Manuscript selection and purchasing methodologies: a case study
Like a trip to the bookstore.
I don’t read enough. Neither do 99% of the people in the world. Unfortunately, most of that other 1% are the writers I know/hang out with/hear about/admire. Which means that I may be in the 98th percentile, but among writers I’m lagging pretty well back. At least once a week I’ll get into a conversation with someone who writes/reads a lot, and they’ll mention an author or title and I’ll sort of nod like I know what they’re talking about, because who wants to be humble enough to admit when he doesn’t know something? Mostly this leads to trouble, because either the person will tell me about something he/she learned or loved or hated about that book or author, and I’ll feel bad for letting them think they’re engaging in an intelligent conversation rather than talking to a hewn stump. Or they will ask me what I thought of the subject, and I’ll make things worse in one of two ways: I’ll either mumble some of the words they’d already used (usually I agree profusely with their standpoint), or I’ll suddenly be late for my bus. Sometimes, if I’m at a party or with any kind of group, I’ll try to bring someone else in with a lame, “I haven’t established concrete feelings on the issue, let’s ask _____.” I’m good at digging deep holes deeper.
Here is a list of books I have not read: Ulysses, Dubliners, Lolita, Sound and the Fury, Grapes of Wrath, Slaughterhouse-Five, Native Son, Atlas Shrugged, Dune, Catcher in the Rye, Sun also Rises, anything by Dante or Homer, Tropic of Cancer, Pale Fire, A Clockwork Orange, Fahrenheit 451, The Prince, Brothers Karamazov, Brave New World, Walden, Leaves of Grass, and about 78 trillion others. In fact, I looked up that controversial Random House Modern Library 100 Best Novels list and found that I’d only read eight of them. Yikes. (I decided against counting the ones from the readers’ version of the list because three of the top ten voted were by L. Ron Hubbard. Some of his pre-WWII books actually aren’t bad for pulp, but three of the ten best novels? How does that happen?)
So despite how much I hate the whole new year resolution gimmick, I decided to buy more books, thinking easy availability would be the first step toward reading them. This makes no sense, because the very first thing I’ve done each time I’ve moved is to get a library card so that I’d have all those books available to me. One of the many reasons I miss Portland is the library I volunteered at.
It’s been a month, and I’ve only bought two books that weren’t obligatory purchases for a class. And one of those was to give as a gift to a friend. The one book I bought for me, to read, is Aimee Bender’s Girl in the Flammable Skirt. I read it in a few hours and wondered why I didn’t buy more books and immediately read them. Three weeks later I am still wondering this.
The point of all this is that maybe I don’t know how to buy books. I know how to walk to Auntie’s and where Powell’s and Better World Books keep their web servers. I know I have about $50 in disposable income every month. My problem is the process of selection.
This might be the most foolproof way to pick out a book.
There’s nothing Darwinian about it. Reviews on major retailers’ sites are uselessly clogged with people who wouldn’t know a gerund if it kicked them in the groin. Most bookstores smack you in the face with vampire books and self-help volumes at the entrance while hiding anything of literary value behind the espresso stand. (True story: the other day I was at the mall and took six steps into B&N, but when I saw a book shelf with a big sign on top that said “Vampire Books” blocking my path, I turned around and left. At least they’ve acknowledged that sales have nothing to do with the actual writing.) The Library of Congress has cataloged over 21 million titles. At last count, my someday list (the list I keep on my computer, comprised of every book I’ve heard referenced in a class or discussion since 2003) has 563 books on it. Even that feels overwhelming. And there are hundreds more books released every week (cut out a lot of reprints and crap and you’ve still got dozens). So does one simply play Russian roulette with this? Do I just go into a store and start flipping coins or rolling dice or pick a title out of a hat one letter-written-on-scrap-paper at a time?
