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September, 2011 Monthly archive


By Jon Leigh

I ONCE knew an established novelist whose books had been published by the same London imprint for 25 years or more. A typical hardback run was around 5,000 copies.

What amazed me was that, having invested in producing her books, usually to a pretty high standard, they declined to market them. ‘We do the publishing, but you’ll have to do the marketing,’ they told her.

This was not a small independent firm with meagre resources, but a name you would recognise instantly. They were moderately big players, but their marketing budget was confined to those titles they expected to become bestsellers.

My friend and other ‘middle of the road’ authors on their list were told to market their own work. They did so by visiting local news editors and offering themselves for interview on regional radio and television stations.

‘They left me very much to my own devices,’ said my friend, ‘Once the book was out, it was made clear that the promotional activity was very much in my hands.’

I was reminded of my friend’s plight a few weeks ago when I visited the Waterstone’s bookstore in Chelsea. While browsing recent fiction, I was approached by a well-mannered man called Stephen Benatar, pictured above, who invited me to peruse a pile of his work on a nearby table.

The well-produced paperbacks were published by a small independent imprint called Welbeck Modern Classics. ‘Don’t feel under any obligation to buy,’ he said, ‘I just want you to know my books are here.’

Naturally, I invested eight pounds in one of his volumes – a couple of novellas – and told him how much I admired his style. By ‘style’ I meant his marketing skills, as I had not yet had a chance to judge his writing. He seemed pleased to have sold another book that might otherwise have been overlooked.

Writers are not generally very good at self-promotion. They are reserved and retiring people by nature. But Stephen Benatar had developed a sales pitch that fell short of a hard sell, but was very effective anyway.

Every Saturday, he is to be found at a Waterstone’s outlet selling his books. The money goes through the store’s till and everyone benefits. On an average day he will sell between 40 and 60 copies. On a good day, he might reach 100. Without his marketing skills, the stores would be lucky to sell one.

I can’t in good conscience review Stephen’s book because I haven’t read it yet. But the cover bears testimonials from the Sunday Express, LBC Radio and The Scotsman, so someone out there likes it.

The lesson for all would-be novelists is that getting published is only half the story. Persuading the public to buy your work is the real challenge.

RECOVERY by Stephen Benatar (introduction by John Lucas) is published by Welbeck Modern Classics at £7.99.

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LONG HOT SUMMER by John Marquis

AWARD-WINNING British journalist John Marquis spent ten years as the highly controversial managing editor of the Bahamas leading daily, The Tribune.

In this, his third book, he reflects on the island paradise he describes as ‘one of the world’s great locations’ and the fascinating cast of characters who propelled it from colony status in the 1960s to a fully-fledged nation.

During his total of 14 years in the Bahamas, Marquis was reviled by politicians who resented his aggressive journalistic style. During his spell as editor, the government tried to build a case for deportation.

Following a year-long face-off with several leading politicians in 2006-7, his paper was credited with bringing down the government after a scandal involving the American starlet Anna Nicole Smith.

Street protests were staged outside the Tribune offices in Nassau calling for the editor’s removal. But he stood firm, eventually retiring from full-time journalism in 2009. He is now an author and columnist living in Cornwall, England.

Long Hot Summer is a must read for anyone interested in the modern Bahamas, one of the world’s glitziest tourist resorts. Marquis pulls no punches in telling the real story behind its colourful facade and focuses on the cocaine trade during the 1980s and its frightening impact on the country and its people.

However, this is not a negative book. The author clearly has great affection for the glorious archipelago and gives a voice to some of his its humblest inhabitants. He also acknowledges its contribution to his long career as a newspaperman.

NOW AVAILABLE. £26 ($38 USD) including  postage and packaging.

* SEE Booktalk item headed ‘Controversial editor’s new book’

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By Jake Hillman

ONE of the true milestones in contemporary English literature was passed in June this year with barely a mention from the London press.

Colin Wilson – one of the Angry Young Men of the 1950s – turned eighty with the approbation of his devotees ringing in his ears, but hardly a whisper from those who set themselves up as arbiters of English writing.

You will find the so-called ‘quality’ press devoting acres of space to Booker Prize contenders no-one has ever heard of or cares one jot about, but not so much as a paragraph about Wilson, a man whose amazing mind has spawned more than 170 books in a writing career spanning nearly 60 years.

The reasons for Fleet Street’s coolness towards one of Britain’s most remarkable writers of modern times are complex, but no less shameful for that.

A novelist, essayist, polemicist, philosopher and science fiction writer has who toiled at his keyboard every day of the year – and that includes Christmas Day – since the mid-1950s, gathering an international following that is almost slavish in its adulation, deserves his due as he soldiers on into his ninth decade.

But the occasion passed virtually unremarked except by those – the readers of his incredible range of work –  who see Wilson as a literary phenomenon unparalleled in the entire history of English letters. A celebratory book of essays was published to mark the day, but there was nothing like the kind of coverage his huge output warranted.

Wilson rose to fame alongside the playwright John Osborne in 1956 when his book, The Outsider, was published by Victor Gollancz just as Osborne’s groundbreaking play, Look Back in Anger, opened at the Royal Court Theatre in London.

Together, they became part of a mythical literary brotherhood known by the popular press as The Angry Young Men. John Braine, Kingsley Amis, John Wain and Alan Sillitoe became fellow members of the group, which went on to dominate the course of English fiction for several years thereafter.

Wilson’s book, which drew heavily on the work of prominent philosophers to identify the role of the outsider in modern society, was initially lauded to the skies by prominent Sunday paper critics of the time. They noted, in particular, his precocity (he was only 24) and his unlikely background as a working class lad from Leicester who had never been to university.

