Emily Rhodes used to work for a major publishing house and now manages an independent bookshop in London. She is currently writing a novel. She blogs at EmilyBooks, and has just started tweeting @EmilyBooksBlog. This is the first column in her ‘Inside Books’ series, which will endeavour to shed light on the inner murk of the book world.
Last week there were a few bookish grunts of dissatisfaction when Terry Pratchett beat Martina Cole to the Number One slot.
Pratchett’s Snuff sold 31,904 copies and Cole’s The Faithless only 31,136, yet there were cries of foul play. This was because some bookshops had broken the embargo on Cole’s book and sold it the week before publication. The feeling was that if only those bookshops had played by the rules and held off, then the previous week’s sales of 1,473 would have been added to the 31,000 and Cole would have beaten Pratchett to the top. (The fact that this was, in any case, the second week for Snuff – with staggering first week sales of 54,687 – is apparently beside the point.)
At first glance, one can see why Cole and her publisher Headline were miffed. Publishing a major title, with huge marketing and advance investment, only to be pipped to the post by Pratchett must be irksome to say the least. And knowing that they could have won, if only a few naughty booksellers hadn’t sold copies ahead of publication date, must make it all the more galling.
But, on closer inspection, what is there really to be so sniffy about? It’s not as though those 1,473 copies don’t count. Headline and Martina Cole still get their respective shares of sales revenue. Moreover, as those copies were sold in bricks-and-mortar bookshops, rather than on Amazon, the share for the publishers would have been rather a lot bigger. Thanks very much for the extra cash, I’d say, who cares about Number One?
As a bookseller, I have never, ever, been asked which book is Number One. Some customers, of course, ask for the bestsellers, or for one particular book I’d recommend, but never for the national Number One. It’s not like music’s singles chart – after all, no one tunes in to the radio on Sunday night to listen to the countdown for books. They can read it in The Sunday Times but that’s more-or-less it. (Incidentally, chart positions inside bookshops tend to reflect nothing more than publishers’ marketing budgets.)
Really, the only people who care about whether or not a book is officially Number One are the publishers. When I worked for a big publishing house, if a book from our division reached the top, an excited email was sent around announcing champagne in the breakout area at 5pm. For the abysmally-poorly-paid underlings such as myself, this was one of the most glamorous moments of the job. Champagne! And some – invariably beige – snacks. (Sadly, as the recession hit, the champagne changed to wine and beer, and the snacks to crisps. Eventually the drinks disappeared altogether, and we were left with nothing more than a celebratory email.)
In the battle of Pratchett vs. Cole, the publishers are none other than Doubleday and Headline, divisions of Random House and Hachette respectively. These are the biggest fishes in the publishing pond. One can imagine Doubleday must have been a river of champagne, and Headline … perhaps a sea of tears.
I suppose these little indulgences of the publishers should be understood and accepted. It is a tough industry, which is going through a particularly tricky time. How nice to have something to celebrate, especially when one’s being paid none too much. Poor old Headline for missing out, although, funnily enough, they are still using the term ‘Number One’ to market The Faithless, even though it hasn’t hit the top spot. ‘The powerfully addictive new novel from the No. 1 bestseller’ is the product description on Amazon. Terry P, touché.
But missed champagne and wounded pride must be the only laments. One can’t help but wonder why on earth the Booksellers’ Association was so keen to rap knuckles. Thou shalt not break the embargo or else it’s not fair, was the gist of their comment, followed by the get-out-clause: but it’s up to the publishers to enforce it, not us.
The thing about embargoes is that everyone – except for, evidently, the Booksellers’ Association – hates them. Publishers foist them upon booksellers, creating extra paperwork and extra hassle for all involved.
Occasionally – and I agree that they should be respected in these instances – the publishers have secured a serial deal with a magazine or newspaper, which is dependent on exclusivity. For instance, the thrill of reading extracts from Andrew Rawnsley’s The End of the Party in the Observer was thanks to that being the only place to read them. And many who read these tempting samples flocked to buy the book when it was released.
Fair enough. But really, as a bookseller, one feels that one’s job is to sell a customer the book that he or she wants. If that book is there, sitting pretty in the shop, then it seems mean as well as churlish to say, sorry, no you can’t buy that one, it’s embargoed until Thursday. Especially when the chances are it’s already been reviewed in the newspapers.
It is all very well to demand that those embargoed books must wait in the stockroom until publication date, but if anyone were to see the piddly size of our stock-cupboard, they’d see how impossible that is. Yes, we could keep the books boxed up in the shop, but a children’s section full of cardboard boxes is far from ideal.
Perhaps it is in part because Amazon is essentially an enormous stockroom that it never – to my knowledge – breaks embargoes. That and the fact that, as a website, it can’t sneak anything past the publishers’ beady eyes.
And here’s the thing. If Amazon can’t sell a book before publication – at whatever knock-down price it chooses to cripple the bricks-and-mortar competition – then if those bricks-and-mortar bookshops break the embargo, it momentarily gives them an edge on the internet. Amazon is selling The Faithless for £7.00, as opposed to the RRP of £19.99. I know the chances of someone buying it from my bookshop are pretty slim, given that they can buy it from Amazon for a third of the price. And, before you ask, no, sorry, independent bookshops simply can’t afford to discount like that – they’re not powerful enough to demand low enough prices from the publishers.
But what if we were able to sell The Faithless at its full retail price for a week or so before publication, when it’s impossible to buy it quite yet on Amazon? What if the publishers and the Booksellers’ Association were to be so kind as to look the other way? Then the ever-so-hilly playing field of bookselling would be levelled, at least for a short while.
I know that, strictly speaking, breaking an embargo is a bit naughty. And, yes, if it is a highly controversial political book, which has got a serial deal in a national newspaper, then one really shouldn’t do it. But surely publishers and the Booksellers’ Association should give bookshops a break over it. Go off and worry about finding the next J.K. Rowling or what to do about e-books and don’t worry about some of us getting in a few extra sales the week before the book is available on the internet. Don’t worry about scattering a few crumbs. Amazon will still get the big slice of cake, and bookshops will scrounge enough to struggle onwards.
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