The Costs of Amazon's War with Hachette

Recent publishing news has been dominated by the fight between Amazon and Hachette  over e-book pricing. Although details of the negotiations are not public, we do know that Amazon has already taken retributive action against Hachette by removing the pre-order option for Hachette titles, not offering the usual discount on Hachette hardcover titles, and keeping their stock of Hachette titles low enough to slow down shipments. As many observers have pointed out, Amazon's tactics have hurt their customers as much as publishers and authors because the online retailer isn't stocking merchandise that their customers want. For many shoppers who have come to rely on the convenience of Amazon - and for those whose local brick and mortar bookstores have closed down - this severely limits their access to Hachette titles. Amazon recently posted a statement explaining this tactic as business as usual and part of negotiations on behalf of its customers.

Why does this matter?

1) It reduces options for shoppers: Gumming up access to Hachette titles means that shoppers lose access to A LOT of books. Hachette owns Little, Brown, which publishes a lot of mainstream fiction, including JK Rowling's new Cormoran Strike book, The Silkworm. For shoppers whose local brick and mortar bookstores have closed down, options are limited.

2) It is going to determine the terms for other publishers: As Jeremy Greenfield explains in the Atlantic, Amazon controls much of the book - and most especially the e-book market - and this is the first big fight over e-book pricing following the court ruling against Apple for supposedly colluding with publishers to fix prices in the e-book market (a charge that Apple disputes). Hachette is not only the first publisher to come up for contract negotiations with Amazon since the ruling's two-year embargo on negotiations, but it is also one of the biggest. The outcome of this fight is likely to dictate terms for other publishers.

3) If Hachette loses, it's going to hurt publishers: Most people are angry about Amazon's tactics for numerous reasons, not least of which is the perception that Amazon is trying to put publishers out of business. Authors and (unsurprisingly) independent booksellers have condemned Amazon for its actions. As Brad Stone asserts in The Everything Store, Amazon views publishers as "sickly" gazelles and itself as a cheetah. 

Now, most people would agree that publishers are not entire innocents: they are businesses, after all, and they are not always operating in their authors' best interests in terms of profit sharing. Their emphasis on profits leads them to reject a lot of books that they don't anticipate being able to sell, which means that there is potentially less experimentation in the book market and more emphasis on commercial viability. Many authors have been drawn to self-publishing on Amazon because they can get their work out there, which gives them a platform to market their work and, perhaps most importantly, make more per title than they ever would through traditional publishers. This has led many to assert that publishers and, indeed editors, are not necessary in the book world.

I disagree. Not with the proposition that there is, perhaps, too much gatekeeping in the commercial publishing world. A good friend of mine who also happens to be a talented writer recently recounted her experiences talking to agents about her latest novel in process. It was a comedy of second-guessing marketability.

However, I do think that publishers and editors add significant value to the books that they produce. They select works with promise and usher them through the editorial process. A book rarely arrives on an editor's desk ready to publish, and a good editor has a sharp eye for a work that can be shaped into something better. I don't want to see editors and publishers driven out of business through Amazon's aggressive business model.

4) It gives Amazon even greater control over the self-publishing market: I am excited about the surge in indie-published work that we're experiencing. And, while Amazon has done quite a bit to foster that surge, the indie revolution is another reason that I want to see Amazon facing more robust competition.

Let me explain: I have written elsewhere about the problem with Kindle publishing from a long-term perspective. I know that not all authors are thinking about the long-term preservation of their books, but, as a librarian, it's my job to think about it. The library where I work is currently unable to purchase Kindle titles for the collection because we cannot loan them out. 

Further, there is no way for us to archive Kindle titles even if we could buy them to loan to our patrons. That means that we can't be certain that these titles will be available for future readers or for future researchers to study. That's what concerns me the most, and I am hoping to find a some sort of a solution. Regardless of the quality of any individual self-published title, we'll be faced with a huge gap in the literary record if we don't find some way to preserve a portion of the self-published titles that make up a substantial slice of the current publishing world. Imagine, for example, if no one had saved zines or eighteenth-century pamphlets.

I know that the Hachette Amazon dispute is not going to resolve the archiving question. However, I feel confident that we're not going to see any answers if one corporation has an e-book monopoly.

Put on Hold: The Library Ebook Borrowing Dilemma

In general, I prefer reading books in print, except when I'm traveling. As I've discussed in the past, whenever I'm on the road, I would infinitely rather bring my Kindle along loaded with a few books to read or not--depending on my mood. That's the main thing: I never quite know what my reading mood is going to be when I'm on the road, and I almost never actually want to read what I've brought with me. That's mostly because I tend to bring books with me out of obligation--i.e., books that I feel I should read rather than books I want to read. (A topic that I've talked about at length here.)

So, bringing my Kindle along is the perfect solution, and I love that I can check books out electronically through my public library and Overdrive. In theory, when I decide that I'm not really interested in whatever critical study I've brought with me, I can download the chick lit novel that I might actually enjoy.

