Remembering

A few days ago, Gillian Polack sent an e-mail to Nicki and me with the ominous subject line: “Bad news.” Something like that always makes my heart shrivel up a bit with terror; what am I going to know?

Do you remember that one of the first things I did for BiblioBuffet was interview a writer called Paul Haines? How we talked at great length about his use of bad language and how it should be handled? How he was fighting cancer? Well, he fought beyond anything I’ve ever seen. He lasted long enough so that he got to see his child have her first day at school. The doctors kept saying “You won’t see Christmas,” “You won’t see New year” and he did. Today, however, he died.

I thought you ought to know.

Thank you both for letting me do that interview, and thank you especially for letting his language shine there on the page, without any cuts or alternates.

The interview to which she referred was her second column for BiblioBuffet. I didn’t remember it until I re-read it and reached the end where an excerpt from Wives, his novella was.

Now I remembered. I remembered the discomfort with which I read it. I remember the struggle within myself as editor and reader, the former arguing that my personal boundaries should not transcend my responsibilities as editor, the latter cringing at the scene depicted and the language used. And I remembered the discussion with Nicki over that discomfort. She had no problem with it, but it wasn’t her personal take on it that mattered. Nor, as we talked it out, was it mine. Ultimately, it came down to editorial accountability. Was BiblioBuffet willing to stand behind its motto of “writing worth reading”? If so, I had to face the fact that this might mean, as it did then, printing material that I personally found offensive.

Nicki and I both eventually won myself over. I didn’t have to like what went up all the time, nor did I need to print everything that came our way, but I did need to be true to the mission statement that I originally wrote for BiblioBuffet. For the first time I had to face, squarely, the fact that running a publication that possessed integrity meant going beyond personal boundaries. I couldn’t control what the contributors chose to write, nor did I want to. I don’t believe in hiring the best and then trying to stifle that excellence. Prior to opening BiblioBuffet I learned a lot of lessons as a writer. This was the beginning of my lessons as an editor.

To Paul and Gillian I owe a great deal of thanks for their contributions to my life—as a person, a writer, a reader, and as an editor.

Literary Undergarments

Editing should be like undergarments that do their job without showing up. You don’t need to see them nor should you see them, at least in public, but good ones are always there doing their job in a comfortable, unobtrusive manner. It’s when those undergarments become outwear that they cease to be effective supporters and instead displace the rightful outfit.

However often they are worn in public, there’s something that’s not at its best when these undies turn into outies. A variation of the same idea can be said about editing. Editing should be like good undergarments, best appreciated when undetected.

I’ve experienced a variety of editors—some rude, some effective, some kind, some a combination that taught me a lot. And I’ve learned something from all of them. But the greatest learning experience was also the worst experience  I ever had. It happened with the owner-editor was at the newspaper where I wrote reviews for nearly three years. The editor was a terrible joke. With the exception of two staff writers, he went through personnel at the speed of light. I could quickly tell where anyone was on his radar depending on what office and/or desk they were on when I went in once a week to pick up my mail.

Because I worked on a freelance basis, I wasn’t subject to that. But he did attempt control of my column through the editorial ropes he dangled. We had disagreements, but two incidents made a lasting impression on me. In the first he changed a short, snappy column title to one that publicly and brutally mocked the subject of the piece because of his political differences with the man. I was appalled especially because he had to squeeze the title into the space where the original one had been. Second, he rewrote the final paragraph in another column (while keeping the same word count) so the ending reflected his extreme views rather than the inclusive one I had written. I was livid in both cases not because I didn’t want to be edited but because in the first case he used my words to take a cheap shot at someone  he hated, thus making me look like a nasty person, and in the second he again used my words to promote his rabid political beliefs. It was his belief that he, not me, should “write me” when it suited him. I was so outraged that in each case it required much calming by friends to prevent me walking out the door. But I vowed that were I ever in a position of editorial trust and responsibility, that I would act in the most honorable and respectful manner of which I was capable. I would never repeat his actions.

