When news first came out that Milo YouKnowWhoPoulos had been offered a book deal with Simon & Schuster, and various conscientious S&S writers were publicly speaking out—with Roxanne Gay, remarkably, even pulling her forthcoming book from them—I kept thinking one thing: this will never happen to TigerBee’s authors.
The thought wasn’t smug, it was simply persistent, especially after I saw Gay’s poignant “please don’t let it be my publisher” tweet. We can’t offer our authors $250k book deals (yet—maybe in 2018, ha) but we can offer them the peace of mind that their work will be in a catalog permanently free from fascists, neo-Nazis, professional racists, career Islamphobes, etc. While that’s among the faintest praise possible, it’s also, sadly, not a guarantee many mainstream publishers can make.* We’re a small press without a huge budget; we will take whatever marks of distinction we can get.
Then in February, with this confidence/pride still relatively fresh, I was at a party where a poet mentioned to me she regretted publishing her first book with a brand new press because it didn’t get much distribution, and I immediately felt bad. What if the authors we work with feel that one someday, or feel that way now? That would make me so sad. I want our authors to feel served by us; on the semi-rare occasions I try to sell someone on working with us, my solicitation always involves a lot of let me help you. (Use TB as a resource! Tell us what you need! I am your collaborator and cheerleader! I am here for you!) Because that’s how I really feel. And I believe we do the best we can to fulfill that explicit and implicit promise.
With these two ideas in mind, I started thinking of a really basic pro/con list when it comes to trusting an indie press with your writing (or your visual art, or both) as compared to taking it to a mainstream press, and here’s what I came up with. You should know, if you don’t already, that we are still new to publishing, so while I’m sharing everything I can think of, I’m sure there’s more. And if you notice something I’ve overlooked, tell me! Tweet at us, reply to this post, send an email, a Facebook message, whatever. We would love to hear.
MAINSTREAM PUBLISHERS:
have cache, like pledging with a certain sorority/fraternity. People who pay attention to these things are going to have an informed reaction to your book landing at FSG or Little Brown or Simon & Schuster. They’re going to presume things about the work (and you) without having read the book, possibly before the book even exists, like how literary it is, how sellable it is, etc. They’re going to be impressed, or they’re going to be snide, or they’ll just be happy for you. Likewise, the acquisition might make you feel extra good, or you might feel disappointed. You might feel insecure because it’s not as elite an association as you wanted, or you might feel good and insecure, as in: holy shit I can’t believe this publisher wanted me, now I have to make sure the book is really good and a bestseller and gets no bad reviews, etc. Or so I’ve heard + seen from my friends. I’m pretty much clueless when it comes to the reputation of imprints, like which one is supposed to be for respected esoteric geniuses who never make money, and which is known for pop psychology/science titles, and so on. It’s all a big question mark to me. But to plenty of other people, it’s important, or at least relevant. Of course, to even more people, it’s not.
have money, some of which they might give to you. At the risk of stating the obvious, even very large and very rich publishers buy books for tiny sums. But I find it nearly inconceivable that an indie press has ever given a six figure advance or even a high five figure one. (Though I could be wrong, and if you know of some exceptions, please tell me who/when/what book!) If you have your heart set on a massive advance, you’ll probably find it hard to get excited about any small publisher. Because $$$$$$$. I get it.
have excellent distribution. I am in awe of the seamless, colossal endeavor that is book distribution for mainstream publishers. It’s like magic to me, and there’s so much more I could say about it but it would probably bore you so I’m just going to leave it at: if someone wants to order your book from a Barnes & Noble branch and you’re with a large publisher, B&N can probably do that with no problem. Of course, it’s baffling to me that someone would order a book from a big box bookstore instead of requesting it from an indie bookstore or just using Amazon, but I digress.
(They'll take care of foreign distribution, too, probably.) This is, like, something we cannot even begin to think about right now. Though we do fulfill lots of international orders on our website.
have ~connections~. Big publishing houses are well-positioned to get you press in the form of TV interviews, book reviews, readings, etc, though—and more on this in a minute—it’s not a guarantee they’ll use their resources wisely, or at all.
