The Lost Dreams of Youth — and Other Self-Publishing Tales
My long, dear friend Richard Ravin has written a novel that I was moved to blurb. I did this not because Dick is a long, dear friend — in fact, I’ve lost good friends in the past when my publication Salon reviewed their work badly. I praised Nothing to Declare because I truly enjoyed it. The book, which is a journey back in time to the Santa Cruz (California) of my tribal youth, should have been grabbed by a major publisher. In fact, it’s so much better than many of the new novels that come my way — elegantly written, emotionally deep, and (I can attest) historically true, even though Dick (a Boston-born boy) was not part of my Santa Cruz grand experiment in political and sexual revolution. So, at my urging (nagging?), Dick finally went out and self-published his novel. If you’re looking for a good read about our 1960s-’70s generation, this is the best fictional treatment I’ve read in years. You can buy it here.
I know what you’re thinking — self-publishing is a vanity game for losers who aren’t talented enough to score a New York book contract. But that’s not true anymore. New York publishing has increasingly become a sales racket, with titles purchased and promoted based on the author’s age, gender, looks, social media marketability etc. — with literary quality coming a distant last. Now that’s not true of all New York literary gatekeepers, I hasten to add. And yes, I myself have been fortunate, by and large, in the publishing jungle. But, too often, mediocre (but “hot”) authors get lucrative contracts, while much more worthy scribes get snubbed.
In fact, book publishing has become such a dispiriting maze that some authors I know who could land contracts with leading houses are seceding from the business and self-publishing because it’s less stressful — and perhaps more profitable. Take another long, dear friend of mine — Karen Croft. As I recently reported, she has written a wonderful, witty, Wildean book of essays on the decline of common decency, Mind Your Manners: How Bad Behavior Is Destroying Civilization. You should also click on her page and immediately buy this mordant little classic. It’s not only hugely and wryly entertaining (and instructive), it’s beautifully printed by a small shop in Florence, making it more of an artifact than a product (another creative part of the publishing process that the book industry has long ago forsaken).
Come to think of it, maybe authors have always been screwed by the publishing industry. Lately I’ve been reading the 2017 biography of Henry David Thoreau by Laura Dassow Walls, and I came across this forlorn entry in Thoreau’s journal — which he wrote after the success of his most famous book, Walden. “It costs so much to publish,” Thoreau complained, “would it not be better for the author to put his manuscripts in a safe?”
Same as it ever was, same as it ever was.
