Here’s the complete text of his letter declining the invitation, as translated from the Russia by Marian Schwartz:

To the Federal Agency for the Press and Mass Communications and the International Office of the Boris Yeltsin Presidential Center

February 27, 2013

Dear Sirs,

Thank you for your invitation to take part in the activities of the official Russian delegation at BookExpo America 2013, the international book fair in New York being held from May 30 to June 1 of this year.

I understand how important participation in this kind of book fair is for a writer and for promoting his books in America and other countries. This is a unique opportunity to make contact with American publishers and readers, since the English-language book market remains virtually closed to writers from countries like Russia. Especially since all expenses for traveling to and staying in the United States (and this is no small sum) are taken on by the official Russian side.

Nonetheless, I am declining. Not because “my schedule doesn’t permit it,” but out of ethical considerations.

I have accepted similar proposals from you many times in the past and have participated in international book fairs as part of the Russian writers delegation, but in the last year the situation has changed.

In any self-respecting country, the state, through various foundations and organizations, supports the advancement of its writers abroad, pays for translations, invites writers to participate in international book fairs, and so on. For example, in Norway this is done by Norla; in Switzerland, Pro Helvetia. Naturally, by taking part in an official delegation, the writers represents not only himself personally and his books but also his country, his state.

Russia’s political development, and the events of last year in particular, have created a situation in the country that is absolutely unacceptable and demeaning for its people and its great culture. What is happening in my country makes me, as a Russian and a citizen of Russia, ashamed. By taking part in the book fair as part of the official delegation and taking advantage of the opportunities presented to me as a writer, I am simultaneously taking on the obligations of being a representative of a state whose policy I consider ruinous for the country and of an official system I reject.

A country where power has been seized by a corrupt, criminal regime, where the state is a pyramid of thieves, where elections have become farce, where courts serve the authorities, not the law, where there are political prisoners, where state television has become a prostitute, where packs of impostors pass insane laws that are returning everyone to the Middle Ages—such a country cannot be my Russia. I cannot and do not want to participate in an official Russian delegation representing that Russia.

I want to and will represent another Russia, my Russia, a country free of impostors, a country with a state structure that defends the right of the individual, not the right to corruption, a country with a free media, free elections, and free people.

Naturally, this is my personal decision and has not been made in consultation with other writers invited to New York; each is free to act in accordance with his or her own notions of ethics and reasonability.

Respectfully yours,

Mikhail Shishkin

Of course, Russia’s deputy minister of the press, Vladimir Grigoryev (who gives the most boring of all boring speeches) came out against Shishkin, using some really Sovietesque language:

We regret this. This sort of thing happens when a Russian writer spends many years away from the motherland. There are many examples of this in history.”

Yeah, gee, I wonder why . . .

And also of course, a bunch of other Russian writers are piling on Shishkin, talking about how he’s able to criticize the government from the “safety of Switzerland,” which is where Shishkin now lives.

All of this—along with the gripes that he’s doing this to get publicity for The Letter-Book, which is coming out in the UK sometime soon, or that he’s angling for the Nobel Prize—is fucking irritating. Since when is it not OK to criticize Russia and Putin’s never-ending reign? Any half-informed hipster in Brooklyn can get politico cred and free skinny jeans for yelling “Free Pussy Riot!,” but a writer being asked to represent Russia’s tyrannical, fairly insane government can only decline if he’s living in the country where Pussy Riot is jailed and Putin Youth What the fuck sense does that even make?

I’m so glad that Masha Gessen takes a lot of this to task in her

Prominent opposition writers also condemned Shishkin. Dmitry Bykov, a liberal writer and poet, suggested that Shishkin may be angling for a Nobel Prize in Literature. Eduard Limonov, a nationalist writer and poet, was more blunt: “So he is barking from Switzerland. Yes, my dear, Russia is a shameful paternalistic medieval state. But you have no right to say anything from the safety of Switzerland.”

All of this sounds painfully familiar. As a Russian journalist who speaks out against the regime, I am often told to get out of the country if I don’t like it — and just as often that, as someone who has lived in the United States and could live there again, I have no right to talk or write about Russia. By this logic, only those who have no choice but to live in Russia are entitled to criticize its regime. These arguments are old anti-dissident demagogic standbys, hardly unique to Russia, and they barely deserve attention.

But there is something else that the debate over Shishkin’s statement has exposed. The Russian state thinks it owns its citizens, including its writers, and many of its citizens, including its writers, appear instinctively to agree. To them, the very act of asserting one’s autonomy is suspect, which is why when someone does they look for ulterior motives. Shishkin must have fallen out of touch, or into bad company, or have a bigger plan, they reason — as though just claiming the right to choose one’s allegiances was not both the most basic and the most ambitious goal of all.

What really pleases me about all this is that Shishkin will be spending the month of April in the U.S., teaching at Columbia, doing events in Austin, San Francisco, Buffalo, Rochester, Boston, and as part of the PEN World Voices Festival. This tour is brought to you by Open Letter Books, the Center for the Art of Translation, the University of Buffalo, the URochester, Columbia University, Holy Cross, the University of Texas, and other organizations not part of the Russian government. (More details coming soon.)

