London Book Fair and the Future of Publishing
London Book Fair and the Future of Publishing
18 Apr 2012
On the table lie a banana, a note pad and a business card. Nobody is seated, which makes it an exception; most other tables at the Penguin Books stand are occupied by earnest young things and mature, sober types, chest-deep in conversations and scribbled notes. It’s much the same at Random House and Harper Collins, each but a carpeted corridor away, back to back with a host of smaller publishers of every kind of book imaginable.
Each stand is lined, sometimes top to bottom, with books. Books are everywhere. Books, books, books, in all shape and sizes, on every topic imaginable. The collective offerings from publishers and resellers, industry bodies and government agencies stretch across both halls of Earl’s Court. Come to the London Book Fair and at first glance, you would think the information revolution never happened.
“It’s just a façade,” one person (who’s been coming to the show for 18 years) tells me. “Everybody knows that the world is moving on.” E-books may be the future yet real business is being done at these tables, slots allocated according to the carefully planned schedules of publishers, retailers, rights agents and other intermediaries. One seller told me that diaries fill up months in advance, for what is a highly significant element of the publishing business calendar.
So, where precisely is the future of publishing to be found? While a scan of the floor plan reveals a Digital Publishing section, it feels more like the naughty corner than the brave new world. Activity is decidedly muted in the Digital Lounge – indeed, an empty booth offers the perfect place to write this piece, far away from all the hubbub.
The twenty or so vendors and device manufacturers occupying the digital enclave project the feel of a technology-based event. Banners proffer world-changing mantras, while heads of marketing and pre-sales engineers engage with passers by. No real business will be done here; success will be measured in badges scanned, conversations had and leads generated.
It’s a conundrum. If anyone had told the publishing industry that its models were dead, it clearly forgot to listen. Or perhaps, it is so deeply ensconced in wheeling and dealing that the geeks can’t get a word in edgeways. A few interactions (notably with a particularly disdainful head of commissioning, though I did nick a plastic bag from the stand shortly beforehand) left me feeling here was a closed shop, insiders only need apply.
Or perhaps, given that time is money in any business, rapidly compressing margins have left publishing industry decision makers with no time but to do more of what they have always done? “No time to say hello, goodbye! I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!” exclaim the notepad-carrying white rabbits as they hurry between half-hour appointments.
A small part of me – the techno-evangelist which I generally try to keep in check – wants to run through the hall screaming at everyone, like the character in the film who has had advance warning of the impending disaster, the epidemic or the tidal wave. But a bigger part whispers in my ear that the situation deserves quiet reflection. “Don’t do anything hasty,” it says, Ent-like. My head is buzzing with literary references.
So, where’s the truth? All is not necessarily well. A section of remaindered book companies bears witness to the shotgun models still employed in modern publishing: their tables yawning under the weight of celebrity bios, pasta cookbooks and obscure histories. “That’s not a good sign,” says a lady at the desk of The New York Books Review stand. “I never expected there to be so many.”
I am told, by others, how the show is a crush of egos, carried forward by its own, historical inertia. How the publishing industry could learn so much from the music industry, which (despite its own inadequacies) is so clearly ahead of the game. Ironic given how much gloom (LINK: http://www.kernelmag.com/features/report/1740/the-day-the-music-died/) pervades the latter.
But meanwhile, there’s something strangely compelling about the sheer volume of books carried by the show. Some are in nondescript or tacky covers, but others have been produced with careful attention to packaging, to tactility and tangibility. Indeed, whole companies are dedicated exclusively to the cover rather than the content. “What’s the future of the publishing industry? It’s us!” they tell me.
As I head back to collect my coat, I stumble across a ‘tweetup’ – an eyeball opportunity for the Twitterati – at the Illustrators Bar and find myself plunged back into the digitally enhanced world. Some familiar faces, such as the founders of audiobook streaming service Bardowl, are present as well as both authors and publishers. I’m told that the digital track of the London Book Fair has certainly progressed, moving from vision a couple of years ago, to discussions around workable strategies.
Whatever the future holds, whatever new possibilities offered by e-books and apps, streaming tools and social networks, certain principles hold true. Sure, the industry will undoubtedly change, alongside habits of both writing and reading. Sure, new opportunities for (that horrible word) monetisation exist, even as some older models wane.
But it is difficult not to maintain a sense of optimism about the publishing industry. Even the most cynical seemed positive about the future, for example in terms of the increasing quality of writing, the broadening opportunities for distribution, or the growing market for ‘special editions’, with digital capabilities augmenting, not replacing what has gone before.
A final view over the stands, stretching away from the upper-floor cloakroom, allays any fears about all that tangible goodness becoming no more than pixels on a screen. For all its precious egos and old habits, its bluster and self-importance, the future of publishing is bright. And it will involve books. Lots of books.
