How to Survive the London Book Fair: An Author’s Guide

Roving Reporter RosyB goes along to find out what all the fuss is about and gives us her Top Tips on Surviving the London Book Fair.

1. Don’t do it!

This was the only piece of advice I got when I shyly mooted the idea of going to the London Book Fair.

You don’t want to go there, people said. It’s a trade show, not for writers. It’s a place where publishers and agents lap up the lap of luxury, they don’t want writers cluttering up the place.

I had the  impression of Rome in its heyday, with everyone sitting about in togas in their lobster fountains (what IS a lobster fountain? Imagine the chocolate variety with large armoured crustaceans emerging from the top instead) eating so much they had to vomit up between courses..snorting together gaily, gossiping about pesky clients and washing down the  caviar canapés with champagne.

One whiff of writer, I was told, and they’ll all run shrieking in the other direction.

It’s not that far from the truth. Well, ok, there weren’t any lobster fountains. (I’ve patented that idea.) Or cavier canapés. In fact the whole place smelt and felt like an airport, the smell of new carpet, dizzying and the vast hangar of a place full to the beam with stalls and stands.

What surprised me most was the lack of artiness. The London Book Fair is not a festival. On first impressions, it could be any trade fair. There is a clean corporate, detached feel to the whole thing – and when you  browse the electronic readers in the digital section you could forget where you are for a second and easily believe you were in a computer trade show.

But they were right about the whiff of author…

The rights centre – the place that it is all happening is separated from the rest by two long escalators, gliding up to the hidden zone. Oh how I wanted to get in and see what was going on! I set off, confidently, smile at the ready…

“Have you got a meeting?”

“Err. Not as such.”

“Well you can’t go in.”

“I’m here to see my agent.”

“What number?”

“Number?”

“What’s his number?”

“Oh. Umm. E – something.”

“E-something?”

“Something like that. I can’t quite remember. Hang on, I’m sure I have something written about my person somewhere…”

I am quickly frogmarched back towards the escalator.

Not put off yet? No? Well, if you are really determined to go along then…

2.   Go on a year when the whole of European airspace is clogged up with a volcanic dust cloud and everyone is suddenly pleased to see a human being – any human being

This is my hot tip for attending the London Book Fair.

According to one report over 80% of meetings were cancelled with people from Europe and the USA unable to attend the three day fair.

“I have never been so popular,” one Dutch representative told me in the sandwich queue. “Everyone wants to have meetings with me. I’m booked up!”

Similarly, I found people weren’t too busy to talk to me either. There were some areas of the show where the tumbleweed really was rolling through and people seemed relieved for a chat. The stalls from India were all poignantly blank. Only 12 out of the 47 South African writers billed as part of the British Council’s cultural programme were able to turn up, with the others stranded in Europe or back home.

Still, for a crowd-phobic visitor who didn’t really have any major business to be doing, the lack of attendees was… well, I have to admit,  quite nice really and possibly less hot than it otherwise might have been. Talking of which:

3. Dress for a Sauna

Well, maybe not quite bikini and flipflops – or mankini and flipflops even – but the place is HOT. Perhaps because the whole place is born down upon by artificial lights in the manner of a television studio. It was freezing outside and I worried on the train down that I had packed too light…by day two I was wearing next to nothing and sweating like a pig. Not a pretty sight.

Oh and I should add, don’t wear heels. I never do anyway, but I have been told by those in the know that it’s NOT WORTH IT. There is being a slave to fashion and then there’s serious masochism. Going to LBF in heels is definitely the latter.

4. Find a Friend to Share the Pain

Otherwise you might get lonely whilst trudging about the boiling vastness of the  fair getting lost and looking for the nearest bar.

We stagger up to the information desk like two lost souls in a beerless desert. “Bar, bar.”

“Sorry?”

“Bar…bar?” (We are seriously close to collapse now and can barely get the words out.)

We were pointed over to a place that looked like…you’ve guessed it, a canteen in an airport. We decided to scuttle out of the Fair and find a local pub instead. Well, these things are important.

5. Hang around enough that even though you’re  a writer you are suddenly…

…elevated to non-threatening status, they decide you’re not so bad and, as a special privilege, you are allowed into…

..The rights centre!

Oh ok, I lie. My agent had a cancelation and invited me for a meeting. But hey, I was finally inside the inner sanctum – the place where all the wheeling and dealing is actually done!

The rights centre is the most extraordinary place. Not a potplant or lobster fountain in sight. Everywhere you look regiments of small formica tables are set out over which agents lean earnestly  in their meetings. It is like a vast prison visiting room – or a peculiar setless chess tournament. Heads are bowed and conversations muted. I parade up and down the ranks in wonder at it all. Not what I was expecting at all. It is so grey and faceless, the agents selling their rights without the colourful stands and the pizzazz  - ok, not pizzazz exactly but without the  corporate look and smell – of downstairs. Of course, I think to myself, they presumably send it all out beforehand but still…

But still.

No lobster fountains…

My heart aches.

And now all that important stuff is out the way, my very last tip:

6. Err….go to stuff

The day begins with breakfast – or not (as I manage to miss the last ham and cheese croissant of the Orange Prize Shortlist Breakfast, and settle for two strong cups of coffee instead). Breakfast at the fair, means traveling in London, in the morning -  getting up at the crack of dawn in order to stand sandwiched between the other commuters and travellers on the way to work on the tube. I am also tube phobic. This doesn’t help.

