Online Publishing -- The Future of the Novel?

I don't know why I bothered with that questiongatekeepers of that caliber is, I would vigorously
mark. Of course the internet is the future of thecontend, worse than having no gatekeepers at all. An
novel. It's the future of almost everything. We haveidiot like that is very likely to reject good books
to remind ourselves that the web is not much moreunder the impression that they're bad, and -- even
than ten years old, and that the revolution has onlyworse -- to publish bad books under the impression
just begun. Think of where the automobile was afterthat they're good. And if you publish shit and tell
just ten years of existence, or the aeroplane, orpeople it's good, you'll rapidly devalue the currency.
moving pictures. And think of how far they've comeThe asinine rise of the marketers -- i.e. those
since. We have seen, so far, only a tiny fraction ofgeniuses who slap fancy covers on dud books and
what the internet can and will do. But I've alreadyhype them obscenely beyond their actual worth --
seen more than enough to conclude that in my ownmight well deliver short-term profits, but only at the
field of interest, literature, the writing is on the wallcost of ensuring long-term catastrophe. The public will
for the traditional paper book.I don't say this in abuy one unreadable "masterpiece", or maybe two,
spirit of glee or provocation. In fact I would be muchbut after sustaining a few serious burns they'll stop
happier if it were not the case. I love books. I lovebuying books altogether. And then the culture starts
the way you can read them anywhere -- on the bus,to rot. Publishers make less money, and the less
the plane, over dinner, in bed, racked out on themoney they make, the less willing they'll be to publish
couch. I love the way you can flick ahead throughanything remotely risky. Pretty soon they'll be
them if you get bored, or flick back to check onpublishing nothing but cookbooks by one-legged
stuff you missed. I love the way new ones smellex-Rugby stars, with the odd new novel by some
different from old ones. Yet it isn't hard to see howestablished dinosaur tossed on as a bit of artistic
most of these things -- with the exception of thegarnish. A literary culture run by people without brains
odor thing -- could be replicated electronically, withmight just conceivably survive. But one run by people
some kind of I-Pod-like device for downloaded text.without balls is doomed.Something like this has
Perhaps such a device exists already and I don't yetalready happened in Australia. That notional class of
know about it. In any case, those of us brought upliterati which is supposed to police our book culture,
on paper books, those of us with a sentimentalweeding out the bad books and publishing only the
attachment to them, will not be around forever.good ones -- having first rid these of any and all
Pretty soon we'll have to yield the floor to agrammatical howlers -- has died out, if indeed it ever
generation of people for whom it's at least as naturalexisted at all. No doubt this has something to do with
to read things off a screen as off a page. To them,the thinness of the country's population base,
the whole print thing, the whole concept of the hardcombined with our long tradition of settling for
copy, is likely to seem superfluous. One day oursecond-best in intellectual affairs. In any case, the
grandchildren will look back on the daily newspaper --result is that the novel in this country is effectively
that great wasteful slab of pulped flora that turnsdead as a form. Yes, novels still get published here.
obsolete a mere day after its creation -- the way weBut they're like Wile E. Coyote running on a
look back on such quaint historical objects as thesubtracted piece of ground, treading air and not yet
penny-farthing, or the sheep-gut condom.If theknowing it. If anything remotely original and exciting
internet is not the future of the printed word, andever gets published here again, it will be entirely by
therefore of the novel, then my name's not Kirkaccident. Again I have to point to the relative merits
Kinbote. In fact, I'll go one step further: the novelistof cyberspace. It's not enough to say that the web,
should want the internet to be the future of thein such a climate, is just as good as the traditional
novel. After all, what the novelist craves abovepublishers. It's better, because there's no material of
anything else is control. And publishing your own stuffwhich it's afraid. It excludes nothing. Which is, I
on your own site gives you unqualified control over it.repeat, better than excluding just about everything
There is, first of all, an absolute guarantee ofon grounds that have nothing to do with quality.For a
publication. There will be no intermediaries. Nobody willculture to actually be a culture, for it to live,
alter a word of what you have written. No grinningpublishers need to invest in more than just the
editor will propose "working with you" on the text.established brand names. They need to seek out
Debates regarding punctuation need not be enterednew and different and risky stuff as well. They need
into. Nobody will insert any redundant comma, orto publish books that might fail. They need to publish,
remove any necessary one. Apostrophes will not beto say it plainly, a lot of books, so that we get the
relocated from where they belong to where theykind of critical mass from which, if we're lucky, one
don't. You can control line-length, font, point-size. Anyor two excellent and lasting things will emerge.
genuine writer is bound to be tantalized by theseAmerican culture takes a lot of shit, but what other
possibilities. Of course, there's the burning question ofculture could sustain a young novelist as prodigiously
how you're going to make money out of the thing.talented but downright perverse as David Foster
This is a serious question, and I'll get back to itWallace? Certainly the thousand-page Infinite Jest
eventually. But apart from that gargantuan caveat,would have got short shrift from any publisher here.
web publication looks in many ways like a novelist'sWallace would have got it straight back by return
paradise.But hang on. Isn't there an important sensepost, in a crate, at his own considerable expense.
