Frustrations of a Posthumously Successful Writer

Gawker speculates that author Amy Bloom is responsible for an anonymous piece in Salon lamenting the state of publishing today. The unnamed literary sourpuss complains that being an even moderately successful fiction writer doesn't pay the bills or guarantee a future.

While we sympathize with the plight of the semi-successful writer forced to shill for Weight Watchers, maybe it's time to put all this in perspective. Since my illustrious and more literary co-editor is away visiting country mice, I thought I'd post a letter she brought to my attention.

In 1803, Jane Austen sold the manuscript of Northanger Abbey, then called Susan, to a publisher for £10. Six years later, Austen was still waiting for the book to come out and hadn't heard from the publisher. So she did what all angered ladies of good breeding do: she wrote a letter that whistles like a teapot at full boil.

Wednesday 5 April 1809

Gentlemen

In the Spring of the year 1803 a MS Novel in 2 vol. Entitled Susan [Northanger Abbey] was sold to you by a Gentleman of the name Seymour [Henry Austen's lawyer] & the purchase money £10 Rec/d at the same time. Six years have since passed, & this work of which I avow myself the Authoress, has never to the best of my knowledge, appeared in print, tho' an early publication was stipulated for at the time of Sale. I can only account for such an extraordinary circumstance by supposing the MS by some carelessness to have been lost; & if that was the case, am willing to supply You with another Copy if you are disposed to avail yourselves of it, & will engage for no further delay when it comes into your hands.--It will not be in my power from particular circumstances to command this Copy before the Month of August, but then, if you accept my proposal, you may depend on receiving it. Be so good as to send me a Line in answer, as soon as possible, as my stay in this place will not exeed a few days. Should no notice be taken of this Address, I shall feel myself at liberty to secure the publication of my work, by applying elsewhere. I am Gentlemen &c &c
MAD.--
Direct to M/rs Ashton Dennis
Post office, Southampton

The publisher responded by threatening to sue if she dared to publish it elsewhere, and added insult to injury by offering to sell it back to Austen for the £10 he paid. But we all know how this story ends. Austen sold the movie rights and never had to ghost-write a celebrity biography again.

And if anyone thinks writers have it bad, it's time to re-read Steve Albini's Baffler essay on how the music industry preys on young bands.

Posted by harry at March 24, 2004 10:24 PM | TrackBack