Everyone looks a bit bleary-eyed but founder, Kate Mosse greets everyone with a handshake then stands on a makeshift stage and booms into the microphone for our attention. “Oh sorry,” she says sheepishly to some terrified passers by. “Didn’t mean to startle you there.”

She introduces the Chair of the judging panel, Daisy Goodwin,  who tells us despite everything she’s written in the papers she found it interesting. Eh? What’s she been writing in the papers, I wonder? (If you’re wondering the same, here’s a handy link). I wonder whether judges complaining about submissions has become almost an expected tradition of literary prizes.

After my “breakfast” I toddle off to find out what else the fair has on offer. The events are divided up and there are different coloured tickets to say whether you are an industry person or just a member of the public  or – shock horror – a writer! There are a number of specific events for writers. I take a brief nosey at the itinerary and have to admit to being a little disappointed with the usual array of “How to get Published” and “How to Market Yourself ” type events, along with a number of events about Self-Publishing. Is that all writers care about, I wonder – getting published and marketing themselves? (Well, probably.)  But are there not other useful things that writers could do workshops about that deal with proper grown-up writerly issues?

How to Negotiate the Publishing Industry, for example. A Writer’s Guide to Contracts, Rights and Other Issues. The Truth about Writer’s Incomes (with handy noose provided). How to Negotiate the Crushing Self-Doubt and Neurosis that Rises up when Waiting Interminably for Anyone to Get Back to You.

However, there are hosts of seminars about wider questions within the publishing industry which look interesting. This year there seemed to be a lot of events about ebooks and digital content. But I went along instead to  a seminar entitled “Not to Dare: Has British Literature become Risk Averse?” It was supposedly originally entitled “Is British Publishing Risk Averse” and the question of whose fault it all was (and indeed who shouldered the risk) formed part of the discussion.

Isobel Dixon, from Blake Friedmann Literary Agency, put the case that the industry were not investing enough in their authors and that there was too much concentration on the young and the new. Writers two or three novels down the line were being required to write an entire novel on spec – publishers less willing to give an advance on three chapters and a synopsis and writers were not being supported.

“They are being told: ‘Go away, find a way to support yourself to finish the book, then we’ll decide.’” she said. “Publishers say they take all the risk of a new book, with their overheads, but what about the time the author spends writing?” (From the Bookseller)

Bestselling novelist and Orange Prize founder, Kate Mosse, talked of the duty that she felt as a successful commercial writer towards other writers who are starting out or those that write in a more “literary” style and therefore find it hard to make a living. I have never actually heard a writer say such a thing before and promptly fell in love with Kate Mosse on the spot. She told us that when they set up the Orange Prize, it was the most lucrative prize of the time. (Before the Booker got jealous and decided to up the ante.) But, interestingly, she said, when they were working out the prize amount, it was not with publicity in mind – rather it was based on the idea of giving a woman writer a proper income and enough independence to pursue their writing properly for a period of time.

More generally, Mosse felt expectations had changed. People expected to make money out of writing now. To “be” writers in a career sense – an expectation she felt had not existed so much in the past where even our greatest writers could be found supporting themselves as bank clerks. However, she also seemed to feel that it was important that writers get some level of support. Often it can take five, six, seven books for a writer to “break through” and find major success. They get better over time, she said. She believed prizes were now more important than ever.

Alison Samuel, ex editor from Chatto, on the other hand, seemed to take a different view. Publishing, she said, should be risk averse. After all, it is a business like any other. Why should we have this idea that because books are involved it should be any different? Why should people take risks gambling with other people’s money?

“The implication that we shouldn’t be risk-averse is hilarious.” (From the Bookseller)

“Look at the bankers!” she cried. “Editors have very large egos,” she added. “God, how often was I wrong?”

The demise of the Net Book Agreement was brought up, and also the recent success of smaller independent publishers and a passing mention was even given to blogs – although not much.

At the end of the session, I was left thinking  that it was all very well, but at the end of the day there is risk in terms of how the publishing industry behaves in terms of business and then there is risk in terms of backing different and interesting or unfamiliar books – which are different things. Taking a large series of random bets in the short-term on books you hope will hit the zeitgeist (more vampires and subfusque Dan Brown ripoffs anyone?) could be argued to be MORE risky than investing in a more measured long-term way in authors and building audiences and recognition. But what do I know?

The day ends (for me) with quite a lot of drink at various receptions and gobbling a vast amount of crisps at the Publishing Scotland reception. (I am craving salt by now and can scarsely think of anything else). I inspect the products of a  new short stories for mobiles company…on someone’s mobile. (This doesn’t seem to be anything to do with Publishing Scotland but is quite fun anyway) and wonder about that age-old idea  that all commuters want is a short story to read on the way to work. But I wish them luck.

It’s been a long day, sweating like I’m in a sauna, bleary with the sights of endless stands and book jackets, the smell of the carpet, the beating down of the lights, I decide I’ve had enough. It’s been good. I’ve learnt a lot.

It’s time to go home.

—-

*photo of Hilary Mantel addressing audience at the Pen Literary Cafe LBF 2010, courtesey of English Pen on Flickr reproduced under the Creative Commons Licence

More about Vulpes roving reporter RosyB here.

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