“You have to be a little self-important to venture into print.” This is the view of a successful South African writer, and one of several judiciously phrased responses to the question, “Do writers have enormous egos?” addressed to a number of South African writers and publishers.
Despite the obvious generalisation in such a question, it was interesting to see how it got people going, and the extent to which such attitudes underly the process of having a novel published in South Africa today.
That South Africa is not short of good novelists is evident from a quick look at the winners and shortlisted novels in our most recent literary awards — The Heart of Redness by Zakes Mda and David’s Story by Zoë Wicomb for example. However, getting a novel published in South Africa is not an easy matter, and publishers are generally fonder of writers than vice versa, or so it seems from a casual sampling of opinion among these two professions. Although neither could function nor exist without the other, the balance of power seems to lie with publishers. Although in some ways it would benefit South African writers to take their work to UK or American publishers — certainly financially — many South African novelists feel that their primary audience is South African, that these are the readers who would best understand and appreciate their work. Some see publishing locally as a first step toward international exposure.
Whatever the case, literally hundreds of fiction manuscripts are submitted to publishers every year, of which a miniscule number are actually published. Of 200 fiction proposals a year, David Philip publishes about five, Penguin less than 1% of 150, and Oxford University Press about 10% of 36. And of those published few are likely to have an initial print run of more than 3Â 000, more likely 1Â 500. Dismal indeed, in a country with a population of over 40-million people.
Despite this, writers are still writing, and publishers still committed. Kate McCallum, of Oxford University Press, gives as one of her reasons for being in publishing that it is an industry that “punches above its weight” as “reading is the foundation of all economies”. She says Oxford’s fiction publishing is supported by “bread and butter” publishing of textbooks and non-fiction.
Alison Lowry of Penguin Books says publishing “is the reason I get out of bed in the morning; a privilege, a challenge, a frustration, a delight”. Annari van der Merwe is likewise passionately involved. Isobel Dixon, South African-born literary agent with Blake Friedmann in London, who has represented South African writers in the UK, says of publishers that they “could often be doing some other job, with fewer hours, for more money and status, but they are in publishing because they love being involved”.
Although not every publisher who was approached was prepared to comment on the relationship between publishers and writers, those who did agree that it is based on trust. Russel Martin of David Philip Publishers, considers it “unique”, and “often ending in friendship”. Kate McCallum said it was like being asked to comment on a marriage. “The chemistry has to be right, and neither side can afford an adversarial partner,” she said. Van der Merwe commented on the protective role of the publisher, who has to know the writer’s vulnerabilities.
So how should authors go about finding the right publisher for the novel they have often spent years working on? Advice offered by publishers included the following: Research the market; find out which publisher’s list includes books similar to your manuscript. This can be done by scanning the shelves in a good bookshop or asking the advice of a knowledgeable bookseller. Many manuscripts are rejected because they are simply inappropriate for that publisher’s list. Then find out whether the publisher would prefer a synopsis of the plot line and characters, plus 3-5 chapters, or the whole manuscript. Observe basic practicalities such as sending your manuscript neatly typed, double-spaced, unbound in hard copy, with a self-addressed envelope (in case it is rejected). And keep a copy yourself. With your manuscript send a short (2-3 page) letter which gives your contact details, some information about yourself and your aims. Isobel Dixon says: “Be engaging, concise.”
What not to do: Don’t send your novel by e-mail; don’t insist on an interview with the publisher to talk them through the book (it should speak for itself); don’t tell the publisher that your friends loved it. Nor should you, according to Alison Lowry, “nag for a response five minutes after delivery”.
Which raises the question of what constitutes “pestering” a publisher, and the related one of how long a writer can expect to wait for an answer from a publisher. And the tricky issue of multiple submissions. With regard to the first, Van der Merwe encourages writers to phone, acknowledging that “it gets chaotic here sometimes”, but she adds that “once a week is annoying”.