And to end on a high note,

The first reading of Maidenhair is like tipping the pieces of a 1000-piece jigsaw out of the box and turning them all picture-side up. It’s quite the endeavour, requiring dedication to a fiddly and time-consuming task. Once the pieces are all out, there’s a vague sense of what the finished puzzle might look like: some sky, some grass, a white poodle with a red ribbon, a Bavarian castle standing grimly above a river. In no way, though, is your task complete. The same is true of a single reading of Maidenhair: once through is simply not enough to really appreciate it. The most you can hope for is to catch sight of some particularly attractive individual pieces, a fuzzy idea of the bigger picture, some parts that look really interesting, and the occasional group of pieces that could be anything. [. . .]

Maidenhair has stayed with me in the two months since I’ve read it. It’s a book that confirms Open Letter’s excellence in curation (except, of course, for a slight gender imbalance).¹ If I say it’s worth persevering with, it sounds as though reading it is unenjoyable, which is far from true. But Maidenhair is a book that demands and then rewards attention, so it’s not one to read if you’ve turned into a gadget and can’t even concentrate long enough to read a single tweet without checking your email halfway through.

Also, World Literature Today also has a positive review that reinforces the difficultly/payoff of disentangling Maidenhair:

This array of connections forms a complex puzzle that can at times be dizzyingly intricate and even baffling. But disentangling Shishkin’s structure is one of the principal pleasures of reading Maidenhair. It is not only aesthetically satisfying but also reveals Shishkin’s unique worldview, which manages to engage Russia’s literary heritage while at the same time creating something new and altogether original.

Controversy and counter-controversy aside, you should just and read this book. Your life will be better for it.

¹ We’re always trying to change this. And although still representing only 40% of our list, over the next 15 titles, we’re bringing out 6 books written by women and two anthologies including both male and female writers. It’s never perfect, but at least that’s a bit better . . .

Russia will be the country of focus and attention at BEA’s Global Market Forum 2012, June 5 – 7 and BEA will figure prominently into Read Russia 2012, the largest Russian initiative ever to promote Russian literature and Russian book culture in the United States. The Read Russia 2012 program, sponsored by the Russian Federal Agency for Press and Mass Communication and Media under the direction of Vladimir Grigoriev, will feature translation grants for the publication of contemporary and classical Russian literature in English, author tours for leading Russian writers and their publishers, a major exhibition on children’s book art, and a traveling film series and a new documentary television project about Russian literature. Over 40 Russian authors and translators are expected to travel to New York for various activities associated with Read Russia 2012 and BEA’s Global Market Forum.

The creation of a Russian institute of translation as well as awards to popularize and foster translations for both Russian contemporary and classic prose and poetry will be among the highlights of the cultural and professional programming for the Global Market Forum 2012 [. . .] Grigoriev noted that while in the past Russian literature has had a prominent role internationally, “today very few Russian writers find the reading audience they deserve, which is what we want to start changing through our efforts at and around BookExpo America in 2012.”

While making this announcement, Vladimir Grigoriev was accompanied by Mikhail Shishkin, one of the most gifted new Russian authors, who has recently been awarded the prestigious Haus der Kulturen der Welt international award, for the best of the younger generation. Shishkin added how excited he was at the prospect of being part of the upcoming program at BEA.

This is particularly awesome since Open Letter is going to be bringing out Mikhail Shishkin’s Maidenhair next year . . . Lots more info on that to come.

Well, last week BEA took place in the fairly dysfunctional Jacob Javits Center in NY and the mood was . . . optimistic. That’s the word that Publishers Weekly used in one of their first pieces—an interview with stylish show director, Steve Rosato—and came up a few times in discussions with other publishers and booksellers.

Which seems pretty weird. It’s not like the publishing world is in much better shape than it was in 2009. Sure, as Tina Jordan, VP at the Association of American Publishers, will scream at you, “the industry is growing,” but $.99 ebooks are jacking the revenue streams for traditional “Big Five” publishers, bookstores are still in a fight for their lives, and the show itself is still loaded with walking infomercials like

That said, there was a very different vibe to BEA 2011 than there was just two short years ago. “Optimistic” might be overstating it, but publishers and booksellers alike seem to have come to terms with things. With ebooks and even smaller profit margins. With the fragmentation of audiences and the ways of reaching them. All of that.

Sure bookstores are still fighting for their lives, and things aren’t 100% copacetic, but at least it didn’t seem like BEA was about to end with an industry-wide suicide pact.

And not that I don’t have complaints (seriously, what would Three Percent be without a few jabs?), my main one being the lack of books in the exhibition area. Sure, all the indie and university and small press stands were rife with actual books, but the Big Five (Random, Simon & Schuster, Penguin, HarperCollins, MacMillan), looked like showrooms brought to you by Apple. Instead of actual books, there were huge posters and touch screens and other advertising devices that involved blown up covers, pretty author photos, and as few words as possible. Granted, the whole galley and giveaway scene got way out of hand a few years back, with every bookseller, publisher, and blogger ravenously snatching whatever bound object they passed by (and then selling them on eBay), so I understand the hesitation to make too many free copies available. But for christ’s sake, we’re in the publishing industry. We, as a group, tend to process information via the handling of actual books. For all the apps in our lives, it sure would’ve been nice to spend a few days touching real objects.