I think those are the highlights. Now for the home team:
SMALL/INDIE PRESSES:
give a shit. How can they not? They’re definitely not in it for the money, which does not exist, or the glory (because, ditto.) They’re doing it because they really love poetry/experimental fiction/brilliant nonfiction/etc. and want the world to have more of it. I’m not implying people in mainstream publishing don’t feel the same way, because I know some do. But obviously the “culture” is different, and the intimacy is different, the familiarity and sense of investment is different, because with a small press, you’re dealing with a much smaller group of people and it’s hard to evade responsibility if you’re one of ten, one of five, or one of two people who constitute the whole enterprise. In that vein, an indie publisher....
can (probably) give you more time and attention. A big publishing house takes on a lot of projects and runs them through a lot of people. This is great when it comes to say, copyediting (aka the bane of my entire existence from now until eternity, my god I hate it so much,) but not so good when it comes to, say, promotion, when you’re trying to have a conversation with people about how your book should be sold and those people probably haven’t even read your book. (That’s a link to one of my all-time favorite essays, “Into The Woods” by Emily Gould, and if you have even a little bit of interest in writing as a career, you should read the whole thing more than once, more than twice, even, although you may stop short of reading it the 20 times that I likely have.)
have less reach but more close connections. Over the past two years, between dropping off copies of Prostitute Laundry and arranging Bad Advice readings, I’ve gotten to know staff members at so many independent bookstores, and—shockingly—that includes bookstores outside of New York. It’s been a great pleasure because not only are these people fun to know in their own rights, but it also fosters a sense of community and keeps me from feeling like I’m sending emails and books into an uncaring void. As a result of those connections, I suspect, not only have the booksellers agreed to stock future TigerBee titles in the first place, but they often give those titles prominent placement, which makes a huge difference for in-store sales. (I say I suspect because who knows, maybe me always showing my face around these places exhausts the folks who work there, but the TigerBee books are just that good that they have to be kept on display tables and end caps.)
by which I mean: Friends who’ve published with mainstream presses have told me (what I receive as) horror stories about them not being encouraged to do readings or a proper tour, having their book(s) routinely shelved in the wrong sections, billed as something they’re not, and otherwise mismanaged. Everyone makes mistakes, and it’s not as if everyone at an indie press is guaranteed to be spectacular at their job, but I’d guess most of them at least understand the importance of clear and accurate presentation and communication, especially in brick and mortar spaces.
have some cache, too. An indie publisher is still a publisher, and so it sounds better and is more legitimizing to go with a small press than to have no titles to your name, or to be self-published. (Obviously I didn’t really care about the taint of self-publishing, and I don’t think you need to either, or that anyone does, but there’s no denying it, it *is* nice to feel legitimized.) There’s also something impossibly alluring about a limited edition book that feels sort of secret. Who wouldn’t want bragging rights that they’ve got a first edition or the only edition of a chapbook by someone who goes on to be widely recognized as the genius they always were? It’s badass when you (meaning, I,) click on the first book by someone who’s a bigger deal now than they were then, and see that it’s sold out. It’s so maddening! I want that book! But everyone involved seems about 10 points cooler than they did when I thought the book was still available.**
let you own your masters. I can’t speak for other small publishers, but our contracts are extremely generous to authors while remaining fair to us (i.e., giving us a chance to recoup some of the costs associated with the project.) We have exclusive rights for a period but then it all reverts to you, which means you can put it in an anthology, resell it, make a TV show about it, whatever, and you won’t have to pay or consult us. As a writer, I find this state of affairs really exciting. I love knowing that no one is going to get the rights to turn Prostitute Laundry into a movie unless I trust them with those rights. (And not only do I alone make the decision, I alone get paid. Sweet.)
don’t require that you have an agent. If you’ve got an agent, we are happy to work with them. But we don’t require that manuscripts be sent to us by an agent, so it’s one less thing for you to worry about if you don’t already have one. (Though by all means, please, if it gets to that point: have someone knowledgable look at our contract with you before you sign.)
gives you lots of control. I hear a lot about how writers are supposed to be divas and sometimes I see it, for sure, but I see a lot more writers being really, really nervous to voice their concerns or opinions on their books’ presentation, by which I mean the title, the cover, the marketing, etc. I have friends who’ve sucked up crappy titles assigned by their mainstream publisher in the hope that they’ll feel entitled to more leeway when they’re negotiating cover designs, or vice versa, and friends who feel like they can’t tell the truth about any of it (all of which they hate.) I’ve also seen a lot of hideous covers, like inexcusably hideous, as possibilities and as final decisions—I’m sure you’ve seen them, too. (Our nation’s ugly cover crisis is a topic for another time, like when xanax is on hand.) We have great taste, so all our products will always look beautiful, but we also care very, very much about making sure our creators are happy, so we will solicit your approval again and again at various stages of the process. Perhaps even too much!