The young author burnished his image as a bohemian misfit by disclosing that he had researched the book at the British Museum during the day while sleeping on Hampstead Heath at night. And he gained further notoriety when his girlfriend’s father threatened to belabour him with a bullwhip.

To make matters worse, he offended the London literary establishment by declaring himself to be a genius, a claim his critics have been trying to debunk ever since. Wilson was thereafter depicted as a proletarian upstart with ideas above his station.

As the academic world turned upon what they cited as his ‘crackpot’ philosophical ramblings, establishment critics recanted and withdrew their earlier support. Wilson, sick of press persecution, and alarmed by the treacherous nature of London literary life, fled to Cornwall with his girlfriend. They have lived there, contentedly and productively, ever since.

Inevitably, Wilson’s subsequent work was either lambasted or ignored by the London press. In recent times, the few articles written about him have been snide and derisive. At no time has he been afforded his due as an extremely prolific writer of prodigious talent.

As the London press has become increasingly metropolitan and less national in its approach over the last thirty years, Wilson has also had to bear the burden of being a writer from a provincial background who has chosen to live on the cliffs of a gale-blasted peninsula far from the watering holes of Bloomsbury and Hampstead.

So while obscure North London novelists with hardback sales of fewer than 3,000 copies command many inches of space in London newspapers, Wilson is studiously ignored. Not that it bothers him.

‘I don’t read the critics anyway,’ he told one reporter, ‘they have never understood my work, so I don’t allow myself to be troubled by them.’

In spite of that, his books have poured forth in impressive profusion. From the occult to criminology, from biographies to memoirs, from literary criticism to philosophy, they have sprung from his keyboard in the tiny study at his Cornish cottage like literary jumpjacks.

He has written a biography of Rasputin, any number of works about serial murderers, essays on mysticism, tracts on the state of mankind, fantasy stories, a study of the cult figure Aleister Crowley, plus several conventional novels – all in a style that keeps the general reader engaged.

Some say Wilson has spread his talent too thinly in a lifetime of writing, and that he ought to have ploughed fewer furrows in his quest to become the significant writer he has always felt himself to be.

In 1997, he told the magazine Cornwall Arts that his productivity was as much to do with financial necessity as personal inclination. ‘I write to put bread on the table,’ he said, ‘I have always lived on an overdraft.’

Though The Outsider was a bestseller, with 25,000 hardback sales when it was first published, Wilson has never been a rich man. His early triumph enabled him to buy his Cornish cottage, but he has lived simply since then, supplementing royalties with occasional lecture tours, and finding contentment in his writing, his family, and the dramatic landscape in which he lives.

Most afternoons, he is still to be seen walking his dog along the coastal path near his home in Gorran Haven on the south Cornish coast.

Inevitably, his very existence provokes the ire of the Oxbridge-public school literary axis. If there is anything they hate, it’s proletarians elbowing their way on to their patch.

One of his most recent tormentors was someone called Adam Mars-Jones, son of a prominent legal family and beneficiary of the Oxbridge gravy train.

Withering as he was in trashing Wilson’s autobiographical book, Dreaming to Some Purpose, it’s noticeable that Mars-Jones has yet to match the butt of his critical ire by way of quality or quantity.

By some distance, Wilson is the better man in literary terms. And by an even greater distance he has established himself internationally as a writer of highly readable, and sometimes quite compelling, prose.

Wilson enjoys not only the adulation of a significant band of devotees, he has a literary magazine dedicated exclusively to his writings and ideas. For decades he has lectured to fans all over the world.

Adam Who?

Another of his most virulent detractors is a London-based Scot called Harry Ritchie. I know nothing of Ritchie or his work, though I did spot a novel of his in Poundland. Odd that in more than half of century of admiring Colin Wilson, I’ve yet to spot one of his books among the oven-gloves and pot-scourers at a cut-price clearance store.

For those not yet acquainted with the work of this remarkable man, now is as good a time as any to find out what he’s all about.

Personally, I find his philosophical works hard to fathom, but his memoirs, novels and criticism are invariably highly readable products of an extremely lively and interesting mind.

His success in maintaining a highly productive writing career over so many years in the face of press indifference – or occasional hostility – ought to serve as inspiration for every would-be writer. And it’s just as well to remember that the Oxbridge literary set, though desperate to anoint one another with immortality, rarely amount to anything worthwhile in the end.

RECOMMENDED READS by Colin Wilson: The Outsider, Ritual in the Dark, The Occult, The Mind Parasites, Necessary Doubt, The Angry Years, Voyage to a Beginning, Dreaming to Some Purpose and Adrift in Soho.

A PROFILE of Colin Wilson appears in The Literary Post.


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STORIES on Alan Sillitoe, Beryl Bainbridge, Diana Athill (pictured above), Harold Evans and James Hanley, among many others,  grace the pages of The Literary Post, a 32-page magazine for booklovers which is sent free to everyone ordering three books or more from First Edition Press.

Covering ‘the world of books in black and white’, The Literary Post offers an unpretentious appraisal of the contemporary literary scene, with articles on leading writers, current trends in the book business, and useful advice for those with writing ambitions of their own.

Among features in the current issue are an appreciation of Colin Wilson at 80, a review of three books on publishing by Jeremy Lewis, and a look at the writing life of British polemicist Christopher Hitchens. And there is also an interesting piece on novelists who escaped the parsimony of publishers by issuing work under their own imprints. Don’t miss it.

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Please note that First Edition Press is in the early stages of developing this site. It will be updated at least twice a week, with a growing selection of new and used books for sale. Help us keep the world of print alive by buying direct from First Edition and reading The Literary Post, our excellent magazine for book lovers everywhere.

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