That point aside, I thought this was the best BEA in years. So instead of my usual posts of harsh criticism and bad jokes, here’s a list of things I liked about BEA (in no clear order):

1) Ramy Habeeb’s Graphic Novel on the Egyptian Revolution: Ramy’s one of my favorite book conference friends. I met him a few years ago in Abu Dhabi, and run into him at any and all e-future related book conferences. He also has created (with his illustrator friend) a graphic novel about the Egyptian Revolution that’s going to be huge. I only had a chance to glance at a few pages, but damn, I’m willing to bet that this is all over NPR in a few months. (BTW, I’m listing Ramy as #1 because he told me that I looked really buff compared to when I saw him in January. Flattery will never die.)

2) The Panels: In the past, I would leave my schedule wide open to allow time to wander the floor, bounce around from conversation to conversation, and to have those random meetings that make BEA (or any networking event) worthwhile. This year I decided to attend (and speak on) a number of panels and was pretty impressed with all the programming. Italy was the “Market Focus” for this year and their day of events was well-organized and very interesting. As was the National Book Critics Circle panel on online book reviewing. (With the exception that when asked about which online review sources they paid attention to, the four panelists named things like The New Yorker and Bookforum and NPR and other publications that everyone already knows about.) I do have a minor panel complaint though: by the very nature of these, if you’re familiar with the topic, the panels are redundant; if you don’t already know the basics, they can be a bit technical. Maybe in the future BEA could have two tracks on certain things—a beginner piece on ebooks and whatnot, and an advanced event where those in the know can really get into a more elevated discussion. Just a suggestion.

3) Focus on Discovery: We’ve mentioned this before in relation to DiscoverReads and Bookish, but publishers (and industry professionals) are starting to focus (and spend money on) on recommending the right book to the right reader at the right time. This is a big sea change for the industry (one that I’ll write more about later), and one that starts to get into the fundamental issue of the 21st-century: now that distribution isn’t an issue (anyone can get anything anywhere at anytime), it’s all about sorting demand. Furthermore, sites like and are interesting in the way that they enable writers to work with other writers and to discover new works. Again, more on this in a much longer post.

4) Partying like It’s the 90s: I heard three people use this phrase at BEA. After the third, I asked what exactly he meant by this. “You know, lavish spreads, free drinks, and everyone pretending that the publishing industry wasn’t screwed.” Yes.

5) Russia: Next year Russia will be the Market Focus country, and they’ve already started planning . . . Not only do they want to bring 50+ authors to the States for BEA, they want to tour them to universities beforehand and have them participate in the PEN World Voices Festival. And they want to bring a lot of publishing people to Moscow for the Book Fair. I approve.

6) Book Jokes: In reference to the forthcoming the latest in the zombies/vampires/werewolves are going to kill us all genre: “Remember when books were just about people killing people?”

7) Bookseller Data: I’m not sure this is good exactly, but I was able to attend the ABACUS Data discussion featuring financial data from a wide range of bookstores. I could go on and on about this (again, longer post later), but basically, this study broke down how much bookstores spend on Cost of Good Sold, Advertising, Salaries, etc., as a way of providing benchmarks and trying to puzzle out what things made some bookstores more successful than others. Bottom line: the profit margin for the top 30% of bookstores was 4.7%, the “profit” margin for the middle 40% was 1.6%, and it was -15.3% for the bottom 30%. This is all terrible, but it’s nice to see real numbers-in part so I can use these in my “Intro to Literary Publishing” class, and in part because we need to be as realistic as possible.

8) Indie Booksellers Choice Awards Party: I only caught the end of this, but David Rees was a very funny host (as expected), and I was able to see Johnny Temple of Akashic accept the award for Nina Revoyr’s Wingshooters. (Here’s the ) Great award, great party, and great turnout. Only disappointment is that I think Dennis Loy Johnson of Melville House is still pissed at me for the Amazon kerfuffle of last fall. That sucks, since I respect what he’s done and love MHP books. But, well, not everyone is going to like you for everything. This was a sort of recurring motto at a place I used to work at, so I should be used to it by now.

9) Meeting Patti Smith at the New Directions party. That’s overall just pretty damn cool.

Adding a public component to BookExpo America has been one of the most hotly debated topics regarding possible changes to the annual event. BEA officials have discussed it internally and with their customers, and the concept has now received a major boost from Penguin, whose CEO, David Shanks, and president, Susan Petersen Kennedy, have outlined what they see as a viable way to bring book lovers into the event without having them at the Javits Center. The executives made the proposal in response to queries from PW to publishers and booksellers about how BEA can be improved.

I’ve argued in the past that book lovers should just be allowed into Javits, but whatever, at least this is a push in the right direction . . . maybe. Nothing too specific in the article, but here’s the core of the idea:

As envisioned by Shanks and Kennedy, the new component could be modeled after the annual PEN World Voices Festival and New Yorker Book Festival, which hold a series of author events and panels at different locations all over the city. Ideally, the cost of the tickets would cover the overhead for the venues, and events would be scheduled in the evening and not conflict with BEA programming and exhibits. All BEA badge holders could attend these events for free.