Sooooo, I don't know—was that useful? Clarifying? I really want every creator to end up at the place that fits them the best, whether that’s us or the biggest publisher on the planet, or a tumblr, or twitter, no publisher at all. And if you’re thinking about going with a small press but we seem too small or new for you, Birds LLC and Coffeehouse are two indie publishers I admire and respect very much, and there are tons of other worthy ones. Research, think about it, talk with friends about. I hope you find the fit that’s right for you because if you put care into your work, your work deserves it.
—Charlotte
*Lest some pedantic person come along and be like, “what about Mein Kampf, isn’t there a responsibility to keep repugnant historical texts in print so we can learn from the past, etc. etc.”: yes, I get it, duh. That’s obviously not what I’m pointing at here. I’m referring to publishing *new* repugnant works without historical significance and furthermore, I don’t see us taking on the task of printing things that are public domain and/or part of deceased fascist author’s estate anyway, so the odds of this specific scenario presenting itself to us seem low.
**I want your book to sell and sell and sell, and be available to everyone who would benefit from reading it, and I think it’s my job as a publisher to accurately judge existing interest and further whip up an audience, so I will always strive to do that well. But still: unattainability is hot, with people and with objects. Just ask any luxury brand that lives and dies by their artificial scarcity.
I read well over 100 books this year which I say not to brag (although, obviously, to brag a little) but to provide some perspective about the size of my field for consideration and to explain why there are so many titles. Most of these weren’t published in 2016 so you’re not going to see the same 10-15 that kept showing up on all the usual year-end lists. You’re welcome! Here we go:
THE UNFORGETTABLE
Zippermouth by Laurie Weeks — Sweet, funny, propulsive. I adored it.
Dark Pool Party by Hannah Black — No one’s brain works like hers.
Eros The Bittersweet by Anne Carson — Also read this year, and recommended, of course: Antigonick, Decreation, and Float, which I reviewed for The New Republic
Straw Dogs by John Gray — Invigorating and smart, albeit peppered with extreme declarations supported by little to no evidence. You have to be willing to put up with a voice that assumes complete authority without always earning it, i.e., a man’s.
White Out by Michael W. Clune— If you were going to read only one book on this entire list, I’d probably urge you to make it this one. And I know, I know, he is a man, and I just took that dig at men! But truly, this is a masterpiece, and you know it has to be exceptional to override my reverse sexism. Hilarious, vivid, insightful, insert additional superlative here and additional superlative here and then just go read it. (Gamelife, his subsequent book, is also very good, but it’s hard to write something perfect twice in a row. That’s more Anne Carson’s domain.)
10:04 by Ben Lerner — What can I say? Ben Lerner is a genius, this book is genius, 2016 was the year I could not deny that men actually wrote some things worth reading. I continue to almost shudder in admiration every time I think about this title.
The Hatred of Poetry by Ben Lerner — I thought about its ideas a lot, and referenced it in the Float review linked above. Pick 10:04 over this if you’re only doing one, maybe, or start with this one instead because it’s short and direct (?)
The Gift by Barbara Browning — God bless @ruthcurry for giving me this book on election night. It was the only thing I could read over the following two days: gentle, loving, wise. I am so grateful to have had this book when I did. It has shades of 10:04, which I say just to compliment them both, not to imply it’s derivative. It doesn’t come out until spring of this year, but please give yourself the gift of reading it ASAP. (See what I did there?)
Jesus’ Son by Denis Johnson — I put off reading this for years—can you guess why—but once I started I could not stop. I usually went back and reread the stories that had come before, before I progressed to the next. Good albums are like that too; too arresting for you to get very far into them right away, because you keep replaying the opening track(s).