in which the rise of web publication would spellOnly in a culture as broad-shouldered, as robust, as
disaster for the novel? Because a published novel, inAmerica's could a writer like Wallace thrive. There's
the traditional sense, isn't just a novel that's beenonly one other culture from which he might
printed on paper, is it? It's a novel that's beenconceivably have emerged: the culture of the web, in
vetted, that's passed muster. The publisher, thewhich true talent, no matter how weird it is, always
gatekeeper, has lovingly hand-selected it from aseems to find some kind of audience.Remember
chaotic bale of far lesser manuscripts. Quality controlwhen The Beatles, not long before splitting up,
has been exerted. And without quality control, allfounded Apple Corp., the idealistic publishing/recording
we'd have would be an undifferentiated sludge offilmmaking company that would -- so the argument
material, about 99% of which is bound to bewent -- forever eliminate the artist's degrading
worthless, right? Isn't that all the web is? An unsiftedobligation to go down on his knees in some suit's
mass of largely valueless information, with nobody inoffice (probably yours, sneered Lennon at some
authority to guide us through it?It's a soundunlucky journalist) in order to get his stuff out to the
argument, in principle. But it only works in practice ifpublic? Apple of course failed to deliver on that
the quality controllers know what they're doing. Anddream, because its employees were promptly buried
in my own country, Australia, there is ample evidenceunder an avalanche of submissions. But think of the
to suggest that they don't. There is ample evidence,web as one giant and unswampable Apple Corp.,
in fact, to suggest that they're either asleep at thecapable of publishing an infinite supply of creative
wheel or brain dead. Publishing in this country iswork, without the mediation of those parasitic and
growing more fatuous by the day. A good half ofvaguely contemptible middlemen who have until now
the books published here are autobiographies ofstood between the artist and the public. If the idea
cricket players, or celebrity memoirs that would beof infinity scares you, I can only repeat that it is far
uninteresting even if their authors could write, orpreferable to entrusting our cultural future to the
reflections by former newsreaders on the differencepersonal tastes of some bureaucrat who doesn't
between Generation X and Generation Y, orknow his arse from his elbow, but thinks that he
barbecue cookbooks by half-assed TV personalities.does. The question of which books will survive, and
(If they actually are half-assed, having lost anwhich ones won't, is far too important to left to a
appendage or two in the course of somehandful of marketers and semi-lettered literati. The
unnecessary but "inspiring" journey to the top ofpublic has to be in on it to some extent.It's probably
some indomitable mountain, then so much the better,time for a confession. Don't get me wrong: this
as long as they've got an arm left to write theconfession does not alter the truth-value of the
memoir.)What matters about books these days isforegoing arguments. Everything I have said remains
whose face is on the front cover, not what iswatertight, objectively ship-shape. But here is the
written inside. In this sense at least, the web -- thatconfession. I am a novelist myself, and for a
supposedly anarchic no-go zone of unfiltereddepressing year or so I have attempted, without
information -- is in fact a rather more rigorousraising a single spark of interest, to sell my
enforcer of quality control than our traditionalmasterwork to this country's moribund publishers.
publishers are. Your web page can look as fancy asAnd I tell you, there is no experience more surreal
you like, but if it doesn't deliver on content, peoplethan submitting one's stuff, again and again, to the
will hit the back button. By some strange law ofburnt-out remnants of an industry which, although
publishing physics, people will, under certainnominally concerned with the business of publishing
circumstances, pay for unreadable tripe; but under nobooks, has essentially given up on the whole notion.
circumstances will they read it for free.As for theIt's like shouting into a void.And so I have indignantly
highbrow stuff, one of the most celebratedpublished my book online, where it is freely available
Australian novels of recent times had a glaring errorto anyone who wants to read it. Which is to enter
of grammar in its second sentence. I repeat: in itsanother kind of void -- a bigger but more democratic
second sentence. Is it trivial to mention this? Or doesone, which has no prima facie aversion to new
the fact that no editor picked up this howlermaterial. On the contrary: it wants you. Or at any
reinforce the point that the editor as gatekeeper, asrate, it doesn't not want you. It wants stuff. People
fastidious guarantor of quality control, is these days awant the stuff that's on it. Some of them will come
purely mythical figure. If a publishing house can't evento your page. If it delivers what they want, they will
guarantee adherence to simple rules of grammar, itsstay. If it doesn't, they will go. Most of them will go.
imprimatur is worthless. For all the help his editorsSome of them will stay. If enough of them stay,
gave him, this guy's novel might just as well havethen maybe your site will amount to something.And
been self-published on the web.Here's a pertinentthat's about all I have to offer on the topic. I think I
anecdote for you. At a recent and excruciating socialsaid, back at the start of this article, that I would
function, I happened to find myself seated next to acome back to the subject of money. I lied, sort of. I
fellow who was, and as far as I know still is,really haven't worked that bit out yet. All I can do is
employed by a globally reputable publishing house aspropose, without a great deal of conviction, that
a senior editor of fiction. Finding him generallyanything that's any good will eventually draw some
unimpressive, I generously raised the subject ofkind of audience, and that anything that draws an
fiction, so as to let him riff freely on a topic heaudience will also, eventually, make some kind of
presumably knew something about. I mentionedmoney. That's my working hypothesis. We'll see how
Catch-22. It swiftly emerged that he'd never heardit goes.Kirk Kinbote, operating from behind at least a
of it. He thought I meant The Catcher in the Rye.brace of pseudonyms, was the key creative and
When I subsequently referred to Thomas Wolfe hedesign force behind home of the online novel "A
thought I was talking about Tom Wolfe.HavingDancing Bear.