Creating off-site public events, Shanks and Kennedy said, “would further expand the opportunities and exposure for the BEA, authors and their books.” The addition of these events, the two said, “would ultimately help generate advance buzz for the overall convention as well as for the authors and their books—not only in the media and among booksellers but among consumers, who would get a sneak peek at a few select major fall authors.” At the off-site events, publishers could do consumer giveaways, as they do at other book fairs across the country.

OK, so that sounds decent. Although coming exactly one month after the PEN World Voices Festival, it might be a tough sell. My real concern though is that this will be totally corporate and, similar to the extremely popular Winter Institute, a pay-to-play situation in which only the biggest of the biggest can actually participate.

That would be extremely disappointing. Hell, we already can see Malcolm Gladwell nine thousand times a year, and trying to rope the general public into paying to see the “Big Names” is an idea that operates under the deteriorating blockbuster model, trying to prop up some new hits instead of offering readers an opportunity to explore all the diverse voices being published today. For that, they’d have to visit the Javitz Center . . . Oh, wait.

It really is a positive development that people are thinking in this way, and I applaud Penguin for making this proposal. I guess it’s the cynic in me that envisions this as a potentially good compromise that turns into something that I would never want to attend if I wasn’t part of the industry. But for now, I’ll hope for the best . . . The best being that some smaller publishers can also have their authors participate in this without having to fork over thousands . . . Maybe Lance can chime in in the comments and reassure me . . .

But for all this nuance, what is the real distinction between all these shows? Since I work so closely with both the business to business model and the con (or consumer/public) model, my observation is that the cons (I use this term generically to define SDCC, NYCC, C2E2) drive media coverage, are epicenters of energy, and allow an incredibly porous connection between creator and consumer. Trade events (exclusively business to business environments) lack this porous connection between creator and consumer. The con model is based on an outside-in style of connection and promotion; the creators are there to hear from the consumers, to influence the consumers, and to interact with the consumers. The model at trade events such as BEA is much more inside-out. Publishers are there to influence emissaries or tastemakers who are then expected to take the message to the book buying public based on what they saw and who they met.

The notable increase of bloggers at BEA and the quality and quantity of information that is conveyed through the Internet is certainly changing the paradigm at BEA as the “public” is becoming increasingly involved through a Web based universe. But this introduction of a public component is a long way from what we see at SDCC or NYCC. I am not suggesting that there is a perfect model for any single event. Different shows serve different purposes. But just as NYCC needs to think about building a better business to business environment to set it apart, so too does BEA need to think about creating more direct communication with the public. We live in a world where everyone feels empowered to have a “say” and to wield some influence. Since this is the case, I think it is appropriate for both NYCC and BEA to ask the question: just who is an industry insider anymore?

Exactly.

If you’ve read the first four parts of this post (or this piece I wrote a few months ago), you pretty much know where this is headed. After X years of keeping BEA confined to the “trade,” I think things have to open up to the public—whatever that might mean. It’s at times like this, when things are in flux and not necessarily going all that well, that we really need to experiment, to try something new . . .

In talking with Lance Fensterman (who runs BEA), I think we have somewhat similar ideas of what sorts of people should be allowed into the Expo, although we use somewhat different terminology. I love to say that we should open the show up to the public—that it should come to resemble a “Con” in which anyone with enough cash for the entrance fee can come in and mill around. Of course, since we are talking about books and not wildly popular TV shows, I think the group that would come would be pretty self-selecting. The collectors, the voracious readers, the book club members, the people who love literature would come—people who fit a lot of the categories of Lance’s redefined notion of “the trade.”

I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on behind Lance’s rhetoric . . . the big commercial presses—who tend to spend the most money on the show and make BEA a bigger draw for everyone—ain’t very supportive of the idea of having the public be able to come to BEA. If it’s been written once on this blog, it’s been written a million times—publishers hate readers.

And what a muddy situation! This “public” made up of the same people who blog/tweet/recommend wandering around the halls . . . Where are their credentials?

That’s not to say that this idea doesn’t have it’s problems. One of the big issues is whether or not books would be available for sale. I mean, BEA is the American Booksellers Association’s big show, and I can’t imagine many indie bookstores would like to see the public buying books directly from publishers . . . And if the show did have some “professional” times in addition to “public” times, there would be some sort of switchover costs associated with removing galleys and whatnot and replacing them with books that could be sold. (Which is why redefining the word “trade” is a cleaner approach.)

But maybe there’s a still a way. . . . Hell, it’s been demonstrated (in certain studies) that giving away books actually increases sales. Maybe we don’t have to worry about sales at all—just create buzz with the public the same way we do with booksellers and reviewers.

Besides, it’s not like publishers were all that friendly with their galleys this year. I heard a couple of horror stories from NYC booksellers in which they tried to get a galley and were denied. Or couldn’t even get anyone from a publisher to talk to them. I can’t tell you how many complaints I heard (here we go again . . .) of publishers being extremely insular and only talking to one another.