All The Lives I Want by Alana Massey — It’s no secret that I’m friends with this little dynamo and I understand why you'd be liberally salting this recommendation as a result. But I’d never recommend a book I didn’t think was worth reading. Life is too short to pretend bad things are good, even if the maker of that bad thing is my friend. I just can’t do it! So believe me when I say that although I already respected Alana’s daunting ability to turn a phrase, I was so impressed with this book. It’s relentlessly intelligent, and mischievous, full of verve and focus and conviction. It made me want to write, which is the highest compliment I can give.
Loving Sabotage by Amélie Nothomb — I’d never heard of Amélie Nothomb until I came across this recommendation from @magicmolly but now I think I’ve read everything of her’s that’s available in English. (Loving Sabotage is the best but there are striking passages in all the others, too.)
The Vet’s Daughter and Our Spoons Came From Woolworth’s by Barbara Comyns — They’re both surprising horror stories told by unsentimental but vulnerable female narrators. I loved them very much.
The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle — I picked this up a few times as a kid but I couldn’t find any sex in it, so I didn't bother giving it a proper read. Now that I have, I can say it is exceptional: delicate, lyrical, original. I cried, and then I cried again. I know it’s about a unicorn, but fuck you.
Other books I recommend without reservation:
Private Citizens by Tony Tulathimutte
The Man in the Ceiling by Jules Feiffer (I cried!)
The Millstone by Margaret Drabble (Truly the year I fell in love with British female novelists.)
Drawing Blood by Molly Crabapple (generous, beautiful, singular)
Problems by Jade Sharma
D.V. by Diana Vreeland
I Have Devoted My Life to the Clitoris by Elizabeth Hall
Little Labors by Rivka Galchen (Good enough to inspire me to read her first novel, Atmospheric Disturbances, which I’m glad to have read but perhaps should have been a short story instead of an entire book.)
Sleepless Nights by Elizabeth Hardwick (When I’m reading Hardwick, I am amazed by her, but her writing also tends to leave my brain immediately, like it’s a dissipating smoke.)
Orgasmic Bodies by Hannah Frith (Academic but not too dense, and packed with important ideas)
Intimacies by Adam Phillips and Leo Bernsani (another academic one, but all about anal sex. [Ok, not only anal.])
The Lost Daughter by (duh!) Elena Ferrante, whom I wrote about a little here, much to a certain Freddie DB’s disapproval
Sempre Susan by Sigrid Nunez
Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day by Winifred Watson (Recommended to me ages ago by Mallory Ortberg so you know it’s good.)
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark (Related: I read Memento Mori and sort of hated it!)
The Selfishness of Others by Kristen Dombek
The Situation and the Story by Vivian Gornick (+ The End of the Novel of Love)
Investing Sex: Surrealist Discussions (I dunno, it’s kind of stupid because it’s mostly a bunch of young straight guys sitting around talking about women’s orgasms like the complete jackasses they are, but it’s also fun and reminded me of things I forget too often, like how fundamentally boring sex can be.)
You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine by Alexandra Kleeman (bizarre, assured, unsettling. I was dying to talk about it with someone during and after I read it but that loneliness is what I get for reading everything at the wrong time. And for having no friends.)
The Vegetarian by Han Kang (HAUNTING. So haunting.)
The Bitch in the House (It’s rare for anthologies to be good, I think, because they invite such a compromise on quality of writing . But this one is!)
The Diary of a Teenage Girl by Phoebe Gloeckner (Also, A Girl’s Life and Other Stories, which is a rehash of a lot of what’s in Diary but I liked it anyway. You have to be prepared for true teenage diary writing though. Gloeckner has stresses it’s fiction but she also includes excerpts at the end from her real diary as a kid, and they appear almost verbatim in the book. It’s self-involved and repetitive and tedious in places—like diaries are supposed to be!—but I still found it worthwhile. )
Diary of an Emotional Idiot by Maggie Estep (And/or Soft Maniacs by the same.)
And obviously I loved everything @tigerbeepress released this year. I have a particular soft spot for my collaboration with @merrittk, and for Bad Drawings, which turned out more perfect than I could have imagined.
I’m feeling like I want to work harder and grosser and draw uglier; one thing drawing used to do for me was help me feel like I was contributing beauty to the world because I felt so ugly. But now I feel like, fuck that, ugly is good.
Bad Drawings contributor @katieskelly in an interview with The Comics Journal. Read it all here.
