that landed on your desk?
A: Well it happens fairly frequently, which is lucky. What have I loved? Obviously we published Jonathan Safran Foer, a bit of his novel, which was a surprising find both because it was excellent and because it was written by someone so young.

Q: Now what's this I hear about you being married to a rock musician?
A: Well, I was trying to keep up the illusion that it was Bono, but I suppose now I'll have to confess. His name is Kenny Cummings and he has a band called Shelby, which is a New York-based band. They play out a lot, and they're recording their second CD.

Q: What kind of music is it?
A: Kind of moody alternative rock.

Q: Do you play music at all?
A: No! No. We're very different. It's nice that we each have our own world. I can't carry a tune.

(since when did "i can't carry a tune" bar you from working in "moody alternative rock"?)

Neal Pollack to thread?

Treisman's bold comments might be true for the biggest mainstream markets -- I mean, I'm gonna assume they're true for the New Yorker and Grand Street, of course -- but not for the genre markets, big or small (or the small mainstream markets that I've dealt with, but I've got a much smaller experience pool there). I'm not sure I'd even get an agent to consider me just to shuffle around some science fiction stories, and I've always dealt directly with fiction editors.

(Not that this really bears directly on the thread, but just as an FYI for any fellow starving writers out there.)

Pete made a comment I'm gonna be thinking about for awhile:

Whether this kind of aggressive self promotion fits in the general character of a lot of people doing the writing I'm not so sure.

I have to wonder if the difference between a published writer and an unpublished one isn't often personality, now that you mention it. (... "isn't often"? If my words are fudgy, it's cause I haven't slept yet.) At least once you assume a certain level of competence. Most of the published writers and writers-cum-editors I know are pretty pushy about their stuff. Frankly -- hopefully this doesn't come across on ILE too often -- I can be a real bastard and a bit of a dick, because I'm so focused on what I do, and whenever I lose that focus, my work suffers and I become unhappy Tep, who is a different kind of bastard. I figure, better to be the bastard who has the money for dinner than the bastard who's gotta go Dutch.

I don't agree that "someone who goes directly to the fiction editor ... doesn't know much about writing," but I think she means more "the writing industry." Cause knowing how to write a good story and knowing how to get a story published, those are two totally different skill-sets.

Like what she says about movements.

(That last bit is meant to be "I like what she says," not "For example, what she says," which would make no sense.)

(Incidentally, I really hate sounding all "Well, I'm a writer, and in my experience la la la...", especially since it's not like I've got my Waldenbooks cardboard shelf yet, but with this stuff I can't not talk from personal experience. If it's irritating I'll just stay mum on the relevant threads, though.)

I guess what annoys me about Treisman's comments is that she completely avoids answering the question about looking through literary journals. She makes it sound like she waits for her friends to bring up a writer they like rather than delving through the slushpile and discovering someone brilliant. I guess it just disappoints me because it only further proves the stereotype that getting published is not about talent, but rather, who you know.

I thought networking was always the basic operating principle for most everything, though.

Well, it's the New Yorker she's talking about, too. You don't break in with the New Yorker -- you don't even break into the upper brackets with the New Yorker. You break down -- you get famous elsewhere and then they publish you. They're a special case, cause that's their whole niche. It isn't her job to discover writers, cause that's not a function of editing that particular mag.

Not necessarily--I think there are plenty of writers "broken" by the New Yorker. The great Matthew Klam comes to mind; four or five of the stories in his book _Sam the Cat_ appeared in the NYer and I'm pretty sure he wasn't published elsewhere beforehand.

As for the general question; I think the big houses aren't so interested in anything they can't potentially sell tens of thousands of copies of. But the small presses _are_ interested in books like that, and sell them, and get them reasonably widely distributed, reviewed, and read. That's their role in the publishing industry.

There are bound to be a couple of exceptions, just like Hitchcock's will publish a horror or science fiction story from time to time, but unless the NY has drastically changed in the last couple years, I'm gonna stand by my generalization.

"Not necessarily--I think there are plenty of writers "broken" by the New Yorker. "

That's true. David Leavitt, for one, springs immediately to mind.

"I think the big houses aren't so interested in anything they can't potentially sell tens of thousands of copies of. "

This, on the other hand, is not quite true. While any house would be thrilled to sell tens of thousands of copies -- and certainly they would sign any book they thought could do so -- facts is very, very few books sell that many; especially novels. Many first novels, for instance, only get a printing of five thousand, and everyone goes home happy if it sells out and they have to print more.

My very limited experience in the pub world (I have one novel) tells me that on a personal level, most editors indeed are interested in "quality." Not all, of course. But most. (Know this knowing that I'm also someone who thinks most people are goos people.)

But it has also been my personal and observed experience that the opinions of editors doesn't always count for much; i.e., very few editors are at a level where they can sign a book on their own say-so.

Before my book sold to S&S, my agent got more than a few rejection letters that said "Great writer, but no way will this book sell...or no way can I convince anyone here that this book will sell."

-cb

Um, "good" people, not "goos" people.
Goos people live in Norway and eat a lot of pate, I think.

-cb