The Changing Face of Bookselling

Recently, Tiina and Steve from Fjord Press, in West Seattle, came in to tell a glorious tale. It began when they came to hear a reading by English author Penelope Lively. When the reading was concluded, they spoke to her, told her about their enterprise and, almost in jest, suggested that if she was ever looking for a smaller house to publish her work, to give them a call. Some months later, when Lively approached the large publishers with a short story collection, HarperCollins told her they "did not feel able to take on these short stories," so she called Fjord. We are now stocking their beautiful paperback edition of Five Thousand and One Nights. What was Harper's loss, is their, and the reading public's gain. Incidents like this one illustrate both the important role of small publishers in bringing out works considered less commercially attractive by the big industry conglomerates and the role of the independent bookseller in bringing these ventures to the reading public.

HarperCollins has also canceled the contracts for one hundred "mid-list" titles, leaving one to ask who will publish these hundred manuscripts? Harper recently closed BasicBooks division, and as I was reading some of this imprint's important titles this summer, several reviewed in this issue, I wondered: in future, just who will publish these writings? Who will dare venture into these uncertain waters?

When I wrote an article called "Our Shelves Are Not for Sale," detailing some of the issues facing independent bookstores in America, I didn't dream it would become one of the Booknotes' most requested reprints. I therefore felt another article about the book industry and its changes might be appropriate.

Certainly, when my career in bookselling began in the mid-seventies, many publishing companies were owned by families, not by a handful of media conglomerates. These houses had stable, venerable editors, who read manuscripts carefully, made suggestions, changed words, read for content, and caught inaccuracies. I, like many other readers striving for the highest literary quality, grieve the loss of these things. For the most part, the old editors are either gone, replaced by younger, less- experienced people at a lower wage, or are being employed in other tasks. Huge unchecked errors appear in books, not to mention pesky typos that survive into double-digit printings of even the most classic books. It is a disheartening state of affairs.

I worry greatly not only about what is being published, but also, and perhaps more importantly, about what is being passed over, and on what grounds editorial decisions are made. Are these choices based on the art of writing or on the bottom line as perceived by people who may scarcely read at all? As people's time becomes more precious and reading takes a back seat to demanding careers, television, and computers, books are getting shorter. If I present a book that is three hundred pages long to even an accomplished reader, I may be greeted by a look that implies I have lost my mind. Readers wanting to feel the accomplishment of having finished a book are increasingly willing to put aside the pleasure of savoring a long read for an extended time. Sadly, the average American reads only one book a year.

This year, Publishers Weekly has reported that, nationwide, only 18% of the books sold in America are now purchased in independent bookstores (down from 32% in 1991). We have already lost hundreds of bookstores in America that were family-owned; some had been in business for over twenty years. With each closing, we lose access to a cultural resource, a place in which books have been gathered by individuals with local knowledge, book lovers appealing to the community of people they see and interact with daily. Of course there are titles we don't carry, so our inventory is constantly evaluated and adjusted reflecting daily customer requests. Contrast this to the nationally centralized buying system that determines what is stocked at the chain stores and wholesale clubs. What could replace a store such as ours if we were forced to close due to financial hardship? It has taken us twenty-five years to assemble this unique combination of books we offer. Independent, idiosyncratic, community-responsive booksellers are a cultural resource of simple, but profound value. While there may be satisfaction in going to the shelf and finding the computer book you want, greater pleasure awaits, when within the same store, you find a friend's poetry book on display or a cookbook from the tiny country you just visited on holiday. These are subtle, yet complex joys missing from the mass-produced chain stores that offer identical inventory at each location. Publishers feel crushed between a rock and a hard place, too. The mega-retailers are abusing the industry's liberal policy of returns, which allows unsold books to be sent back by the store to the publisher for credit if they do not sell within the year. The reason for this is ironic: the changing face of book retailing has caused them to direct their focus away from family-owned independent booksellers like Elliott Bay, who return a modest number of unsold books, and concentrate their efforts on the big retailers who return books by the pallet. It has been suggested within the increasingly worried industry that a cap be placed on the number of purchases eligible to be returned. The more books come back, the more money is tied up, and fewer opportunities are extended to new authors, new voices, and those books deemed "riskier" projects. The small publishers can't afford to ignore the "big" retailers, but they can't afford to get their books back again six months later. Currently the large chains are trying to dictate to publishers what should be published and even how large the print runs should be. This, too, appears to be a delicate balance. A local wholesaler (a book distributor supplying books to stores, acting as a middleman between publisher and bookseller) went out of business during the past year; one contributing factor to its demise was its recent focus on meeting the needs and demands of the large retailers, forsaking the smaller stores that had, for decades, been the bread and butter of its customer base.

For years, Elliott Bay has promoted smaller publishers by hosting their writers, encouraging our staff to read their lesser-known books and, in turn, hand-selling these titles to our patrons. We pride ourselves on taking an unknown book and making it a best-seller in our store. At Elliott Bay, books that most stores wouldn't bother carrying can become top sellers, because staff members ferret out obscure titles and place them in the hands of new readers.

Recently the New York Times Book Review decided to link all their on-line reviews appearing on the Internet directly to the Barnes and Noble Web site for fulfillment. Independent bookstores nationwide, who had for years contributed their selling statistics to the Times for that newspaper's best-seller list, have discontinued this practice in protest at this corporate wedding. The New York Times has said it honors the contributions made by independent booksellers and relies on our statistics to keep accurate best-seller lists, but it is just these lists that make up the bulk of books these unconventional retailers discount.

The picture isn't all bleak. On the optimistic side, we are still a lively cultural gathering place whose reputation is growing as it receives ever wider recognition. We are still selling books, both to familiar customers and friends who have bought their books from us for years and new readers who choose to support a store with a broad variety of books and a staff familiar with what lies behind their covers. Even Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon.com, has been quoted saying that when he wants to browse, he comes to Elliott Bay, for the selection, creaky floors, and the wafting coffee smells that originate in our cafe.

This year has brought some fabulous first novels into bookstores, and we have rejoiced at the publishing of books that were out of print for years. We applaud the new (and old) small publishers who are bravely trying their hand at old-fashioned publishing, regardless of the dire predictions and bottom-line watching elsewhere. As we at Elliott Bay enter our twenty-fifth year of bookselling in Seattle's Pioneer Square, we are perennially thankful to those of you who are customers, who have helped us to keep our collection of books alive with your support. The audiences for our readings never cease to amaze our visiting authors, and for this, also, we thank you. Supporting our independent community booksellers is a gift we not only bestow on ourselves, but one to preserve for the next generation, who deserve the access to the myriad reading materials from all sources that, through the continued dedication of book lovers, we still enjoy.

by Kristin Kennell, 1997