The only problem is that I never want to read any of the books that are available for checkout at any given moment. As a result, I search through the options and wind up putting a the handful of books I'd actually like to read on hold for the future. Unfortunately, by the time those books are available, I'm usually in the midst of some other book or a busy semester and have no time to read.

Here's what I wish: that when you put books on hold--either ebooks or, for that matter, any books from the library--you could set a target date. That way, if your book becomes available earlier, it would just move to the next patron. Then, when your target date arrives, you would move to the front of the queue.

I know, I know. That would be a logistical nightmare for libraries and whoever manages the queues for ebooks. I also know that I could buy books for my Kindle...but I can dream, can't I?

A Longer-Term View of Kindle Publishing

Just the other day, a patron asked me to purchase a copy of Leslie Marmon Silko's Oceanstory for our library. Oceanstory, it turns out, is a Kindle exclusive, which means that it is not available in print, at least not for now. While the library where I work regularly purchases e-books, we're unable to purchase Kindle-only titles because we have no way of hosting and sharing them.

Odyssey editions, which published Oceanstory, specializes in ebooks on the Kindle platform. The books listed on their website are all "classic" 20th-century works, available in print, so the Kindle-only policy isn't an issue in those cases. This blogpost by Chad Post explains Odyssey Editions' business model as exploiting loopholes in publishing contracts that specify the rights to publish an author's work in book form.

Oceanstory, however, seems to be working on a different model, where the book is available Kindle only without a print edition. It may be the case that the print is yet to come, but this case has made me wonder about the benefits of Kindle-only publishing from an author's point of view--not so much in terms of short-term revenue, but in terms of long-term reputation.

Here's what I mean: I understand the attraction of e-only publishing on a platform like the Kindle. Authors have access to publishing in entirely new ways and can by-pass the gatekeeping of publishing houses, many of which are primarily interested in finding the next big blockbuster. For authors who are willing to work their social media networks, they can find an audience on their own. This has obvious attractions.

Likewise, a Kindle-only book can't circulate in libraries, and some might see that as better for revenue. That, at least, is the case against "militant librarians who see no reason why they shouldn’t be able to 'lend' our e-books without restriction" that Richard Russo makes in the widely circulated letter that he wrote encouraging authors to join the Authors Guild. That is, as long as the e-book in question is not part of an e-book package, like the Midwest  Collaborative for Library Services, through which public libraries loan kindles.

I'm not going to comment on whether or not restricting library circulation helps or hurts authors' revenues, but I do think that e-only books that are not available to libraries pose a risk to their authors in a way that doesn't get much press, and that's the threat to their future reputation. Simply, if authors' books aren't available for sale to libraries, that means that libraries cannot collect and archive them. And that's what large research libraries are interested in doing: only 20% of the books that we collect ever circulate, but we are also interested in preserving the cultural record for the future.

That might not seem important in the short term of building a reputation, an audience, and a writing career through robust Kindle sales. But I worry about whether those works will be available for scholars to study, write about, and teach in their classrooms--much less available to anyone who's interested in reading and talking about them in the future for whatever reason. By relying on Kindle, we essentially rely on Amazon to archive these materials. I'm not inclined to trust them.

Catching Up, Part I: Emily Giffin's Something Borrowed

I clearly have a lot of catching up to do. In an earlier post, I talked about rediscovering what I liked about reading when I started reading Kindle books on my phone. Since then, I've discovered that I have been *way* out of the loop, pleasure reading-wise, and I'm trying to catch up. This week's catch up has been Emily Giffin's Something Borrowed, which came out in 2005 and --wow, how did I miss this?--was made into a movie with Kate Hudson.

The movie isn't particularly good, despite having a great cast, and feels flat, but the book is an absorbing read. Giffin draws you in right from the beginning with the tension between Rachel and Darcy. The jealousy that Rachel feels, as well as Darcy's characterization as self-centered and attention-seeking, is believable. Giffin offers a clear picture of how competitive "friendships" can be, and she hints at the insecurities behind Darcy's treatment of those around her. Giffin plants the possibility that Darcy's need to put Rachel down stems from her own sense of failure: she didn't get into Notre Dame, Ethan didn't choose Darcy over Rachel, etc.

At a certain point in the book, though, Rachel's anger toward Darcy becomes a little weird. It's not surprising, especially if Darcy has been using her as a way to make herself look better all these years, but it's not clear that book means for Rachel to seem as spiteful as she does. What I mean by that is that the logic of the novel seems entirely weighted toward supporting Rachel's side of the story, and Rachel gets the prize at the end as the ultimate validation. There doesn't seem to be an element of the story that questions Rachel's anger, only her passivity. And Darcy is ultimately shown in the most monstrous light possible, likewise validating all of Rachel's feelings. It feels a little one-dimensional in this way.

