In the annals of publishing, certain editors have been rightly praised for their guidance on manuscripts that were too long, poorly organized, lacking credible situations, insufficiently researched, or carelessly written. Some editors are still working in this manner. But readers' attention spans have shrunk, and books have to compete with a plethora of other leisuretime pursuits. Because publishers—so many of them owned by conglomerates—have to make money, they are no longer welcoming books on worthy subjects that are unlikely to appeal to tens of thousands of readers.
As a result, it is increasingly difficult to publish a biography about someone who is neither a world leader nor a pop star, someone who may have done her important work decades ago and whose name is unfamiliar to people under fifty. To make such a book more palatable to younger readers, a writer might be urged to emphasize particularly relatable aspects of the life (even if they are tangential to the subject's importance), to employ ahistorical descriptions, or even to invent scenes and dialogue.
I recently read a new biography of a celebrated editor at a major publishing house. While aspects of her life and work are of interest, the writing often made me cringe. From the author's lengthy acknowledgements, it seems clear that she lacked confidence in her work and was uncritically grateful for the editorial assistance she received. Her editor's advice likely accounts for the formulaic way many chapters begin, with a brief description of the book's subject going about the banal activities of her life. Not only are these passages are laughably flat and cliched, but they exist only to pander to an audience with no particular interest in publishing or editing who are looking for a breezy read.
I had a similar experience with my previous trade book editor. Along with an account of Edna O'Brien's hugely eventful personal life, my biography discusses at length the often shockingly prejudiced reactions to her novels, her struggles to get her plays produced, and her remarkable perseverance in the face of daunting rejection. No doubt seeking to make the book more appealing to a broad readership, the editor wanted "more lifestyle," including the insertion of an anecdote about O'Brien's personal life at the start of each of the later chapters, after her career began. This editor also wanted me to dispense with my detailed accounts of the way O'Brien was treated by editors, interviewers, book critics, agents, film producers, theatre directors, and others—which demonstrate the extraordinary difficulties she had in trying to disseminate her work and having it fairly reviewed, and which account for all manner of personal and financial troubles. The editor even failed to show interest in O'Brien's fascinating eye-level account of her travels in Cuba in 1968. It was as if her career was too annoyingly diffuse to fit neatly into a book about a woman best known for her first novel.
In response, I wrote that the book my editor had in mind was not the one I intended to write, explaining that the real "throughline" is O'Brien's extraordinary body of work, and what she went through to produce it. It would be an injustice to this great writer if the biography were primarily focused on her troubled love life and other personal details. I believe in standing firm against the meddling of editors who are so bottom-line oriented that they distort the book you have spent years researching and writing. You have to ask yourself: what is more important, that you remain true to your vision of your subject, or that you compromise your writerly integrity just to retain that book contract?
After I took back my manuscript, my incredulous agent ("No one does that!") dropped me. I eventually found a wonderful new agent who loved the manuscript. He worked diligently to find a new trade publisher for my book. But, although most editors praised the writing, they declined to sign me, citing contemporary readers' lack of interest in literary biography.
Ultimately, I chose to publish with a "hybrid" press, just one wobbly step above self-publishing. (A hybrid press is one that requires the author to pay for design, printing, and distribution.) The good news is that the author has complete control over such things as the cover design and flap copy. The bad news (besides the lack of an advance and the unexpected dent in the author's meager savings) is that there is a stigma attached to this manner of publishing. The cloud hovering over such books is, "Why wasn't this good enough for a trade or university press to snap it up?" (There actually was interest from an editor at Princeton University Press, but the peer reviewers, academics who are required to vet the manuscript, wanted me to drop my chronological approach—the only one I ever use, because it guides the reader properly through the life—in favor of a thematic organization. Still, I benefited greatly from several factual corrections to my accounts of Irish history.)
My book, FEARLESS: A BIOGRAPHY OF EDNA O'BRIEN, will be published in 2025 by Atmosphere Press. I think this is the best—the most carefully considered, richly sourced, and wide-ranging—of my five biographies. But the final judgment will rest with you.
(c) Cathy Curtis 2024