Those two episodes, more than any other, became the editorial spine of BiblioBuffet. I determined that courteous communication and respectful editing would be the soul of our site, and I am extremely fortunate in that Nicki Leone also feels the same. We carefully select our writers, and then we trust them. The editing process has to honor that, and it does as can be seen in Nicki’s recent comments:

I liked your enthusiasm and your contemplative tone when you were talking about both books, it was a good fit for the subject matter and the angle you took to discuss it.

That said, you are going to see a lot of red commenting and edits, especially in the first part of the column. Don’t be scared off! On the whole your piece was very smooth, so there are only a few places where I made edits for tense agreement or for subject clarification, things like that. You can accept or revise those as you see fit.

What you are reaching for, I think, is  . . . If I’ve got that right, then that’s a great way to lead into the piece, and to connect for the reader why . . . these books connected for you, so that is what you should be emphasizing.

The other thing you will notice in the comments is repeated notes to “be concrete, be specific.” You sometimes fall into abstract language, . . . Writing about abstract things like “truths” has to be done with care and always is more effective when done with concrete examples. Jesus knew this—hence all of his parables. . . .

Your thoughts?

The e-mail was longer and detailed, but the gist of it can be seen here. Nicki’s editing is clear and she pinpoints what she sees as problems and offers ideas for the writer to fix them. But at no time does she “take over,” and overwrite the writer. Which is as it should be, and as BiblioBuffet is. So when you read the writers of your choice you get those writers dressed in their best with their literary undergarments unseen.

In Praise of Editors

At least this post is in praise of one particular editor: Nicki Leone.

Nicki has been BiblioBuffet’s Managing Editor since mid-2007, and it is primarily because of her that BiblioBuffet has the reputation for quality it has. Well, that and the writers and me as the visionary.

But in this week’s post I want to share some things about Nicki as an editor and as a person. She lives in North Carolina, in a small town not far from Wilmington. Though born and having lived in the northeast—she attended Boston College—her life is now set in the coastal southeast. One of her most startling physical attributes is her height. She stands nearly six feet tall unless she is wearing her favorite three-inch red heels. Her medium-dark hair is long and thick and swings around her shoulders. Her face is attractive, vivacious, intelligent. She commands attention not with a booming voice but with a soft one containing a slight southern accent that has been media-trained. When she speaks at conferences her connection with the audience is personal and intimate. People don’t just listen to her; they are with her.

For more than twenty years, Nicki was a professional bookseller. Selling books wasn’t just a career, it was (and continues to be) a passion. Her knowledge of books old and new is nothing short of astounding. She is in fact a reader’s reader.

The depth and breadth of knowledge she has acquired  is one of the reasons she is what I consider a natural editor. Another is that she reads with attention. And when she is reading the contributors’ columns as they come in, reading them as she assumes our audience does—with curiosity, intelligence, perhaps with more experience in a specific subject than the writer—she brings that knowledge and attention to bear on her editorial work. Rather than my telling you this, I asked Nicki to explore her own style.

My editorial process, such as it is, is somewhat ill-defined and self-invented. I can tell you what I do though.

First, I read through the piece without attempting to change or edit anything, but just to get a sense of what the writer is trying to say.

Next, I go through the piece again more slowly, change anything that needs correcting to conform with BiblioBuffet’s style conventions, fix the occasional typo or repetitive phrase, and double check facts. I don’t exactly fact-check every statement, (as must be abundantly obvious) but I tend to look things up, confirm that what the author says is true, actually is. Especially if it is a subject on which I am unfamiliar. I’ve learned a lot of military history editing David Mitchell, for example. Not just from reading his pieces, but from looking up references to make sure that dates/times/names/places are correct. I’ll also sometimes add in clarifications if I think a casual reader might not immediately understand a reference—like what “SS” stands for when you are talking about Nazi Germany, or what all the abbreviations mean on a baseball  player’s stats.  Basically, I look things up so the reader doesn’t have to.

