Bookend
One of the "talked about" manuscripts at October's Frankfurt Book Fair has yet to find a publisher in Britain. Entitled Trading Up, it is an uninhibited modern novel by an author who, in the interests of something or other, wishes to be known as Joan Lea. In America the paperback publishers Fawcett are reputed to have paid 450,000 dollars for the book — about the same sum as they forked out, in less inflationary times, for The Godfather. The agent tells me it was submitted to W. H. Allen and to their paperback subsidiary Star. Britain's most unashamedly commercial publishers thought it too dirty!
Ernest endeavours
I am pleased to hear that Ernie Godfrey, salesman extraordinary, has fallen on his feet. When the colourful publisher departed abruptly from Messrs Barrie and Jenkins last year he began to toy with the idea of starting his own publishing company. The canny fellow took one look at the state of the industry and instead decided to join the ranks of the overstock merchants — those obliging gentlemen whose business is publishers' mistakes and who, for the right price, will relieve publishers of unsold stock. I can report that within a year Mr Godfrey's turnover has exceeded £250,000 and that his cash is proving a godsend to the many publishers with liquidity problems.
Take that! (and this!)
Two others to take the plunge recently were Richard Webb and Delian Bower who, as directors of the West Country publishers David and Charles, decided that enough was enough, and resigned. Their newly formed book packaging company Webb and Bower recently clinched its first deal by selling 7,500 copies of a book called The World of Opera to both a British and an American publisher. The British buyer? Messrs David and Charles.
Huthat?
Sir Billy Collins was in good form the other' night. Holding forth on some important publishing theme (i.e. Collins) he suddenly noticed an eminently attractive young lady at his side. She smiled, greeted him fondly, and the two chatted for some minutes until the lady excused herself to get a drink. "Who was that?" whispered Sir Billy in desperation. A rival publisher came to the rescue to tell him that it was Angela Huth, one of the Collins firm's most cherished young novelists.
An apology
In my piece on James Herriott last week I inadvertently dropped a couple of lines from the final paragraph which meant that I gave a misleading impression regarding the paperback rights in Mr Herriott's latest book Vets Might Fly. At the time of going to press it was Pan and not Sphere who were proposing to pay a great deal of money for the new book. But such is the competition in the world of paperbacks these days that the tale has yet to run its full course. I hope to report on the final state of affairs very shortly.
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