Before getting more into the potential problems of opening up the show, there are other benefits than simply trying to generate excitement. For one, BEA would become a much better platform for discussing important issues. Booths and panels on the importance of independent bookstores would be really interesting and a great way to raise awareness among individual readers.

Or even better, why couldn’t BEA have a panel about e-books that includes a cultural critic, a publisher, an author, a reader? Create a space for real debate and discussion?

I know I’m repeating myself, but publishing is really, really shitty at doing market research. But what if you had a few thousand (ten thousand?) “regular readers” hanging out in one place where you could potentially interact, ask them questions, engage in some sort of feedback loop that would improve your business practices? This could be revolutionary . . .

Even getting back to the problem of selling (christ, what a phrase), there could be some sort of “bookseller tax” in which 10% of all sales go to the ABA or are redistributed to bookstores, or go to purchasing ads to support book review sections, or whatever. This seems like a problem that can be overcome . . . It’s been solved in Frankfurt. And in Buenos Aires. And Guadalajara. And almost every other country with a large book fair . . . And for everyone looking for ways of quantifying success, cash from sales and foot traffic from the public would definitely suffice.

Speaking of other international book fairs, these frequently seem to be a point of pride, a major event that everyone’s aware of, not just the handful of people in the industry. I mean, how many articles in the major papers were there about BEA this year? I’m willing to bet that there were five times as many in the Buenos Aires papers and magazines back in April during their book fair . . . a fair that’s open till 4am (seriously—4am) on a few nights to accommodate all the people who come and cultivate a true festival experience.

A BookExpo that’s about books, that’s connecting readers to books would seem so much more fulfilling. And I really don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way.

But what will really happen? Well, rumor has it that the university presses are pulling out fast and furious, which is absolutely terrible. Where else do you have the chance to see so many university press books on display? In a local box store? Not a chance . . . And I doubt big publishers would be willing to go for changes like the ones mentioned above. They’re still clinging to the old models and ignoring both common sense and solid theory. So we end with Lance fighting the good fight, trying to improve the space in which publishers can promote their wares, but settling for a much smaller fair that takes place mid-week so that publishing folks can bond with other publishing folks and wonder just what the fuck went wrong.

Over the past few years the debate between print and online reviewers has been one of the more contentious in all of the book business. Similar to publishing, this is an area where technology has outstripped the prevailing model, where with a couple bucks, a smart website name, some literary talent, and a bit of ambition, basically anyone can become a reputable commentator on books, participating in—and altering—the ongoing larger conversation about literary culture. (And you can even get Press access to BookExpo!)

Pair this quick, cheap, and easy growth with the precipitous decline in newpaper book reviews (not to mention ) and it’s easy to see why so many online vs. print barbs are exchanges on panels across the country every year. Personally, I think this all gets a bit stupid, but there are valid points on both sides. (No one likes losing their job to technological advances—hell, if e-books knell the death toll for print publishers, I’ll be the first to call for Luddites to unite.)

And the argument just won’t go away . . . See this year’s (thanks again to Gwen at Literary License for a great write-up) that circled around separating “book reviewers” (generally print, representing authority) from “book recommenders” (internet dwellers, representing the pure democratic ideal). Even without having been there, I’m sure I could repeat most of the arguments from both sides (well, more from the one particular site that was more aptly represented), which are actually kind of interesting within the context of BookExpo, where desperate—and I do mean desperate—publishers were trying how to figure out how to mobilize the tweeting universe to promote their titles . . .

That’s really why I find this debate so silly . . . If the industry wasn’t fucked, there would presumably be enough space in the culture for long-form, independently edited print reviews, book news magazines, online literary mags, bloggers, social networking recommenders, etc., all of which would connect readers with books in different ways, with different levels of authority.

What’s really funny is that the most vital section of BEA was the Firebrand/NetGalley “blogger signing” area. No matter when I passed by there was always a small crowd of well read bloggers/readers chatting. And no surprise to anyone paying attention, HarperCollins and other big publishers came over asking bloggers how they could work together . . .

No offense to HC—er, rather, pox on everyone—but haven’t we been talking about figuring out how to work with bloggers to promote literature for the past five-plus years? But that’s the point—publishers and authors are still trying to figure out this landscape where the bastions of book reviewing are only capable of doing so much (even the NY Times is shedding pages), but where people still want to talk about books and are finding new ways of spreading the word.

So, going back to an earlier point, if the overall point of BEA is to “create buzz,” why would we want to keep any of these “book influencers” out? I mean, granted, at some point in time BEA was the perfect meeting ground for the best of the book review editors to wander the floor and find out what they should be reviewing in the floor. No offense to anyone (maybe “no offense” should be the title of Part V . . .), but that’s just not really the case anymore. Most reviewers who do come (unfortunately there’s not many that do—only one or two from the biggest publications) are there only on Friday morning, or come for the panel they’re on and jet. Saturday and Sunday aren’t the best days for getting your hot new galley in the hands of a traditional book reviewer . . . yet, the money for the galleys, booth, trip, etc., has already been spent.