Then, once I’m done copyediting a section, I start writing comments. That’s the most interesting part of the process for me—summarizing what I think the writer is getting at, and highlighting places where I think they could make their point better (or passages where I think they did a really great job). We live in an era now where the space between writing and getting published—online, anyway, in blogs and whatnot—is practically nonexistent. And where our common methods of expression are shorter and shorter and less and less flexible. It’s all text speak and twitter hashtags now. We rarely take the time to say what we really want to say—the way we want to say it.

As self-evident as it sounds, one of my main goals when I’m editing is to make sure that every piece has an actual beginning, middle, and end. I’m continually amazed at how much of what I read online in blogs and e-zines ignores this basic truth of composition. A lot of our columnists will tell you that I’m constantly asking them to rework their endings, so that their pieces feel finalized, rather than just fizzling out. The architecture of a column is important to me, because a good framework helps the writer to make their point more clearly and efficiently. Plus, I think pieces that have good architecture are more satisfying for the reader.

The very last thing I’ll do—and only rarely—is rewrite. Mostly I think editors should stay the hell out of the way of the writer. One of the first things I had to learn to do at BiblioBuffet was not impose my own opinions or style on a columnist. That takes some concerted effort to train yourself into, let me tell you! But sometimes I’ll think that one of our columnists is reaching for something, so I’ll offer a suggestion—always with the caveat that they should revise or reject however they see fit. I should say here that we have such a good group of writers at BiblioBuffet now, that I almost never have to rewrite anything. It’s just a real pleasure to work with all of them.

Hopefully, at the end of all this, you have a piece that is more confident, more smooth, more clear, and—most importantly—more fun and interesting for the reader.

And we know it works. What you, our readers, see is the best the writer produces because it has already passed muster with the best reader. All of us—myself as founder, the contributors, and BiblioBuffet’s readers—benefit from Nicki’s passion, experience, and background. It simply wouldn’t be the BiblioBuffet you know without her.

(Ed. Note: I also act as a follow-up pair of eyes but tend to focus on copyediting and fact-checking. Given Nicki’s thoroughness, however, there isn’t much I find.)

The Writer’s Toolbox or Grammer It Ain’t

Of course I know how to spell the word “grammar.” I know the word “ain’t” isn’t a word in the world of proper English. I also know the difference between “its” and “it’s,” and when you use “who” rather than “what.”

All writers should. Possessing proper English skills is a writer’s foundation, similar to knowing how to properly wield a hammer would be to a master carpenter, or understanding the nature of fractions would be to a mathematician. Those are pieces of basic knowledge that must be mastered before you can go on to anything else in the field.

Serious writers use this basic tool in all their communications. Yet, surprisingly, what some of us editors are seeing are writers who feel that they can save their tools for their formal submissions and go “casual” elsewhere—in their blog posts and comments, in online forums, and even in e-mail inquires. This is mistaken thinking.

I would no more “go casual” in any written communication than I would add Red Mountain wine the high school boys I knew used to drink at parties—a gallon for $1.49 if I remember correctly— to my Boeuf Bourguignon. You know why? The impression is not good. Fortunately, the idea of sending out a written communication that does not reflect well upon the writer is anathema to most. But not everyone.

Two queries from two different writers showed up just a few days ago.  But they had a lot in common: both arrived on the same day; both were from women; both used lowercase letters all the way through.

Did you hear me screaming?

Misspelling words or using textspeak or all lowercase or uppercase letters when querying an editor is like walking into an interview for a Wall Street firm with a purple Mohawk, a t-shirt that advocates impolite actions, and neon-orange pants that would burn the eyelids off an alligator. No one is going to say you can’t do that, but then no one is going to hire you either. If you are okay with that, then wear what you want. If your goal is to get a serious job at a serious firm, you need to follow their style.