As for the infidelity plot, which many of the reviewers on Goodreads found unacceptable, I'm bothered less by it than many readers. I think that's because the story is about deciding not to make the wrong decision, rather than cheating once the decision has been made. Sure, Dex and Rachel should have been more honest with Darcy, but this particular fictional universe doesn't leave much space for that. It is striking that the movie tries very hard to mitigate Dex's waffling between Darcy and Rachel by creating a drama about his mother and about his wishing he pursued a different career. In the book, he took the unusual and decisive course of choosing not to pursue law and return to the business world. The movie Dex is much less in control of his own life.

Professional vs. Pleasure Reading

This summer I rediscovered pleasure reading. Or, maybe closer to the point, I rediscovered what it is that I love about reading. As a librarian who works 9-to-5 and tries to keep up my scholarship--and a mother of two relatively young kids--my reading time is squeezed into the rare spare moment. This is especially true since our children don’t seem to need sleep, but you don’t need to hear about that….

Anyway, my main point is that although my reading time has almost entirely vanished, I’ve been trying, grimly, to keep up the professional reading that is key to my scholarship. That means that I’ve spent a lot of nights trying to slog through some work of literary criticism just before bed and getting about a page and a half read. When I do give myself freedom to read a novel, I try to pick something useful--i.e., something from the 19th century that is relevant to my scholarship. I’m not quite sure when reading stopped being something that I enjoy, but I’ve been so caught up in obligatory reading that I almost forgot how much I enjoy reading for entirely different reasons.

This summer’s vacation was different, though. Unlike trips where I load my suitcase with books and articles that I really *should* read (and that I wind up avoiding), I gave myself license to download whatever I felt like reading that was available through my library for the Kindle app. Sure, there are some 19th-century novels in that category, but there are also a lot of totally irrelevant books (from a professional point of view), like the Shopaholic series and a completely nonserious romance/mystery by Janet Evanovich called *Foul Play* (there’s a love story and a missing dancing chicken. That’s probably all you need to know). Since I was on vacation--and I was really trying to leave work behind--I stopped feeling guilty about reading them.

Along the way, I re-discovered contemporary fiction, like Jenni Fagan’s *The Panopticon* and Kathryn Stockett’s *The Help.* I used to enjoy reading pretty broadly in contemporary fiction before I specialized in the nineteenth century and became overwhelmed by the sheer number of novels, poems, plays, and short stories produced in that period (this is a big part of Franco Moretti’s claims for the value of distant reading). I’ll never get through all the works that I *should* read from the nineteenth century, much less everything else that relates to my research.

I’m not saying that I’m giving up on reading nineteenth-century literature and literary scholarship: one reason that I chose to specialize in the nineteenth century was because I’m interested in that very explosion of literature. At the same time, I recognize that it enriches my scholarship to keep up with what is being produced today. After all, an article that I published recently on Coppola’s Dracula and early film owes as much to my consumption of period films and Sarah Waters novels as anything else. I also think that it’s important for my quality of life to remember that reading can be a pleasure, whether that means *Lady Audley’s Secret* or Maria Semple’s amazing *Where’d You Go, Bernadette?*

Reading on my phone

I've always been kind of attached to print books: I collect them, I love the way that they get worn in as you make your way through the text, and I like knowing that the print copy is mine as long as I want it (unless I sell it, loan it to someone, or lose it in a fire or flood). As a librarian and scholar, I also like the permanence of the printed book. I spend a lot of time trying to track down sources that no longer exist or were never collected. Thinking about future researchers, I want some sort of insurance that future researchers will have the materials that they need, and the printed book feels like a kind of promise.

On my most recent vacation, however, I discovered that I also love reading on my phone. Reading on my phone has other kinds of satisfaction: I can try out a multitude of books without having to lug them all in my luggage; I always have a book with me (because I *always* have my phone); and I don't need a light to read when we're all crammed into a tent in the middle of nowhere. As long as I have a connection, I don't have to worry about running out of books.

This is a change in attitude that has been coming on for a long time, and it's most closely tied to travel. Every time I go on a trip, I try to anticipate what I'm going to want to read. And I always guess wrong, mostly because my judgement is muddied by aspirational thinking as I try to select a book that is both enjoyable and professionally useful. Since my field is 19th-century literature, over the years I've stuffed my luggage with a lot of long, generally sentimental novels that I never quite feel like reading once I'm stuck on a plane.

On the other hand, I never try to be serious when I'm picking books to read on my phone. My first choice was P.D. James's *Death Comes to Pemberley,* a book that I *had* to read. Next was Rowling's pseudonymous *Cuckoo's Calling,* an indulgence that got me through a flight from LA to Detroit. Once I discovered that I can borrow Kindle books through my public library, I was hooked. On my most recent vacation, I ignored the modernist novel that I had dutifully brought along and indulged in chick lit and cozies.

This is not to say that I'm leaving print books behind entirely. Phone reading is best for light, beachy reads, and that's not my life most of the time. It's also kind of hard on your eyes to read on the phone (that's not so much the case on my iPad, but the kids are usually too busy playing video games on it). I also think that the phone isn't the place for the kind of reading that I do in my scholarly work, where I'm reading more closely, re-reading, absorbing, processing, and often annotating.

Of course, I have just discovered annotating software...