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Editorial Memories
By Rochelle Ratner
Unlike most literary magazines,
which are started among friends, American Book Review is
a combination of editors who had not known each other previously.
Ronald Sukenick brought together the original grouping in 1977,
then editors brought
other people, some dropped out,
others remained (and it was impossible to guess in advance who would
stay and who wouldn't). To complicate things even further, I don't
think there was ever a time in our ten year history when our entire
editorial board was living in the same state, let alone the same
city.
Since our editors are also writers
first and foremost, it stands to reason that what will be most memorable
is what adds to our experience as writers. I remember once leaving
an editorial meeting angry at certain things which had been decided.
As I was
walking home, I decided okay, if
that's the way they want to do things then they could go right ahead,
but I didn't have to be a party to it, I'd just cut back on some
of the work I was doing. There were a million and one other ways
I could better use the
time. I could write that novel,
for instance, the one I'd been thinking about for several months.
I got home, went into the study, sat down at the typewriter, and
banged out what became, almost unchanged, the first three pages
of my first novel.
Would I have eventually written
Bobby's Girl anyway? Probably. But it was working on American
Book Review which taught me indirectly how to write fiction
in the first place. Though it was something I never could have predicted
in advance, reading and editing reviews of novels drew me close
to the process of fiction writing in a way that could never be duplicated
in any classroom.
Looking back ten years, to the
person I was when I first joined American Book Review, I
have to laugh. I was so anxious to plunge in head first and ask
everyone I knew to review for us, without stopping to consider possible
consequences. I'll never
forget the first two reviews I
assigned--one of a new book by James Wright, the other of a book
by Michael Benedikt. I wrote letters to both reviewers my first
day on the magazine--both were friends of friends whom I'd met but
didn't know very well.
About two months later, I received
the first review in the mail. I eagerly tore open the envelope and
read it. I read it again. I sat down, calmed down for a minute,
and read it a third time. Finally I showed it to David Wilk, who
was staying at my apartment for a few days. He couldn't understand
it either. It seemed as if no two words stood together in any recognizable
context. I showed it to the other editors, but my impression was
only confirmed.
I was already disheartened--and
distrustful of my own reviewer assignments--by the time the review
of James Wright came in the mail. Otherwise I might have fought
harder to accept it--and it seems, since that point, we've printed
several reviews that were equally adequate but unmemorable. As it
was, editorial opinion was divided, and it was eventually rejected.
At that time, Joyce Carol Oates
was one of our Associate Editors, and she had supplied us with a
list of possible reviewers. I had never seen her list, but apparently
both these rejected reviewers were on it, and both were good friends
of hers. The end result was that she--albeit graciously--resigned.
Needless to say, every time I've
queried a possible reviewer since that point, I've included a statement
to the effect that: "I should warn you in advance that no review
can be accepted until we've all agreed upon it, and we do have several
editors here."
You would have thought I'd learn
from my mistakes, and in many ways I did. The only problem with
learning from your mistakes is that the next time incidents assume
forms just different enough that we don't recognize them, or at
least I didn't.
The concept of including a focus
in every issue began near the end of our second year of publication,
and worked well for the next two years--it gave all the editors
a chance to edit a focus along the lines that most interested them.
Then we began to edit focuses because we needed something for the
next issue... then... The concept of "guest editors" for a focus
intrigued us from the beginning. Other editors invited guests to
edit a focus and it worked extremely well. I was anxious to invite
a guest also. What I'd somehow overlooked was that these other editors
were working with close friends, people with whom they'd already
established a good working relationship.
I invited someone who had written
a few reviews for us, and had specialized knowledge in an area not
covered by our editorial board. Our lines of communication had not
been opened. When I intensely disliked one review he solicited it
took me hours of roundabout conversation, carefully guarding my
words, before I discovered he agreed with that opinion and was more
than willing to have us reject the review. And then, a few weeks
later, when I had similar feelings about another review he solicited,
I jumped in and told him what I thought, had just about mailed the
review back, before discovering that he was extremely committed
to this one. I worked with him on editing it and we came up with
an acceptable version, our relationship slightly strained now. But
at this point no other editors had read the revised review, and
it didn't quite dawn on me that they might still find it unacceptable.
The results were disastrous--and probably made the magazine a few
enemies for life.
The irony of all the above examples
is that we had, from the formation of the magazine, decided that
our writers deserved special treatment. On grant applications, we've
continually described American Book Review as: "a unique
and indispensable organ of literate discussion within the literary
community and its audience." But perhaps it's time to define once
again what "serving the literary community" really means.
Does it mean sending free copies
to everyone listed in the Poets & Writers directory, as we did
for nearly eight years, and cutting ourselves off from our most
logical paying readership in the process?
Does it mean telling our reviewers
okay, we understand you're preoccupied with writing your own fiction
and poetry, so take as much time as you need with the review? This
sometimes meant books got reviewed in our pages three years after
publication. Besides, who were
we really helping by not insisting that our writers abide by the
same standards of professionalism that would be demanded of them
from other magazines? To spoil is not to help.