That’s no less true for writers seeking to join a publication that takes itself seriously.  I don’t know if the proliferation of “content” sites is responsible for writers thinking they can “go casual” in their queries. But at BiblioBuffet writers who choose that route are dead in the water. If you want to write for us, it’s good to keep these rules in mind:

• Be sure you have read and absorbed the guidelines we have on our “Write for Us” page. Then follow them. We are not out to torture applicants; what we ask for is exactly what we want—and we have reasons for it.
• Begin with a formal style of address. My name is on the e-mail form so opening your query with “Dear Ms. Roberts” is an excellent start.
• Always, always, always use correct spelling and punctuation. I can overlook a typo, but when I see “i” at the beginning of  a sentence I will kick your little “i” out on its serif.
• Do not—ever!—use any version of textspeak. I hate that more than words have the power to convey.
• It is not in your best interest to question me over the course of several e-mails about our payment rates (especially when the information is clearly posted on our website) and only after I have answered to your satisfaction to say, “when do we get started?” That is not a proper query. Adding a smiley face does not reverse the bad karma you accumulated in my eyes.
• Closely related to the above is telling me you have a good article for me on “Bulgarian business.” Do I look like I’d be interested in Bulgarian business?
• Ask yourself if you are you sure you understand what we do. And what we don’t do. Show me you read our site with a comment or two on a particular article that excited or angered you. Make me want you by making yourself so good I will immediately forward your e-mail onto Managing Editor Nicki Leone and say, “We need this writer!”

But regardless of who you query, be sure your toolbox is in the best shape possible. If grammar, punctuation, or spelling is not your forte, learn it. Take an English class. Buy a seventh-grade English textbook. Read Strunk & White until your eyes fall out. Own at least two dictionaries and use them regularly. Subscribe to some of the sites below and follow them.

A Way With Words: National Public Radio’s language show

A Word A Day: Be sure to subscribe to the newsletter and learn a new word every week day along with its history and usage.

Fun With Words: Games, games, and more games all centered on words.

Luciferous Logolepsy: You may not use these obscure words (though you never know) but you will certainly enjoy learning about them.

Oxford English Dictionary: Word of the Day: The king of dictionaries offers a daily e-mail with a word and its definition. 

The Vocabula Review: This publication strives to “combat the degradation of our language” as well as celebrates “its opulence and its elegance.”

The Word Detective: Language with a dose of humor is found on this site, which is the online version of the newspaper column.  

In addition to the above, and absolutely essential to any writer: read. Read books and  serious newspapers and magazines. Keep your online reading to less than fifty percent—one-third is even better—of your overall reading because studies have repeatedly shown that reading online affects our brains and our concentration levels much differently than reading books.

And if all that’s too much trouble, then you really don’t want to be a writer.

When It Works!

Last week I talked about submissions that don’t meet our standard of “writing worth reading.” This week, I get to talk about those that do. This also has a continuum that is not quite as extensive but is more detailed.

How’s that?

Submissions that are in the running range from “definitely!” to “let’s see if we can get this to work.” The problem with those who fit closer to the bottom part of the range is that we may simply not have the time to work with the writer on improving the piece, however interesting we find it. I dislike rejecting those more than any other because the possibility is there. That “almost” sense feels as if it has a physical grasp on me. I have to pry it off to send it, regretfully, on its way. Sometimes those are rejections without a rewrite request; at other times, they are a revision that didn’t quite make it either. And I can’t take the time to go yet another round because I am not sure that a second revision will be publishable either.

Moving up the ladder are the ones that have potential but need some work. Sometimes I can tell it will work out. But not always. I will offer editorial suggestions and see how the writer does. In one case not long ago, I made those suggestions. The piece would have been publishable if the writer had been able to put himself into the piece and taken it from a bland report (built on an intriguing idea) to an intimate essay. Alas, he could not.

