Mayday

I’m afraid I’m not able at this point in time to think coherently due to concerted over-consumption of Taittinger and a mild case of vol-au-ventitis, so my apologies if this starts to veer off in a tangential manner…

I was astounded to discover at last night’s Independent Foreign Fiction Prize award ceremony that only 86 titles had been submitted for consideration. Now I know that the accepted statistic is that only 3% of all books published in this country are translated works, and of that 3% another figure which I do not have are ‘classics’ and as such cannot be entered, but seriously, 86? Out of the hundred thousand odd books published every week? And then discount the two that we submitted… I simply do not understand how a tiny company, as we and some notable others are, can say ‘what the hell: this is a damned sight more interesting, exciting, than Dan Brown, and if we love it others will’ and sell enough copies to keep itself in tea and biscuits, and other publishers cannot. I grudgingly agree with the argument that people are more hesitant to pick up a book with a name on the cover that only has one vowel in it, indeed I’ve used the very same argument in many an editorial meeting (hilariously citing that World Cup match where the commentator can’t keep up with the names. Have them rolling in the aisles I do…), but that’s only because the market is so saturated with the latest Jordan/Katie Price. I honestly don’t believe that our society has ‘dumbed down’. I think we as an industry need to provide the range to allow readers to make their own decisions, for god’s sake let someone choose the author with the funny name. And the media need to expand their attentions to more than the books with the largest marketing department behind them. That said, we do a nice line in badges, if anybody wants.  

More apologies for what has duly become something of a rant. I dismount.

A good night all round though, in the end: we spent the remainder of the evening chasing the really rather tasty canapes around in the manner of Benny Hill and consumed at least a half a salmon each (still not quite up to the cheesy balls at the Austrian Embassy the other week…)  Wholehearted congratulations to Daniel Hahn on his well deserved win for Jose Eduardo Agualusa’s The Book of Chameleons - he knew me when I was a little girl, as it turns out. And Liverpool of course are in the Champions’ League Final, I say this smugly gazing out over the blue spikes of Stamford Bridge. Certainly well worth the ruined manicure and the Pat Butcher growl. Now the only problem is the clash with the Rossica Prize…

 KA, Ligger-in-Chief