Lance Fensterman (who, if I haven’t said it already, did a kick-ass job with the show, as did the rest of his team . . . none of this is meant to reflect on them . . . they do all that they can to put on the best show they can for the rest of us—it’s the rest of us that sort of screw up their intentions) always uses the example that technically the number one reviewer on Amazon.com isn’t considered part of the “trade” and therefore isn’t allowed into BookExpo. I’d bet my last free PGW drink that dozens upon dozens of presses would love to get their books into the hands of these top Amazon/LibraryThing/GoodReads reviewers . . . But this sort of exclusion is exactly what notions of “authority” tend to lead to—there’s no “authority” without an “in” and an “out.”

OK, so publishers have ceded some control to iUniverse, self-publishers and the like, and reviewers have done the same with bloggers, online magazines, etc. So who really makes up the book “trade”?

Some people will always reject this notion, but the traditional ideas of what constitutes “trade” are totally demolished. . . . But this—I think—is a good thing. Say what you will about book blogs or the like, but there’s a reason HC is trying to figure out how to get books into these people’s hands. In contrast to the often grumpy, Eyeore-like traditional publishing folks (shit, isn’t this series simply four days of complaining?), the blogging, twittering, book loving, word-of-mouth spreading general readers actually get excited about books. Ģ����ý meeting authors and receiving a galley. It’s refreshing to talk to readers who aren’t totally jaded . . .

Tomorrow I’ll get more into what I think BEA could really look like, but my core belief is that BookExpo could—no, should—be an event that generates excitement about all facets of the book industry. That fans of New Directions storm the floor to find out what books are coming out in the next few months. That college kids who are intrigued by the publishing world can start to see what it is, who the players are, how a book gets launched. That readers, regular book buying readers, can get a glimpse behind the curtain and see where the book magic happens.

That’s all a bit over the top, I know, but seriously, book culture (of this sort) in this country needs a real injection of life, and if there was a vibrancy about BEA in the way there is about ComicCon or other fan shows like that, we all might be in a better place. And increased buzz, increased excitement, necessarily leads to increased awareness—of books, publishers, authors, goings on. Even, perhaps, of bookstores and the issues surrounding book culture . . . but more on that tomorrow.

Over the past few years, the book industry has become much flatter, allowing many, many more people to enter into the business. For instance, the advent of self-publishing allows almost anyone to become an author and make their book available for sale. Blogs turn your voracious reader into a book reviewer almost overnight. And thanks to print on demand and e-technologies, the bar to entering the publishing market is much lower than it was back a couple decades ago.

Bookstores are one of the few areas of the industry that are still cost-prohibitive. You can’t compete with Amazon by creating an online store, and a physical location and all those physical books requires a huge cash outlay.

This fundamental change has upwrenched the industry in several ways though. The distribution chain for books still heavily favors the corporate publishers with solid nationwide distribution and long-term beneficial arrangements with major review sources and the chain bookstores.

One reason I think the “editors buzz panel” is silly is because it’s simply a chance for a few corporations to present the titles they’re going to be pimping hard over the next few months anyway. It’s not like you’re not already going to be hearing about these books—that decision was made way ahead of time by the marketing staff, or even by the editor who shelled out a million bucks for a particular book. The buzz panel gives the illusion of choice and participation. Booksellers can feel like they were in on the ground floor, but really? A book coming out from one of the big presses with a mammoth marketing budget (including tens of thousands being spent at B&N, the direct physical competitor to the indie booksellers attending this buzz panel) will be given all the necessary backing to take off. Sure, an indie store could decide to not carry it (but again, really? they want to stay in business by stocking books that are selling, and books getting a lot of attention and publishing push, tend to sell) or at least not recommend it, but the forces of publishing buzz are much bigger than a two-hour panel in which a hundred bookstores find out about the fall’s big titles.

That digression aside, BEA is one potentially great opportunity for smaller presses to reach readers they normally wouldn’t reach. This point hearkens back to the attendance criteria, but in a slightly different way. The corporate presses still have the best, biggest, and most noticeable places on the floor (unless HMH and Macmillan, which took out meeting rooms instead), but nevertheless, there is the opportunity at BEA for the indie presses (like those with PGW or Consortium), the micropresses, and the self-published to meet potential readers and promoters. It’s not often that the buyer at a store in Montana will take a call from a tiny press that they’ve never heard of, but at BEA, there is the chance that this same bookseller will wander by the tiny press booth, notice an interesting looking book, strike up a conversation, stock that title, and handsell a few dozen copies.

One of the problems (and oh god, are there a lot of problems) with the current structure of the book industry is the fact that a traditional press can not survive making connections like this that will help sell a few hundred extra copies of a book. It’s one of the reasons that during the Erroll McDonald from Pantheon was so adamant about translations failing in the U.S.

As you can see from Gwen’s recap (the above link), during this panel about the obstacles and opportunities in exchanging works between Arab and U.S. publishers, McDonald took the very old corporate view that translations can’t be successful in the U.S. because America is “breathtakingly provincial” and that international lit is ghettoized in the stores, in the media, etc. Therefore, no one buys it, Pantheon doesn’t make enough money to keep the overlords happy, and we ignore the rest of the world to produce and promote our own crappy books.