Compare that to a submission I received last week that started out the same way—a largely unoriginal take on subject that has been covered numerous times. There was, however, a spark, a tiny, unique thought that caught my attention. I wrote back pointing out that most of what he said had been said before but that this one idea was worth focusing on. I suggested he use that one point and build his essay aound it. Four days later the essay was returned. And I am pleased to say that we will be publishing it in our BibliOpinions section in the next issue.

What was important about these two essays and writers was that one could not understand what I needed and the other could. It’s not that one was bad and the other good. Rather, I believe there’s a certain level of experience that allows writers who have reached it to grasp editorial direction and incorporate it into their own voice. And that’s important. After all, it’s not the editors’ work that BiblioBuffet’s readers want to read. It’s the writers. Our job is simply to help them make the best of what they do. I’ve said several times here that “keep your fingers to yourself” is a good motto. Usually I am referring to online comments, but I often say it to myself when working with the writers. Make editorial suggestions, Lauren, but keep your voice and your fingers on your own column.

Works for me. I think it works for our writers too.

An Editor Extraordinaire

This is the first in an occasional series on BiblioBuffet’s contributors. You’ll get to know a bit about who they are and how they came to be part of BiblioBuffet.

I am the luckiest editor-in-chief in the world, and the reason I feel that way is due in large part to Nicki Leone, Managing Editor of BiblioBuffet.

Nicki and I were both members of a now-defunct book discussion group called Readerville. Though I had long admired her erudite and informative posts, I never corresponded privately with her. Then in mid-2005, Nicki posted a comment that made me take special note: the bookstore she had managed for fifteen years was going to close.

Such news is never good when it means the loss of a job, especially a job one loves. Fortunately, Nicki was immediately snapped up by SIBA or the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance to do marketing, programming, and whatever else might need doing. (She also has an alternate persona there as Lady Banks.) Faster even than SIBA was me. I e-mailed her the moment I read her post to ask if she would consider coming aboard the soon-to-be launched BiblioBuffet. She agreed, and six months later began “A Reading Life,” her bi-weekly column which has continued since then. 

Somewhere around the early summer of 2007, an opportunity—otherwise known as an internal crisis—arose that created the need for additional editorial controls, and Nicki accepted my offer to become Managing Editor. As such, she has become my confidante, my partner, my mentor, and the other half of the heart-and-soul of BiblioBuffet.

I find myself impressed and occasionally awed by her critiques of the writers’ submissions. She doesn’t mince words, nor does she patronize or criticize. Rather, Nicki has the ability to combine a critique, additional information, probing questions, thoughts, humor, and resources into one letter that ends up in the writer producing “writing worth reading.” How does she do that?  

There are a couple of guiding principles I seem to have organically developed. I don’t, for example, like it when writers excuse themselves by claiming ignorance . . . I think I almost always make writers revise when they take that tack in their pieces. I’m a great believer in “owning” your opinions!

I also have learned to watch that every statement or opinion is backed up or justified. So no saying “this is a really great book” without saying why. And I’ll occasionally—very occasionally—offer the columnist my opinion if I think they misinterpreted what they read.

Finally, I try to make sure that all three perspectives are given a fair shake—the reviewer’s, the author’s, and the book’s. Especially that last, since ultimately I assume that BiblioBuffet’s readers want to know about the book.

Nicki and David gave me permission to quote from the critique she sent him on his current column, a review of Shambling Towards Hiroshima. David’s initial submission had some problems, which Nicki diagnosed while offering suggestions of the best kind:

I had real trouble with this paragraph, because your initial angle, that you just “don’t get” satire, immediately undercuts your authority in reviewing the book.  I find myself wondering if it is really true? Do you not understand satire? Can you think of no satire that you found effective? Orwell’s Animal Farm comes to mind, as does the television show (and movie) M*A*S*H.

