How to Sell Books in 2020: Put Them Near the Toilet Paper.

No News Here'

“No news here; that which I have is stolen, from others . . .”

Every writer, if he is honest, will find truth in such an admission. We pass along what others have thought, sometimes consciously, often in ignorance. There’s nothing shameful about this. At our best we are respectful borrowers and refiners. We concur, reluctantly or otherwise, with Kohelet. The sentence quoted above is from Burton’s “Democritus Junior to the Reader,” his introduction to The Anatomy of Melancholy. No writer has so forthrightly, or at such great length, acknowledged his indebtedness to others. He completes the sentence:

“. . . Dicitque mihi mea pagina fur es [My page cries out to me, you are a thief]. If that severe doom of Synesius be true, ‘it is a greater offence to steal dead men’s labours, than their clothes,’ what shall become of most writers? I hold up my hand at the bar among others, and am guilty of felony in this kind, habes confitentem reum [the defendant pleads guilty], I am content to be pressed with the rest. ’Tis most true, tenet insanabile multos scribendi cacoethes [Many are possessed with an incurable itch for writing], and there is no end of writing of books, as the wiseman found of old.”

We write out of vanity, Burton reminds us, “in this scribbling age,” and who can argue with that? Who is moved by humility to write? Writing is presumption. Every man, “out of an itching humour,” he writes, “hath to show himself, desirous of fame and honour.”

The one book I have returned to consistently since the start of the lockdown, reading it not sequentially but as a form of bibliomancy, as divination, is Burton’s Anatomy. Few writers so seamlessly mingle learning, wisdom and humor: 

“[Writers] lard their lean books with the fat of others' works. Ineruditi fures[unlettered thieves], &c. A fault that every writer finds, as I do now, and yet faulty themselves, trium literarum homines[men of three letters; i.e., fur, meaning “thief”] all thieves; they pilfer out of old writers to stuff up their new comments, scrape Ennius’ dunghills [Virgil is reputed to have been reading a volume by Quintus Ennius. Asked why, Virgil said he was “plucking pearls from Ennius’ dunghill”], and out of Democritus' pit, as I have done. By which means it comes to pass, that not only libraries and shops are full of our putrid papers, but every close-stool and jakes, Scribunt carmina quae legunt cacantes [They write books which people read while shitting].”

       They've announced the winner of this year's Miles Franklin Literary Award, a leading Australian novel-prize, and it is The Yield, by Tara June Winch. 
       See also the HarperVia publicity page, or get your copy at Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk. 

In The Observer Tim Lewis has a Q & A with the co-founder and editor of the London Review of Books, in Mary-Kay Wilmers: 'At Faber, TS Eliot was referred to as the GLP -- Greatest Living Poet'. 

       A fascinating look at bookselling in the US over the past couple of months, as Elizabeth A. Harris reports in The New York Times on how: 'Book sales jumped at big box stores this spring, which stayed open and stocked with essentials while other shops closed', in How to Sell Books in 2020: Put Them Near the Toilet Paper. 
       Of course, only a relatively limited range of titles are even considered for box-store placement, so not all can take advantage of this. Still, who would have thought that:

“Covid-19 and the government stimulus checks have increased the demand for books in a big way, particularly on the adult books side,” Leigh Stidham, a Walmart spokeswoman, said in an email. “The fiction genre is strong despite some new title releases being pushed back to later in the year. Also, educational book sales have increased significantly since day cares and schools have been shut down.”

       NYTBR, out of the office 

       In The New York Times Adriana Balsamo reports on The Book Review in Quarantine, as the staff of The New York Times Book Review have been locked out of their offices the past few months -- and hence currently don't have that convenient place to receive all their galleys and then divvy them up:

“In the first week that we left the office, 167 packages of books arrived on the desk that no one was there to open or look at,” said Pamela Paul, the editor of the Book Review.

       The sending of physical galleys (and finished books) has been generally disrupted; I receive a fraction of the number The New York Times does under the best of circumstances, but in recent months the usual flow -- an average of eight or nine titles a week (437 in 2019) -- has become a mere trickle (6 physical copies in all of April, 11 in May, 10 in June, 11 so far this month (but only two in the last two weeks ...)). It's a nightmare: while publishers are quite good about getting out electronic galleys, I find it nearly impossible to review off of those. 
       Much as I miss physical copies -- and, god, do I miss them --, I have, however, never found that:

Despite the adage “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” there’s actually a lot that editors can pick up from a printed book. It often arrives with press materials that provide context, and its cover — whether finished or temporary — can convey a strong message from the publishers. Blurbs from other authors and notable people situate the book in a larger cultural conversation.

       Strong messages from publishers ? Blurbs ? Sure, these and similar publicity-copy do have some entertainment value -- you'll often see examples made fun of on Twitter etc. ... -- but surely they shouldn't/can't possibly affect review-coverage in any way, shape, or form ..... 
       Good, however, to hear re. the NYTBR -- except for that use of the past tense ... ? -- that:

“It didn’t matter what publisher the galley came from, how big, how small, whether you’d heard of the author or hadn’t, the book was going to get a fair shake,” said Tina Jordan, the deputy editor of the Book Review.

    At Publishers Weekly John Maher has an overview of the Bestselling Books of 2020 (So Far) -- with actual (NPD BookScan) numbers. 

       The top selling adult title is still Delia Owens' Where the Crawdads Sing, with 714,666 copies sold, while John Bolton's book sold over half a million, good enough for third place. (Remember, this is for the first half of the year -- i.e. through 30 June -- and hence doesn't include the latest Trump title, Too Much and Never Enough, which just came out last week but has apparently already outsold all these books).