A few months ago I started noticing that the best-read people I know often referred to buying a publisher’s new book, rather than an author’s new book. And this got me wondering why I didn’t think of that. After all, I judge most products based on brand first. I know that I prefer the look of Volkswagens to Volvos. I know that I prefer Apple’s consumer products to Dell’s, and pretty much anyone’s professional-grade products to Apple’s. I know that I’d rather eat at Tomato Street over Luigi’s. So why not judge books by the brand, at least as a first step? Why not just nab the latest from Small Beer Press or Melville House or whoever? Or at least as a way of limiting the possibilities. One could further sort by genre, then by type (short stories vs. novel), etc. and be left with just a dozen titles to choose from pretty easily. This would make the weekly book-buying effort that much easier. So what’s to lose?
The problem is this feeds into one of the most irritating things about writers and artists in general. Namely, it relies (implicitly) on the supposition that books produced by small presses are inherently better than ones put out by big houses, for one of two reasons: either the author hasn’t sold out by going big-house, or just the general indie idea that the corporate world is inherently evil and must be destroyed at the hands of a million small uprisings. I hate everything about this way of thinking. (Okay, not everything.) It’s so elitist that it makes me want to barf. You know all those kids in high school who wore what the cool/smoker/outsider/jock/whatever kids wore because only the cool/smoker/outsider/jock/whatever kids wore it and it was unique? And then there were a hundred of them all wearing the same “unique” thing? That’s how it makes me feel. Like people are so desperate to be different that they overlook the logic behind it, the why. It’s fine to rebel against something you don’t like, just don’t do it because you think you’re different. Because you’re not.
Now, I agree that a lot of what the big houses put out nowadays (at least in fiction) is pretty crappy. But so is a lot of the small/indie house stuff. That’s one of the reasons (many of) these places are small/indie–they don’t have the taste/talent/skill/savvy/desire to get big. (Well, and the big six would just crush them like so many potato chips.) I would like to buy from a small house that is small because it knows there’s only so much good stuff out there and they won’t stoop to publishing something just because they have quotas to meet. Of course, judging a publisher’s sincerity is next to impossible unless you know someone who’s worked with them. Everybody claims to be especially discerning in their selection of books, so you can pretty well throw out mission statements and the like as a bit of fluff. So even though I have little faith in the big publishers to be discriminating in their selections, I have just as little faith in myself to wade through the hundreds of independent publishers in the USA (don’t even worry me with the international stuff yet, though I have a real soft spot for eastern European literature; thanks, Vic Bobb) to find the ones that actually care about what they published. And then wade through those to find the ones who have tastes I respect and would follow.
And so now I’m back where I started. Do I buy a book from every publisher I can think of, then rate the publishers by which book I like best? That feels skewed, like rating a dentist chair based on the dentist. Important, absolutely, but just not right. Shouldn’t I be worried about the stuff I’m reading (dentist), and not what mechanism put me in position to read it (chair)? Help me out here, people. What’s the popular strategy? And is it time for that strategy to change? Are we moving in a different direction with the proliferation of tiny presses made possible by cheap, readily-available on-demand printing, or does it just create confusion? (Also, who the heck designed the AAP’s website?) Should I just buy 10-cent paperbacks at garage sales and pretend all is well with the world? Because it ain’t.
Four of the top ten on ML’s reader-compiled list—and two of the top two—are by Ayn Rand. This, together with the Hubbard, proves what we’ve always secretly known: that most readers are selfish fascists who believe in Xenu, tyrant ruler of the Galactic Confederacy.
ALL HAIL XENU!
(I still get a kick out of the fact that the DC-8 figures prominently into Hubbard’s mythology. Talk about an old school plane.)
I just heard that he supposedly asked for psychiatric help after the war and was refused. Does this mean we should blame the VA for the whole deal?
15% of DC-8s manufactured are still in use, which for a design that went public more than fifty years ago is impressive and also a little worrisome. Good thing they’re just hauling cargo and not passengers.
Yeah, I know they’re still kicking. Same goes for the B-52–Dr. Strangelove, anyone?
Still, that’s pretty old school. You’d think domineering galactic dictators would be flying the stealth bomber or something.
Ooh, I’m going to daydream about the points you bring up while I go sit in a circle with engineers and urge them to talk about biodiversity.
About Aimee Bender, I started one of her books–something with the word invisible in the title–and I don’t like it. It feels too self-conscious and self-pleased so far (I’ve read two chapters). What do you all have to say about her?
