The following article was written by
Rebecca Swift and Hannah Griffiths, co-founders of The Literary
Consultancy. It was published as “Style Gurus” in
The Author, the quarterly magazine of the Society of Authors,
in Spring 1997. The piece describes the situation for new
writers in Britain and explains why and how The Literary
Consultancy was set up.
The chances are you will be familiar with
being approached by friends or family and asked to read their
jottings, autobiography, novel, whatever they have written and
about which they want and an opinion – usually good. If
you have ever agreed to do this, you will acknowledge the
amount of energy required and also the difficulty in
formulating an objective response. If it is really poor, both
grammatically and structurally, how does one tell the writer?
If it has some promise, but needs serious work, have you the
time or experience to give detailed help?
Aspiring writers are also usually desperate
for details of agents and publishers – any information
which might further their dream of being published. When
in-house staff are changing, sometimes several times a year,
and companies are being bought up and having their images
changed, how can one hope to keep up with what might be
genuinely useful to somebody? It is well known that a
slush-pile languishes pitiably in the corner of every editorial
department. Editorial assistants long to discover the next
Martin Amis or Joanna Trollope, but they find that the time
allowed for reading unsolicited material allows them little
opportunity to get beyond chapter one (even page one) let alone
to give any real idea of where the writing is not yet there.
A Short Rejection Letter
An editorial assistant at Random House is
sympathetic: “I am able to give one day every two months
to getting through the pile of unsolicited submissions, so I
haven’t got time to find out whether the work is good or
not. If it doesn’t grab me within the first few
paragraphs, there is no time to persevere. A short rejection
letter is all we have time to offer, which I am aware is
inadequate, but there is nothing I can do.” The recent
discussion concerning falling standards in copy-editing is part
of the bigger problem of cost-cutting which has left publishing
houses understaffed and pushed for time. Mistakes are an
inevitable result. But the problems are not only found in the
minutiae of grammatical errors, but also in the structure and
quality of the narrative itself. Salman Rushdie and Hilary
Mantel are just two examples of successful writers who have
complained publicly about this. One writer, who recently had a
novel adapted for BBC TV, hugely appreciated the hands-on
suggestions of his script editor who suggested a number of
changes in the narrative including a total rewrite of the
ending. Although not all writers enjoy too much tampering, he
believes detailed help such as this would have been useful, had
it been available, with his original work.
The desperate bid for sales, the recent
trend of moving marketing people into editorial and
decision-making positions, has left a dramatic and disturbing
hole where real editorial work is needed. It is quite amazing
to think that such an integral part of the book industry is
increasingly seen as a mere luxury. You would not expect a car
to be made without proper safety tests – and neither
should a book be produced without sufficient attention to its
quality and detail. The text itself has become the least
important cog in the wheel as publication days become a circus
of hype and gimmicks.
To a certain extent, the responsibility of
working thoroughly with the author has fallen back on to the
shoulders of agents – which is potentially no bad thing.
However, the result is that the very good agents, who can and
will spend time, are finding themselves in turn unable to take
a proper look at work in which it would be unwise to invest
immediately. After all, their livelihood depends on sales. So
the newcomer who may yet be a way off publication, let alone
the poor should who simply wants a fair comment on his or her
work, is less likely than ever to get a look-in.
Help is at Hand
Out of this infernal circle of frustration,
a solution is arising in the shape of a number of literary
consultants, often with a great deal of experience, offering
skills as professional readers to individuals who need
attention. They harbour the sole purpose of reading every word,
and developing the work of unpublished writers at all stages of
their progress. Born out of a pressing awareness that writers
are left with no real idea of how to take their work on to the
next stage, last May we launched our Literary Consultancy, and
have been delighted by the varied and numerous manuscripts we
have had the chance to work on, enabling us to continue to do
with integrity the thing we love best: work with writers and
their words.
There are, of course, also an increasing
number of talented editors working freelance. Out of these (and
some who still also work in-house), we garnered together a team
of first-rate professional readers who enjoy writing and
writers alike, and can offer an extremely creative, engaged,
honest and detailed report on novels, poetry, short stories and
non-fiction in a relatively short time – usually three to
six weeks. If agreeable to the author we will annotate the text
to make precise meanings clear, tell the writer how the
industry is likely to view what they have done, shape a
synopsis, help choose the right chapters to send in, comment on
past rejection letters, suggest other possible avenues such as
magazines and competitions – anything that would really
help that person be clearer about what their real position is.
Where a work is, in our opinion, nearly ready for publication,
we will recommend agents or publishers to pursue, and we have
personal links with many.
Advice is only as good as the person who
gives it, and we do feel that we have ensured a crew of
versatile and imaginative readers who put writing first. Often
our clients are delighted to have their work validated by a
close read and this is enough. Some have gone on to redraft
their typescripts and send them back in a vastly improved
state. While we are aware that there are opportunities for
these people to attend writing courses and writers’
groups, there is little opportunity there for a one-to-one
detailed assessment of work. It is also difficult to receive an
objective response from people who have a personal investment
in the group, and their own set of fears and expectations.
A literary consultant can afford to be
honest – sometimes brutally – but can also be
involved while a writer works through the problems. Honesty and
a good deal of time for thought and comment are essential, and
are easier to give when the professional parameters of a
relationship are established. A recent client had been told by
Cape’s Tom Maschler in 1989, “You can write”,
which has left him clinging to his original novel and his
fantasies, yet confused as to his failure at not actually
having been published. Unlike Tom Maschler, we have time to
tell him how we think his talent is being stifled by the
particular novel he can’t let go, and advise on the next
course of action.
The Random House editorial assistant
formerly quoted is delighted: “At last I can recommend a
professional advisory service for the rejectees”. We do
hope that in the years to come more writers will invest in
valuable consultants, who can break the chain of misery, make
expectations more realistic and, where suitable and possible,
genuinely help on to the next phase towards publication and the
wider world.
Rebecca Swift and Hannah Griffiths, 1997