Maxwell Perkins Is DeadrnThe Decline of Commercial Publishingrnby Clay ReynoldsrnIn an industry that trades on rumors of disaster, the tales flyingrnaround New York (which I use here as a synecdoche for majorrnpublishing houses anywhere) for the past several years arernhorrendous. Though some of the horror stories may be exaggerated,rnat least insofar as the specific publishers involved arernconcerned, they are often not that far from the truth. Most publishersrnhave enormous backlogs, and some books that havernbeen in galleys since last summer have not yet been scheduled,rnmay not be scheduled until next fall, may not be published forrntwo or three years. Some of them might not be published at all.rnRecent contract cancellations, even of books in galleys, even ofrnfinished books, suggest that a book may not actually “be” a bookrnuntil it walks out of a bookstore under a buyer’s arm.rnMoreover, rising paper costs, shrinking consumer demand,rnand the decline in independent bookstores are also putting thernsqueeze on the entire book business; and the situation is notrnlikely to improve as more and more people turn to electronicrnmedia for their reading matter.rnBecause of all this, publishers are increasingly careful aboutrnwhat they buy, and they watch what they own with a strict eye.rnThis eye, many writers would attest, is in the center of a publisher’srnforehead. Their regular vision, of course, never leavesrnthe profit and loss spread sheets, and their ears are attuned forrnrumblings from the accounting department, while their necksrnare craning around to see who is gaining on them and how fast.rnWhen writers gather, though, they admit that fewer and fewerrnpublishers are buying books these days. As mega-chains continuernto grow with the rapidity of Taco Bells across the country,rn”Mom and Pop” book-selling operations are being systemati-rnClay Reynolds’ most recent books are Players, a novel, andrnTwenty Questions: Answers for the Inquiring Writer.rncally squeezed out. The manager of one of the oldest independentsrnin San Antonio, the Twigg, told me last July that she isrnprobably going to have to close by this spring. None of the largernpublishers’ reps will call on her any longer; some have takenrnher off their catalogue mailing lists. She cannot rely on the nationalrndistributors, since they require minimum orders thatrnwould too severely tax her space. Even if she special orders arnbook, her store is given a low priority, meaning that a customerrncan expect a two-week wait for a current title.rnEven well-heeled local or regional chains are pulling in theirrnhorns, closing stores, regrouping in the face of barracuda-likerncompetition from mega-corporations which increasingly controlrnthe retail end of the book business. The demise of TaylorrnBooks in Dallas a few years ago marked the end of a store thatrnwas practically an institution, one that supported local authorsrnand brought in national figures for special signings and lectures.rnBut such stores cannot compete with the volume discountsrnand flashy marketing techniques of the mega-chainsrnwhich sprout like weeds in the strip centers along urban byways.rnIt would seem that such growth in massive stores with hugerninventories would indicate an upsurge in the number of booksrnbeing sold, but this is not the case. The mega-stores seem to putrntheir emphasis on providing atmosphere, ambiance, a place tornhang out, to talk about writing or books, not to buy. They stagernreadings and lectures, all of which benefit writers to some extent,rnbut which are really designed to make the sponsoringrnstores the center of the book world in their communities. Butrnthey do not sell many books. Some, according to their managers,rnmake more money from CD sales and even computerrnsoftware and video sales and rentals than they do from newlyrnpublished volumes; magazine sales constitute a huge part ofrn18/CHRONICLESrnrnrn