And I think this venue (Bark!) is a great place to get book recs. At least I’m hoping it serves me that way.
“Ooh, I’m going to daydream about the points you bring up while I go sit in a circle with engineers and urge them to talk about biodiversity.”
I can’t tell if I’m being made fun of or if you’re serious. I’m going to choose to believe the latter, partly to prove that I’m not that self-conscious and partly because I suspect something good may come out of it.
As for Bender, I haven’t tried my hand at her novel, and I’m a little worried about doing that. Can definitely see how her work could seem self-conscious, because it is. That’s one of the things I like about her short stories, is the way there’s a deconstruction of the anticipated/expected form and style. It’s sort of root-digging, more interested in the words and their juxtapositions than the overlying surface elements or plot. Which is not to say it’s fluff; there’s an intelligence behind the interactions and observations and perspectives that blows most contemporary writers out of the water. Stuart Dybek’s the only other writer I’ve read in the last year who can get that involved and do it well. But mostly I read Bender because I think it’s good to read a wide variety of styles, and she’s a far cry from Chekhov. Unfortunately, as my post indicates, I’m not very good at reading in general. Still, it feels like a solid first step.
I, too, suspect that this site will be a good source for titles. The problem is I already have a huge list of titles that have been recommended. So what do I do? Buy the first book that’s mentioned in a given week? Compile a weekly list and start flipping a coin? How do/would you handle this?
Marcus, I was totally sincere about daydreaming about the points you brought up. Though the engineers ended up dominating all my thoughts for the past three hours, I am back to daydreaming now.
I am reading Amy Hempel’s short stories now. I chose them because I read something about her recently and I know she is someone I should have read long ago. Why Hempel instead of The Brothers Karamozov, (the never-read-book-that-gives-me-most-guilt)? Because I’m not ready for a big commitment (read Dr. Zhivago recently) and, more importantly, I think Hempel will give me ideas for writing. I am trying to figure out how to address point-of-view and psychic distance in a story I’m working on and want to see how she handles these things.
What are you reading right now?
Actually I was thinking this morning that I should re-read Hempel. Because Aimee–>Amy and all that. Which of her work are you reading? Not that any of it isn’t stupendous, a word I haven’t seen used since I last read Calvin & Hobbes.
I just started two of Kelly Link’s books and am trying to figure out which one to commit to. Also Victor Pelevin’s Homo Zapiens is on my to-do list.
i’m a big fan of link’s — i liked Magic for Beginners best. and shira, i think hempel will be rich material for considering detachment and POV…add in aimee bender, and you two are talking about half my short-story all-star team here.
Who fills out the roster?
Marcus, Shawn used the word “stupendous” in a comment recently, I think. Okay, I’ll look at Bender’s short stories. I’m reading Hempel’s complete works–starting at the beginning with _Reasons to Live_. Shawn, since you are such a good writer, I think you should just tell me whatever you’re reading and I’ll read it. So, does that mean I have to crack open War and Peace?
it probably gets too long for a “team,” really…let’s see: carver, munro, chekhov, cheever, o’conner, tobias wolff, dybek. now i feel like i’m just rattling off a syllabus. i must have more original idea or two…
shira — only if you want to go to heaven.
i think i can second shawn’s rec that you go with “magic for beginners.” i thought “stranger things happen” was only okay – but recently picked up “magic” based on greg spatz’s rec.
I don’t think big publisher versus small publisher ever figures into my decision as to what to read. Who published the work is never my first thought. If I hear a book is good, from someone whose taste I respect, I’m likely to buy the book. When I finally get around to reading it is another story.
I like Sam’s method. Word of mouth is the best. If you have four or five friends whose judgment you trust, you’re set.
To be perfectly honest, I hate reading reviews. If possible, I like knowing nothing at all about a book when I start reading it. Usually I keep that to myself because I think it’s kind of pretentious, but it’s a great way to read. I also hate it when people try to describe a book to me. I can’t think of a time I’ve ever bought a piece of fiction or “creative nonfiction” because I’d read a review. Either I’m familiar with the author or it’s recommended by someone whose taste I really respect. (By the way, this doesn’t mean I don’t like writing reviews myself.)