Isobel Dixon says after one month a writer “could maybe make a written enquiry”. And she further warns that “the kind of working relationship your behaviour suggests while they are considering your work is important”. And while this may be true, it certainly works both ways, and writers can also assess the likely nature of their working relationship with a particular publisher by the way their submission and reasonable enquiries are handled. The length of time a writer can expect to wait for an answer varies, according to publishers, from 1-3 months.
Although previously the acceptable way to submit a manuscript was to one publisher at a time, this practice seems to be changing. On the whole publishers still say they prefer single submissions, but all of those surveyed said multiple submissions are acceptable provided the writer is upfront about having sent the manuscript to several publishers. Clearly they are concerned about spending time and money on assessing a manuscript only to find another publisher has pipped them to the post.
Authors, to a person, dislike the single-submission protocol. Zakes Mda describes it as “a stupid practice”. Antjie Krog said she preferred to “fight it out with one” rather than “drift around”, but also said she would negotiate beforehand on how long she would wait before sending it to someone else.
Another successful South African writer describes the single submission routine as “a killer” for writers, and said: “I would support it more wholeheartedly if publishers made up their minds quickly.” And, “It’s not acceptable … to dither over an MS [manuscript] for a year and then say no.”
Another writer says: “The protocol of not submitting to more than one publisher at a time is open to abuse in that publishers have no problem with taking six months to get back to an author, and the author is unwilling to push them because it may jeopardise his/her chances. This seems unfair to me.”
All of this makes one wonder how reliable evaluation times given by publishers really are. And as for keeping writers informed about the progress of the evaluation, most publishers were rather vague, though Van der Merwe again said that if the assessment were taking a long time the writer would be asked if they wanted the manuscript back! One publisher, politely asked after three months for some indication of how much longer would be required, tersely replied: “A reply from a publisher is usually a yes or a no”, and also suggested the manuscript should be taken back. As one writer expressed it: “The kind of communication [required] is little more than good business practice and common courtesy, but publishers don’t always seem to rate it very highly.”
All the authors surveyed said they had had both good and bad experiences with publishers. High on all authors’ lists of what would constitute good treatment from a publisher was sensitive editing and respect for their work. They would also like to be kept informed on all aspects relating to the publication of the book, and want the publisher “to do the job properly and professionally”.
Antjie Krog said it was “good to get experienced help” in certain areas. Good marketing and distribution are also seen as essential, as well as follow up in sending the author reviews and reports on local and foreign sales.
A few published South African writers offered some advice to their fellows. “If you wish to be published internationally, get an agent,” says Mda.
Krog says: “Fight about the percentage paid to you and cross out the clause in your contract (of course you must have a contract) which gives the publishers rights to your next book.”
The future of fiction in South Africa depends to some extent on growing readers. Van der Merwe feels much, much more could be done to promote reading. For example, schools need to encourage reading “for leisure and pleasure”; libraries need to be improved; books should be regularly exposed on TV and readings of novels done on radio (bring this back please, SAfm); more black people should write as readers need to identify with what they read. She is adamant that it is not the price of books that keeps people from reading, but rather the perception that reading is not fashionable.
Isobel Dixon feels there is a long way to go in giving reading the same “cachet” as it has in Britain, where “almost everyone reads”, including “convincing the rising middle classes who have the wherewithal that buying a book is not so expensive”. And she sees a need for big business and others to support literary prizes; a healthy book industry would be “better for our society all round”.
In a recent newsletter of the National English Literary Museum, The African Writer’s Handbook by James Gibbs and Jack Mapanje is reviewed and highly recommended by Elaine M Pearson. She ends thus: “Postcolonial Africa has suffered from a publishing industry fraught with problems that have often alienated African writers and even forced them to seek publication overseas.”
While South African writers may have a better deal than many in other African countries, this remark has a certain resonance, and perhaps there is room for improved publisher-writer relationships here too, where the “marriage” referred to by McCallum too often gets no further than a tentative courtship. And the importance of fiction in telling our stories, situating ourselves in the world, is as great as ever, present circumstances notwithstanding.