This is one of those topics that gets me all hyped up and jittery, so I’ll try and save most of my rant for a longer, more complete post, but basically, I think McDonald’s presentation was predicated on two questionable tenets that are worth examining.

First of all, the definition of “success” is, and probably will be for the foreseeable future, based on the mega-sales level that can be achieved by Dan Brown or Stephen King, or whomever. A book isn’t successful unless it’s selling tens of thousands of copies. Sales = success. Or more specifically, sales large enough to sustain an outdated and dying business model = success. Fuck. That. Thanks to changes in the industry, new presses are starting up with sustainable business models premised on sales in the 2,000 – 5,000 range. Of course, these presses aren’t going to make anyone a millionaire, but they are presses that will be successful in creating a diverse, vibrant book culture. You could shun this as “spiritual success,” but going back to the mediocrity point, only a few people are going to get rich in the book world, so you have to do something that will make you feel good about your life.

And besides, coming from a major press like Pantheon, this “translations cost too much to publish” argument is total bullshit. I can’t say for certain, but I suspect that Pantheon offers $100,000 advances on a routine basis. And yet, don’t want to do a translation because they’d have to pay a translator $10,000. . . . Which, yes, it’s an “additional cost,” unless you acknowledge that the rights to the best works of international literature are available for much, much less than $100,000. In any given year, 80% of all translations are published by small presses—none of which offer anywhere near $100,000 for the rights. So Pantheon could do these books and be “successful”—they just don’t want to.

(The moment of the panel that really pissed me off was McDonald’s claim that an editor won’t just read an Arab book and decide to publish it. He/she will only do it once it’s been successfully published in Germany, in France, in Spain, etc., etc. Once it’s a known quantity then you can do it. Of course, he hedged in answering whether an editor does the same thing when evaluating the work of a debut American novelist . . . Dude also insisted there are no presses in America doing only literature in translation, so whatever.)

Secondly, and maybe more importantly, I think he’s conflating the words “isolated” and “provincial” to create a self-fulfilling situation. Americans may or may not be provincial when it comes to reading foreign fiction (recent successes of 2666 and The Elegance of the Hedgehog would argue that they’re not), but they’re definitely isolated from the rest of the world’s book culture. As anyone who’s read this blog more than once knows, there are very few books in translation published in America on a yearly basis. We live in a culturally isolated world. I’m just not willing to believe that this is due to our inherent fear of international literature . . . If I was subjected to as many invasive ads, reviews, interviews, etc., etc., for Munif’s Cities of Salt as I am for Angels and Demons, I might well have read this book. The business model that dominates publishing (although there are things on the edges that successfully run counter to this) is the blockbuster idea that pours immense resources into promoting the most accessible works, shaping public consciousness to make money and then claiming that the books people never even heard about (because the press never spent a second figuring out how to let people know about them) didn’t sell because people don’t like those sorts of books.

This flattening is even more evident when it comes to reviewers and the old print vs. online kerfuffle. But more on that issue—and its relation to voracious readers and readers in general—in part IV.

Attendance (and foot traffic on the floor) tends to become the primary evaluative criteria. And the show was crowded on Friday. (Although Saturday afternoon was a bit bleak, and on Sunday, it was damn near post-apocalyptic.) But one interesting thing—and I’m sure Lance will correct me if I’m wrong—in past years, when you went into the show, your badge was scanned, providing some sort of count of people at the fair. This year? No badge scanning at all . . . as long as your badge was visible, you could walk in. Even if it was an outdated one from BEA 2007 . . .

But yes, OK, the fair was crowded on Friday. But to play the cynic, it seemed to me like the majority of people on the floor on Friday were other publishing people. Assistant publicists, editors, marketing folks, etc. People who a) never come back over the weekend, because that’s their “free time” and b) people who tend not to actually buy books. (It’s absolutely true that in this industry—which is totally filled with examples of financial mediocrity and failure—that one of the great benefits is the free books. This is an industry of passion, with the drug of choice available for free at almost all times . . . ) So next year, when the show is on Wednesday through Friday, the floor will be super-crowded with people who are probably not the best target market.

(There was a rumor—denied by BEA staff—that the aisles were closer together this year, which created the impression that the show was more crowded than it was. Not kidding that several conversations revolved around trying to remember just how far apart the booths used to be . . .)

Historically, the show was good for connecting smaller publishers to booksellers they typically didn’t meet with during the year. But thanks to the success of the and the fact that anyone can reach anyone these days (via phone, fax, e-mail, or tweet), it doesn’t seem like booksellers feel that this is a “necessary” show to attend. And in the future, this number will likely decrease, since it’s hard for most booksellers and librarians to take off three days (or more) during the work week . . .

Big Book(s) are often the one and only aspect of BEA that the mainstream media writes about. What are the big books for the fall? Why aren’t there any big books this year? Why can’t we figure out which books are going to be big? More than any other, this topic emphasizes the “buzz” factor of BEA. The logic goes: if you take out the right size stand, come up with the coolest gimmick, and deliver a great product to the appropriate tastemakers, you can do enough marketing at BEA to ensure a book “takes off” when it “launches” in the fall. (Why are all industry metaphors based on rockets?)