That being said, I see the appeal of buying books because you like the publisher. I do that with records all the time–I’ll basically buy any Numero compilation because they’ve never let me down. And occasionally I’ll buy an album because the packaging is too good to pass up. So I understand the fetishization of book design. Though I don’t know how that jives with a decent reading experience.
I can think of six people whose literary judgment I’d stand behind almost without question. The problem is even between those people I’ve got probably thirty or forty books on my list. The problem is still where to start. And I suppose starting anywhere is a good idea, but with countless books available and more appearing all the time, how is one supposed to keep up? And is this just feeding into the nonsense that there’s a right way to read, or a correct subset of books that “real” writers/literary readers should be ingesting?
I agree there’s probably some kind insularity that would develop out of the six-trusted-recommenders method, and you may give more credence to people whose tastes reflect the types of books you like to read, and who read books the same way you do. I think that’s just human nature, though. But that seems much friendlier and rewarding than getting book recommendations from a year-end best-of list, or a book review, or NPR, or The Canon, or whatever. It’s like a homegrown canon. It may end up reinforcing a particular literary worldview, but that’s more of a side effect.
You worry too much about picking a book. I read a lot of crap that no-one literary would ever recommend and I read the recommended too. When I get fussed about reading the “right” material, I wind up reading less of anything. Just pick up something that interests you and start reading- even the crap may have a gem for you, a spark that will take you down a fascinating new path you wouldn’t have considered before. I’ll pick up books because they are recommended, because I like the publisher, because I like the picture on the cover, because somebody made a random comment about it and I got curious. Book clubs and reviews are for after you’ve read whatever caught your curiosity to see if there was anything more in the book that you missed.
I can understand becoming enamored with a specific small press or two and paying attention to all of their releases, but not buying each one.
Maybe my book buying process goes something like: buzz from people I respect > read a few reviews or interviews with the author > have money in my pocket when I’m in the mood. Also occasionally I get addicted to a specific aesthetic. I’m very comfortable wasting money on books.
I’ve lied about reading The Great Gatsby, The Brothers Karamazov, and Brave New World for school. I bought these books a couple of years ago, but I still haven’t read them. Thanks to multiple choice, I passed the tests on them anyway. I wait until more than one person recommends a book to me. I’ve been let down too many times, and most of the people I respect don’t really recommend books to me. A couple weeks ago, I heard three people mention Dino Buzzati, so I’ll pick up something of his and see if I like it. The Spine of Sofie’s Choice, and Duncan’s The Brothers K have been eyeballing me from my nightstand for a year.
I bought Bel Canto because you said it made you cry, and that intrigued me enough to spend some money. And it was worth it.
Admissions like that may be the best recommendations.
I too bought Bel Canto because Scott said it made him cry. Also because we read Truth & Beauty in a class and I loved it. Still haven’t read Bel Canto because when I told a friend it made Scott cry, she promptly borrowed it.
I was totally counting on Bel Canto being awful, and I was very wrong. Thanks, Greg Spatz.
Maybe I will only buy books that make Scott cry.
The sensation of books eying me from the shelf creeps me out: Are you looking at me? Are you looking at me? Well you must be looking at me, Pride and Prejudice, cause I don’t see anyone else here.
It would never occur to me to purchase a book based on who published it.
I’ve read 34 books on the Board’s list and 32 on the Reader’s list. Obviously, many of them are on both. I’m not sure what this says about me as a reader, but I attribute the breadth of my reading to the fact that I’ve tried my best to remain marginally employed throughout my life.
It never occurred to me, either, which is why it was such an interesting concept. And I can’t figure out why it would be a completely bad thing. I’ve talked with some friends about this in the last couple days, and the most common point they try to make is that not everything a press publishes will be good. That’s true, but not everything a writer publishes will be good, either. And with all the points being made about trusting one’s friends’ judgments, why not trust the judgment of a press if they’ve earned it the same way a friend has?
I don’t think I could care enough to follow a press specifically, just because it would take effort. Not much, but a tiny bit. And I’m lazy; I would rather have friends come to me with book suggestions than find out what a press is coming out with.
Still.