Here is what Webster’s says [about satire]:

1 : a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn

2 : trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly

In both those definitions, the key is that “wit, irony and sarcasm” are being used to EXPOSE folly. That is a very specific form of attack. In general, I think, satire does this by exaggerating something to the point of absurdity to show its folly or hubris. It sounds like, in the case of Morrow—and I’m extrapolating here from what you’ve written—he’s commenting on the idea of weapons of mass destruction being somehow for the greater good. We’re used to the fact of nuclear weapons. We’ve assimilated their existence into our daily lives. But replace them with, say, giant lizards, and it is obvious how crazy it is to live with such a thing.

The problem  with your approach is not that you didn’t like the book, but that you say the reason you didn’t like the book is because you are too dumb to get satire. (Which I’m sure isn’t true!)  The only conclusion a reader can draw from such a statement is that if you don’t understand satire, then your opinion about the book isn’t valid—you’ve admitted that you aren’t capable of understanding the basic premise of the entire story.

Since I am quite positive that isn’t the case, I think what you should be asking yourself is simply whether Morrow’s satire is equal to the task the author set himself—critiquing an event as horrific as Hiroshima and Nagasaki. If you look at it in this light, you can decide whether his satire is able to overcome all our usual horrified reactions to the bombs in order to make his point. I’m guessing that  in your opinion, it isn’t. That the book is only readable when you are “…not thinking about the deeper significance of what [you are] reading.”

That’s a pretty damning statement on the success of the book, and what I think should be your focal point of your review.

It is possible, of course to read a book and find it just doesn’t “click.” But when that happens, as a reviewer you have to stop and tell your readers why, and you have to be specific. There is always a reason a book doesn’t work, and it’s your job to figure out what that is, even if you suspect the issue is your own preferences, not the writer’s talent.

Tell me what you think. I’d like to see you revise your approach somewhat so that its clear to your readers that the problem you had with the book isn’t that you “don’t get” satire, but that in your opinion, Morrow’s satirical approach didn’t overcome your own natural gravity on the subject.

You can see the result here. Her intent and her success at eliciting “writing worth reading” without interjecting her own voice makes her editing, for all of us at BiblioBuffet, “worth listening to.”

Though she has no formal training in content editing, her managerial experience, extensive reading, instinctive people skills, overriding passion for literary excellence, and high ethical standards has imbued our publication with style and elegance because all of us strive to meet her standards.

Not long ago, Lauren Baratz-Logsted called BiblioBuffet the “New Yorker of the Internet,” and Nicki and I both want to live up to that honorable title. It’s our work together along with the contributors that helps us achieve that. I owe more than I can say to Nicki, whose words you will never see except in her column, but whose spirit infuses the site as much as my own.

Note: I sent this off to Nicki for comment prior to posting it. Her response is worth posting too: You say lots of nice things—thank you! And really, thank you because you gave me the opportunity to try my hand at editing and you’ve been so supportive. So really most of the credit is due to you for being the kind of publisher who allows your employees to find their best level. 

A Bibliophile’s Thanksgiving Table: Dinner at Nicki Leone’s Home

The Ethics of BiblioBuffet

Even passionate book reviewers can feel overwhelmed with books at times. When I go to the post office and see half a dozen book packages or boxes I get excited. (What book lover wouldn’t?) But opening them is a little different. Not all interest me. Sometimes none do.

Many, of course, go out to BiblioBuffet’s reviewers to await their turn in the reviewer’s spotlight. Right now, there are six books for review on my desk, the oldest of which has been there for, um, a while. Like cats, they are very good at instilling guilt—their equivalent of “I’m starving!” is “I haven’t been read!”.

Reviewing books is a matter of picking and choosing. It has to be. There are too many good books published and too few good reviewers to do enough of them justice. Even if BiblioBuffet had 100 reviewers writing weekly we couldn’t cover even a small fraction of what is published on an annual basis.

