Though it's been out of print for years, I'd like to submit
that Dear Scott/Dear Max: The Fitzgerald-Perkins Correspondence
should be required reading for all editors and all authors who can get their
hands on it. It's a real shame that it's out of print; I would have loved to
include it in every new author packet we send out.
I originally read it a few years ago, but I'm dipping back into it again
now. (I've been buying up used copies when they've cropped up on eBay, Alibris,
and Amazon's used books department.) The collected letters between F. Scott
Fitzgerald and his editor, Maxwell Perkins (editor par excellence to Edith
Wharton, Thomas Wolfe, Henry James, and Ernest Hemingway, just to name a few),
illustrate the various aspects, intricacies, tensions, and ultimate value of
the ideal editor/author relationship. Every conceivable aspect of this
relationship is detailed in the book, and there's gold on almost every
page.
This behind-the-scenes look at the crafting and delivery of content as a
collaboration between editor and author is priceless for the access it offers.
(It's also quite interesting to learn that Fitzgerald couldn't spell or
punctuate grammatically correct sentences by himself to save his life. All
errors in the quotes in this message are sic.) Take, for example, this passage
from Fitzgerald regarding the title for the book he was working on at the
time:
I have now decided to stick to the title I put on the book
[Trimalchio in West Egg]. The only other titles that seem to fit it are
Trimalchio and On the Road to West Egg. I had two others Gold-hatted Gatsby and The High-bouncing Lover but they seemed to light.
This note came in response to the following suggestion, gently offered by
Perkins:
I always thought that "The Great Gatsby" was a suggestive and
effective title, -- with only the vaguest knowledge of the book, of course.
But anyway, the last thing we want to do is divert you to any degree, from
your actual writing, and if you let matters rest just as they are now, we
shall be perfectly satisfied. The book is the thing, and all the rest is
inconsiderable beside it.
In the end, we know who won this battle, but Fitzgerald stuck to his guns,
even as the book was going to press:
I wired you on a chance about the title -- I wanted to change back
to Gold-hatted Gasby but I don't suppose it would matter. That's the one flaw
in the book -- I feel Trimalchio might have been best after all.
The title of Fitzgerald's first book with Maxwell Perkins (and Scribner's)
also underwent a title change, though Fitzgerald suggested this switch.
Perkins actually thought that "The Education of a Personage: strikes us as an
excellent title," but Fitzgerald bluntly changes his own mind in his follow-up
letter on the subject:
The title has been changed to This Side of Paradise from those
lines of Richard Brookes: ": Well, this side of paradise/ There's little
comfort in the wise."
These exchanges are perhaps the juiciest, and the most fun with the benefit
of hindsight, but the interesting and substantive parts of their letters begin
from Fitzgerald's very first contact with Perkins, in which, even before the
editor has seen a bit of the book or expressed any interest in signing
it, the author is already trying to dictate the precise month in which the
book should be released:
Now what I want to ask you is this -- if I send you the book by
August 20th and you decide you could risk its publication (I am blatantly
confident that you will) would it be brought out in October, say, or just what
would decide its date of publication?
Perkins' response captures perfectly how the needs of the publisher to have
sufficient time to adequately sell the book to buyers make this timeline
impossible (a conversation I've had with more than a couple authors
myself):
But there is one thing certain: no publisher could publish this
book in October without greatly injuring its chances; for the canvasing of the
trade for the fall season began several months ago, and would now order
grudgingly, and in much lesser quantities than they would at the beginning of
the season.
Of course, even in the face of a well articulated business reality, the
author always reserves the right to still be upset and to make bizarre,
passive-aggressive, guilt-inducing statements regarding the personal nature of
his disappointment:
Both last week & this noon at lunch I tried to say this but
both times couldn't get started because you personally have always been so
good to me -- but Mr. Perkins I really am very upset about my book not coming
out next month. I explained to you the reasons financial, sentimental &
domestic but more than any of these its for the psychological effect on
me.
Once Perkins expresses early interest in the book that would become This
Side of Paradise, he immediately gets down to business. One great voyeuristic
insight offered by the book is its peek into the specific terms of
Fitzgerald's publishing contracts:
As for terms, we shall be glad to pay a royalty of 10% on the first
five thousand copies and of 15% thereafter, -- which by the way, means
more today than it used to now that retail prices upon which the
percentage is calculated, have so much advanced.
It seems that in almost every other letter, Fitzgerald is asking for
another advance to get him through, which Perkins usually ends up giving him.
Fitzgerald's gratitude for this understanding brings him to request a smaller
advance on his next book. Not knowing this is the cause for Fitzgerald's
changed terms, Perkins responds:
Why do you ask for a lower royalty on this than you had on the
last book where it changed from 15% to 17 1/2% after 20,000 and to 20% after
40,000? Did you do it in order to give us a better margin for advertising? We
shall advertise very energetically anyhow and if you stick to the old terms
you will sooner overcome the advance. Naturally we should like the ones you
suggest better, but there is no reason you should get less on this than you
did on the other.
Fitzgerald sees the reasoning behind Perkins' interest on his behalf and
decides to revise his original request for terms with this compromise:
I made the royalty smaller because I wanted to make up for all the
money you've advanced these two years by letting it pay a sort of interest on
it. But I see by calculating I made it too small -- a difference of 2000
dollars. Let us call it 15% up to 40,000 and 20% after that. That's a fair
contract all around.
Of course, once the terms have all been settled, the content has been
finished, and the book is actually in print, Fitzgerald questions and bemoans
his book's sales:
I thank you very much for the $1500. I thought as there have been
41,000 printed the sales would be more than 33,796, but I suppose there are
about five thousand in stock and two thousand given away or sold at
cost.
I could go on and on with gems from this book (I'm not exaggerating when I
say there's something amazingly relevant on almost every page of the book), as
their discussions cover marketing, promotion, cover design, reviews, proofs
and galleys, and just about everything else we discuss with our authors on a
daily basis (including actual book content), but I leave you to check out all
the gory details for yourselves, if you are so inclined (and I do hope you
are).
I hope I'm not giving away the ending to anyone by pointing out the result:
a successful and respected editor and a happy author, who, through all of his
editor's feedback and guidance, was able to say, "I feel I've certainly been
lucky to find a publisher who seems so interested generally in his
authors."
Oh yeah, and more than a few pretty good books. ;-)
