In a recent article for the Huffington Post book supplement, journalist and – you guessed it – novelist Lynn Shepherd raised a key issue afflicting the publishing industry: that of the disproportionate power of certain established authors over the market. In particular, she was none too pleased with JK Rowling, the tremendous sales figures for the lacklustre The Casual Vacancy or the emergence of her quirky new crime series, originally set to be penned under the clunky pseudonym Robert Galbraith.
Let’s start with a why. Why does this problem exist to begin with, and why does it rile us so much? The fact is, there are two cancer-like forces within the publishing world that make aspiring authors’ blood boil: nepotism and luck. Some of the greatest success stories in fiction found their fame through sheer fortuitous timing, stumbling into the right person at the right public event, or else had their contracts ready and waiting for them as a result of their background, their personal connections or some other unfair advantage. Despite the advice of countless established authors and the amount of research and persistence put in by many in seeking out agents and promoting their work, surprisingly few of the big names seem to emerge through the conventional submission process.
And so what? The reason that this, however infuriating it can be for those at the bottom, is not really an issue at all is as follows: it’s no different from every other profession. If an author, journalist or critic treats fiction as a profession rather than a calling – which they should – then they will realise that these two problems afflict just about any other job market you can think of. Everyone below the age of thirty has been lectured on their laziness and dwindling career prospects by elder figures who had their job titles handed to them on a 1970s silver platter, thanks to an uncle, a colleague or a chance meeting with someone from HR. The influence of nepotism – in terms of both family and old-name academic institutions – over the business world is well documented and beyond dispute. Then, of course, comes the legal profession. Unemployed graduates of all skill sets, of which there are now far too many for a degree to be of any notable help, are just as hacked off as those scribbling novels in dark corner cafés.
Not only does this attitude not solve a problem, but it also creates one of its own – it encourages us to resent and disparage legitimately capable writers because of the manner in which they achieved their success. Zadie Smith, an author renowned for her hysterical realist style and the face behind several critically-acclaimed and much-loved novels, got her start when she attended Cambridge and published a few short stories in their exclusive journal, Granta. As a direct result of this, she was offered a contract to write and publish her then incomplete debut novel – something that hasn’t been common practice in publishing for more than forty years. This is the kind of story that could make a new writer’s head explode. Smith never had to struggle for an agent a day in her life – she got to call one and tell him she had a publishing offer and needed some advice. But none of this, however ridiculous, takes away from the fact that she is a seriously capable writer.
And so this brings us on to Rowling herself. Did she start at the bottom and struggle to find her way into the annals of publishing? Yes she did. Did she have luck on her side? Maybe a little – the chairman of Bloomsbury, set to be the thirteenth house in a row to turn the first Harry Potter book down, happened to give it to his daughter and only then realise its commercial potential as a high-power kids’ book. Is any of this relevant? No.
Having produced the astounding body of work that is the Harry Potter series, entertaining literally millions upon millions of readers across the globe, she has put the work in. Her writing may not be perfect. She may, as some have suggested, have lifted and pinched a few plots, characters or set-pieces from other authors. Let’s not forget, however, that literary agents and publishers have a role to play in this. They are the gatekeepers who decide whether or not something is good enough, and more than often they have no idea – look what almost happened to Rowling and her publisher. Every would-be writer has to get past this vaguely competent yet all-powerful system, and this system and its members are what really makes the up-and-comers cross to the point of combustion. After facing them herself and scribbling a hugely successful series, Rowling has earned her right to pen and publish as much as she wants. Her new novels might suck all the oxygen out of the market and make life more difficult for everyone else, but the responsibility for this doesn’t lie with her. This effect is a mark of her work. Moreover, now that the series is finished, she should have a right to try something else. She did, after all, attempt to get by under a pseudonym for The Cuckoo’s Calling. To go back to the athlete metaphor, is she supposed to retire and sit in the dark to keep the sours at the bottom of the ladder happy? Imagine telling one of them in twenty years’ time that, after all they’ve been through and produced, they have to stop and go home. What would they say then?
Irrespective of the quality of their work or how we perceive it, this is not a healthy attitude to have towards successful authors – especially for those who might hope to fill their shoes (though if EL James comes out with a moving drama that floods Waterstones and gets a Booker nomination, we’ll forgive you for a one-hour hissy fit).