Not that we would try. There are a lot of good books in which no one at BiblioBuffet has an interest, or that are inappropriate either because they are in a genre we do not review or because they were self-published or vanity-published.

That still leaves a whopping number of worthy books. So when I am faced with that, what happens? First, I e-mail the reviewers to find out who wants what. Sometimes, if I know a book will be of interest to a particular reviewer, I contact that person first. But often the e-mail is a group one, and whoever gets back to me first gets the book, especially if more than one reviewer wants it.

What happens to the books that no one wants?

That was recently the focus of a week-long discussion on Book Balloon, the literary forum to which I belong. Its main question: Why shouldn’t reviewers sell the books they get for free? And why shouldn’t buyers save money by buying  the ARCs (advanced reader copies) that other reviewers are selling on Amazon or eBay, or that they have sold to the Strand Bookstore?

Some members feel it is their right to cheaply priced or pre-publication copies, that is, unfinished, books. Managing Editor Nicki Leone and I are adamant that selling books we receive for review (whether they are reviewed or not) and don’t intend to keep are never to be sold or given to a person or entity who is going to sell them. In fact, one of the few rules we have for contributors is that this is not allowed. How do we enforce it? Well, we can’t. All we can do is be clear about our policy in our Writers’ Guidelines and rely on our contributors’ ethics.

The reason for our stand is two-fold. First, ARCs are unfinished books. They come with a warning that they are not to be quoted from as they are still in progress. They also have a large “Not for Sale” notice on them. These are not meant for the marketplace because the editing and rewriting is still going on. So if you read an ARC you are not seeing what the author and editor intend you to see, and if your opinion of an author’s work—especially if you talk about it on Library Thing, Amazon, in a book club, or elsewhere—is based on the unfinished version that may well do damage to the book, the author, and the publisher. It also cheats the reader of the true experience.

We feel strongly that it does not matter that the publisher prints ARCs specifically to be given away because the publisher does not, in our opinion, relinquish their rights to their disposition of it after it leaves their offices. The book is not designed to be sold in the normal manner of business, thereby benefiting the publisher and author.

Note that I am not talking about a re-sale but the initial sale. When you buy a book, part of the price you pay is returned to the publisher and then onto the author and her agent. A profitable return is what keeps everyone in business, keeps them writing and producing more books for readers to buy. But when the marketplace decides that its “right” to rip off the publisher and author is more important than supporting them it risks wounding, perhaps, over time, fatally, the business that produces the product it wants.

Aside from that, and even more important to Nicki and me, are the ethics involved. The books, finished or unfinished, are not given to us as free merchandise. To use them as such is unethical. There is no way around that, no justification that can override the wrong involved in using the books in a way that brings income to us but not to the publisher and author. Nicki stated it perfectly:

If you are a book reviewer and you benefit financially from anything besides the fee you receive for your writing, then you are being an unethical journalist. No gray area there.

It’s an issue of transparency and accountability. If we make money from something we are reviewing, our legitimacy is compromised. If we in any way financially benefit from something we are reviewing, besides our paychecks for writing the columns, our legitimacy is compromised.

The system in place is such that for all published books—and newly released films, issued DVDs, etc.—the creators of the product get a share of the first sale. It’s how they are paid for making the book. Anything that ends up on the market that bypasses that first sale cheats the author and publisher. It doesn’t matter if publishers “know” that review copies end up on eBay or at the Strand. It doesn’t matter if the book “given” out is an unpaginated advanced reviewer copy, an uncorrected proof, if it is stamped “not for sale” or if it is a finished copy and there is nothing to distinguish it from from one on the shelf at the bookstore. It was provided to reviewers or booksellers for a specific purpose and it is as unethical for them to turn around and sell it as it would be for a DVD store to play their movies and charge a ticket price.