Regardless if whether there’s a clear cut “big book” or not (last year, I claimed that 2666 was the book of BEA), there’s at least a lot of chatter about upcoming titles from established authors. This year I didn’t hear much of that at all. Everyone was too busy talking about foot traffic and the fact that neither the New Yorker nor the New York Review of Books threw parties this year. . .

Complaints really might be the backbone of BEA. I mentioned this in passing earlier, but if you stop to think about it, the book world—from publishers to booksellers to authors to journalists to distributors—is filled with mediocrity and failure. Not in terms of the people or product (although in terms of the 400,000 books published last year, there really is a lot of that), but in terms of financial success. If I told the kids at business school that they could get into an industry where everyone is underpaid and more than 80% of all the businesses are two fuck-ups away from bankruptcy, and that the average profit margin is under 5%, their heads would explode. But that’s what it is. Most people get into this business out of their love for books—definitely not because they think books are the quickest way to living large with lots of bling. Which is actually cool. One could argue that book people are the best people to work/talk/drink with, and that the strength of the book community outweighs all financial opportunities passed up by entering this field.

That said, the fact that the book business is a neverending struggle leads to immense amounts of bitching. And BEA is the ultimate cathartic release that escalate quickly into realms of self-reflexive, meta-bitching. Here’s a typical conversation:

A: So how are you doing?

B: Good. Well, you know, we’re hanging in there.

A: Not out of business yet.

B: Yeah, well, not yet. You know, zero growth is the new OK.

A: Same for us. Just trying to make it by. Times are tough. This industry is totally broken. Just look around . . .

B: And what do you think of the show?

A: Kind of sucks, no? I mean, where are the booksellers and reviewers? This place is a ghost town.

B: Yeah, and our booth placement sucks too. We’re behind f’ing Harlequin.

A: F-that. They need to make this show better. Get more people here.

B: And where are the galleys this year? If there’s no free books, there’s no point to this show.

A: You coming back next year?

B: Of course, of course. Haven’t missed a show in fifteen years . . .

Trust me, we need this. . . . OK, two sections left . . .

So how does one evaluate this show? I think this is a pretty important topic, since the show is in flux—next year it’s moving to mid-week (an idea I loathe, but more on that later), you should see the bleak picture I took of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt’s “meeting room,” which took the place of their normal booth on the floor—and needs to evolve to a) avoid a spectacular collapse similar to BookExpo Canada, and b) provide an experience that obviously impacts future book sales.

But back to evaluating the show. For anyone who hasn’t been there, BEA is a clusterfuck of reasons for attending and things being offered. For the booksellers, there are educational panels, there are author breakfasts and lunches, there are presses out on the floor that your store might not have heard of. There are also other panels for the industry as a whole, like “Twitter for Dummies,” or the Editor’s Buzz Panel. This year there was a “Global Market Focus” on the Arab World, with panels and off-site cultural events.

Then there is the exhibition floor itself, which is really the focal point of the Expo. This is where publishers big and small take out booths of varying sizes, from the mammoth Abu Dhabi International Book Fair palace to Random House’s Self-published authors are pushing their titles into the hands of anyone with a press badge (thanks again for that copy of ), gimmicks abound, and everyone gets trained into staring at everyone else’s chests and waists, searching out namebadges instead of making eyecontact with the person you’re speaking to. (It takes days to break oneself of this weird, ADD-inducing habit.)

And at the end of the day, the booksellers go to dinners and bookseller parties, the publishers go to publisher parties, and we all get home much too late, much too drunk.

(Just want to insert here, that this book wonderland is only accessible to “members of the trade.” Reviewers, booksellers, librarians, book manufacturers, authors, etc. Granted this is pretty wide—I’m a reviewer! and who isn’t an author—but still, there are hoops to jump through to prove that you belong.)

This isn’t to say that BEA isn’t fun or useful. Before breaking this down any further, it’s worth pointing out that the show is essentially a platform for book business people to interact with one another in a myriad of ways. And that is always accomplished. There are so many people I see only at BEA, people that I love talking with, catching up with, exchanging ideas with, and if for nothing else, the fair is extremely useful for that. (Thanks to the implosion of BEC, I was able to meet a lot more cool Canadian publishing people, like Daniel from Alana from and Tara from )

But this all costs money. Lots and lots of money. Money to take out a booth, and to pay for each chair in the booth. To pay for a badge (well, for most people—I actually had three waiting for me, including one for Chad Post of Rochester University, Cleveland), and to pay for overpriced bottles of water. And flying, staying, and eating in New York isn’t cheap—especially when you consider that the bulk of publishers and booksellers and librarians populating this show are surviving on 0-1% annual profit margins. (Not exaggerating. The new tagline for the book industry: “Zero growth is the new, ‘We’re doing great!’”) So to justify all this expense, they need to get something out of the show . . . and what that something is, and whether or not BEA is supplying it in the best possible way is at the heart of all the “was the show good for you?” discussions.

Since this is getting Biblically long, I’ll stop here and pick up some of the evaluative measures in part two.