The same professionalism should
be expected in terms of content. True, we wanted interesting, opinionated
reviews. But every so often I look through the review circulation
sheets that have piled up over the years, and one editorial comment
repeatedly stands out: "this review is admittedly more about the
reviewer than the book. From a less established writer I would reject
this, but anything X says is interesting." Did any of us ever really
believe that?
Sometimes we've published "well
known" writers almost by accident. In the summer of 1982, John Tytell
wrote to Raymond Carver, asking him to review William S. Wilson's
novel, Birthplace. Carver declined the invitation, but recommended
one of his graduate students at Syracuse University as an alternative.
This wasn't our usual policy, but Carver seemed extremely sure his
student would do a good job, so we risked it. Thus it was that Jay
McInerney wrote for our pages.
During the first seven years of
American Book Review's existence, our designer liked to joke
that he laid out the issues with a shoehorn. That was exactly what
the editors wanted: to squeeze as much copy as possible into a small
space. To "waste" half a page on an illustration or highlight from
a review, half a page which could have been used to review another
two books, would have been unforgivable. It took us three years
to even begin putting illustrations on our covers. Then we wondered
why we weren't selling well on newsstands. The same design might
have continued forever, had not Alex Silberman, a writer/designer
friend, finally convinced us that illustrations, large type for
creative titles, highlights, etc., actually made the reviews more
interesting to "read".
As befits the sensibility that
finds it easier to fictionalize than to look closely at facts, once
we became aware of the business possibilities of the magazine, we
immediately exaggerated them. We talked with an outside funding
and development manager. We signed on with an advertising agency
which promised us the world in two months (and then attempted to
bind us to a contract for the next two years, having produced absolutely
nothing).
Eventually, lately, things have
begun coming together. Our subscription list is computerized; we
have editorial assistants, circulation and advertising managers.
We even have an office complete with telephone. In 1986 we hired
Don Laing as Managing Editor--a former President of the American
Booksellers Association, Don brought with him the managerial, publishing,
and marketing sense we've been lacking all along.
But there are still things I keep
thinking would make American Book Review a better magazine,
would make the job of editing it easier, would in general make the
world better. For whatever it's worth, I made up the following wish
list:
1. I would wish for reviewers
who are easy to work with, who won't throw tantrums over small
changes, who will permit editorial cuts or suggest alternatives,
who get the review done in a reasonable amount of time.
2. I would like to see nothing
but reviewers I can trust. This means, first of all, that they
can write to me about a particular book they'd like to review
for us, and I tell them to go ahead without worrying that this
person is a friend or close colleague of theirs. God knows, we've
gotten enough of these "sweetheart reviews" over the years, not
all of which are caught and rejected before publication.
3. A recent survey conducted
by The National Book Critics Circle asked the question: "Is
it ethical for a reviewer to decline to review a book he has already
accepted for review, on the ground that he didn't like the book
and doesn't want to say negative things in print?" I was
surprised at how many respondents answered yes, then qualified
it by saying they'd probably not use that reviewer again. I certainly
don't feel, as some respondents to the NBCC questionnaire did,
that the editor is all-knowing and is the best judge of which
books should be reviewed. Certainly I don't have as much time
to devote to any one book as a potential reviewer does.
If a reviewer writes saying
simply the book is too bad to be worth reviewing, I'll write back,
open a dialogue, see what I can do to encourage a review. If I
get a sense of the reviewer as simply someone who never wants
to say anything negative, no, I won't use him again. But take
the example of one reviewer recently responded that he values
the writer's political stance, even though the writing itself
is far too self-centered; to attack the writing would also imply
an attack upon the political stance, so what would anyone be gaining?
This impressed me so much that I was quick to assign him another
book.
4. I wish that everyone who ever
came in contact with American Book Review lived in a utopia
free from favors and obligations. I would wish that, when a book
comes in, my first thoughts weren't sometimes "this person has
reviewed for us, therefore I ought to get this book reviewed."
5. I recall Charles Russell remarking
years ago that, back in 1977 when American Book Review
was founded, he assumed that in two years all the editors would
be able to quit their jobs and live off salaries the magazine
would be able to pay. It was only a joke in retrospect. Fabulous
salaries aside--no editors are paid--I still wish for a magazine
which can support itself through subscriptions and advertising,
so that we will someday no longer be reliant upon the whims of
various granting agencies.
6. I would wish we could cut
down our lead time. At present, there's a two month lag between
the time copy goes to the copy editor and the time the issue is
published.
7. I wish, finally, for 78 hours
in a day, so that I could devote all the time to the magazine
that is needed without in any way cheating my own writing or the
rest of my life. Sometimes it seems as if this last wish is just
as likely to be granted as any of the previous ones, and in that
the whole problem might be summarized.
(Originally published in American Book Review,
Volume 10, Number 1, )
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