Old friends are rescuing the capital's authors

12 April 2012

It has all brought to mind that immortal sentence of LP Hartley's: "The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there." I'm not reflecting on doings in Parliament but on the business of books, and launches, and icebergs.

And I'm thinking that bookselling has changed recently - and for the better, where both authors and the reading public are concerned.

When my first book came out - a quarter of a century ago now - that's what books did. They came out - shyly, boldly, noisily, some even successfully - like debutantes at their first ball in earlier times.

It was understood that the author would chaperone their book through the process of publication, have tender feelings towards it, even. A poor review would hurt, and the author would feel downcast if no newspaper or magazine or even gorgeous local radio took any notice of the poor wallflower.

On the other hand, if a local bookshop such as Mandarin Books in Notting Hill put a copy in the window, the author felt utterly elated.

Thankfully, the whole process of coming out in the Eighties took less than two weeks.

Most of the author's energy in that time went into checking in bookshops if they had copies, complaining to the publisher when they didn't and - of course - on finding a copy in a bookshop, placing it immediately on top of a friend's book.

The best story of those energetic years comes from a cousin of mine who was lunching with the distinguished writer, Shiva Naipaul.

His book A Hot Country had just come out and after lunch he asked her to go into Truslove and Hanson and ask if they had the book in. "No," came the uncompromising answer, "and you can tell Mr Naipaul, whom I see lurking outside, that we're not planning on getting it in either."

But the bookshops were potentially the author's allies, and from those fine independent bookshops, Heywood Hill in Mayfair, John Sandoe in Chelsea and Hatchards in Piccadilly, I received nothing but kindness and encouragement. They, of course, are still going, while Truslove and Hanson is no more.

Things changed in the Nebulous Nineties. Books ceased to come out and became "products" which were "launched" with "campaigns".

There were also "whopper" or "bonanza" advances paid out to numerous authors, and many writers, rather than sitting writing or wandering up to the local bookshop for a thriller, took to speaking at literary festivals to startling numbers all over Britain.

But last year saw the end of the big advances. And this year, let me tell you as someone with a book just out, publishers have banned "book launches".

Although at first I was disappointed - no one likes warm white wine in a basement more than me - on balance I am pleased. I had always felt nervous when someone said they were coming to a "book launch" of mine. It made me think we were going to hit an iceberg very soon.

And London bookshops are coming to the rescue of their old friends, the capital's authors - and offering "book-signings" when our books come out.

This connection between authors and bookshops, that seemed for a while in danger, is thus re-established. No one would deny the uses of Amazon but, let's face it, it's difficult to have a personal relationship with the staff there.

Show me a friendly London bookshop, on the other hand: I'm relaxed and happy, and ready to take on all comers with my "signing pen" in one hand and a glass in the other.

Flora Fraser's latest book, Venus of Empire: The Life of Pauline Bonaparte, was published this month by John Murray.

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