As the founder of BiblioBuffet , it matters very much to me that my credibility as a literary website owner, and as a book reviewer, is spotless. It also matters that BiblioBuffet’s reviewers take their credibility as seriously as I do. It matters that our readers know that what we state about a book is our honest opinion, that no influence has come down, that we hold to standards of journalistic professionalism, and that we continue to hold to those standards after the review is done and finished.

BiblioBuffet takes pride in its commitment to integrity and honesty. We treat not only our writers with respect but you, our readers. Furthermore, we act with the highest regard for those who work with us to get you information on books: the publicists, editors, publishers, and authors. Because when it comes to ethical standards, there isn’t a slippery slope. You are either on one side of the line or you are on the other. BiblioBuffet stands proudly on the ethical side.

The Editorial Process

Because BiblioBuffet has such enthusiastic contributors, communicating  with the writers is a joy at all times. But sometimes it can become even more . . .

My dear sir,

You will find attached an edited copy of your delightful revenge comedy The Perpetual Vengeance of Piggledy-Poppet, although I must own that to say it has been “edited” is to overstate the case in a drastic way, since such alterations as occurred amounted to nothing more than the corralling of an errant comma or two, or the ruthless removal of the odd double-space. Nevertheless, I include the edited copy for your records and your approval, and hope that it meets with your clearly lofty literary standards.

And may I say on a personal note as one who—if not consigned precisely to an attic-room to drudge away the hours in pursuit of literary excellence, or at the least the literary passable—as was the character in your story, has still spent many an hour seated in an uncomfortable chair (the comfortable ones, you see, tend to cause me to fall asleep) in pursuit of the same, that I am very grateful to you, the author, for submitting a story which contained so many made up words of quite original spellings, causing my edition of the Chicago Manual of Style and my American Heritage Dictionary both to be reduced to a state of gibbering panic. I am certain that I have never had to look up so many non-existent words in so short a space of time, and for this feat, I think, you deserve some credit.

And while my unforgiving editor’s eye did detect a noticeable lessening of the Dickensian tone so pervasive in the early parts of the story as it progressed towards—as the French would say—its dénouement, I am forced to acknowledge that its metamorphoses into the cadences of the early American cinema was quite effective. The British will always have Dickens. But Americans will always have Hollywood.

Accordingly, I propose to submit this to our senior editor for publication upon the next Monday, unless you have further thoughts on the matter.

I remain,

Nicki Leone, Managing Editor

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Dear Miss Leone,

Thank you for your missive of the 29th inst. I confirm that I am more than content with the piece in its newly-groomed state, and that I consider it fit to be viewed by that happy band of literary mavens who constitute your august readership.

Why’s Savoy Grill in red?

I remain, as ever,

Your loyal servant,

Mark Bastable

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My dear sir,

My apologies. It is the prerogative of the editor, as you are no doubt well aware, to deface and otherwise destroy an author’s work in red pencil. Alas, in this age of slavery to technology, editors no longer have the pleasure of indulging their most vicious and unkind instincts in indelible colored lead or ink. We are forced, instead, to be content with the simple expedient of changing the color of the font, which I can assure you does not offer a tenth of the satisfaction as does the pen and pencil. But I make do without complaint, such is my generous and accommodating nature.

It is my practice to mark in red such words or phrases that raise a question in my mind as to their efficacy or appropriate use. And I may say that by the time I had read through your story it appeared quite colorful—so checkered was it with red words and phrases. But upon a second and third and even fourth reading (for I am most tireless in my dedication to discover what is wrong with my authors’ work), most of the questionable lines were duly resolved and accepted, and their color reverted back to their original black. In the case of the Savoy Grill I questioned, not the use of “Savoy,” but the use of “Grill,” which carried an anachronistic ring to my editor’s ear. But further research revealed its validity, so I have left it alone. I simply neglected, on this occasion, to correct its color of shame.  But rest assured that it will not appear so when it is published upon the Monday.

Your obedient servant,

Ms. Leone, The Managing Editor