Publishing and packaging out-of-copyright classics can be a shrewd strategy financially—but only if publishers are able to add value to the product.
Most readers and prospective authors will think of publishers as swashbuckling adventurers, charming rogues or sharkish operators. The reality, as we know, is quite different, and if I had to find an apt description of my profession over the past 20 years, what rather comes to mind is the fusty figure of an archival sleuth or fine-art restorer.
Before setting up Hesperus Press in 2002, I did extensive research into the demand for rediscovered lost classics in English-speaking countries. I spoke to several publishers for advice, and the consensus was: “Nah. That market’s shot its bolt. It’s been done before. Many times. Everyone failed. Not a chance.” Of course, I disagreed—not out of stubbornness, but because I believed that the idea of resurrecting forgotten books could work if they were presented with passion, creativity and a touch of originality. Hesperus was an overnight hit, selling over half a million units in its first year and going on to achieve great commercial and critical success.
The main misconception about reissuing titles in the public domain is that, since there is no copyright protection, anyone can do it and no editorial value can be added. Another misapprehension is that, because of the low entry level, there must be dozens of competing editions, making it almost impossible for a book to stand out and become successful. People forget that classics publishing is, more often than not, about rediscovering the works of an author. Very few writers have achieved classic status during their lifetime or too recently after their departure from the world. For most, the journey to enduring posthumous recognition is fraught with adversity and uncertainty, and often punctuated by long spells of oblivion.
Dante’s Comedy exerted a strong influence on the generation that followed him: it was imitated by Petrarch and described as “Divine” by Boccaccio, but then it fell into disregard and was considered coarse and unpolished for centuries, only to be rediscovered by the Romantics. The novels of Jane Austen met with only moderate success when she was alive, and came to be appreciated decades after her death. The same happened to Keats, whose poems were vilified by critics of the day and whose three published books were in the end remaindered, having sold modestly. In recent times, the works of Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, Boris Pasternak and Hans Fallada are famous examples of extraordinary rediscoveries.
We would like to think that, thanks to our endeavours, the work of authors such as Ivan Goncharov, Dino Buzzati, Sergei Dovlatov, Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Raymond Queneau, Alain Robbe-Grillet and Alan Burns, among others, will stand a better chance of being appreciated by future generations. And we will make every effort to ensure that the novels of Albert Maltz—a prize-winning writer who was thwarted and blacklisted by the US government for political reasons after the Second World War—get the recognition they deserve. Whether we will be successful or not, we don’t know: only time will tell. In the meantime, all we can do is keep digging and digging.
The work of a classics publisher such as Alma Books does not stop at “unearthing gems” or reissuing “unjustly forgotten books”, to use two of the most common trite phrases. To be sure, identifying the titles—by delving deep into extinct publishers’ lists and scouring library catalogues—is the key to success, and perhaps one of the most exciting moments in the process. But the most important part is how the book is brought to fruition in an enticing way for modern readers.
Every book is a child of its time, and in order to make it speak to a contemporary audience, it has to be reinvented. Obsolete typography must be stripped out, printing errors corrected, spelling and punctuation modernised and standardised, contextual references and quotations fully annotated. The most authoritative text should be established and followed, and any significant variants given. The layout should not just be copied but enhanced, bearing in mind the limitations of the old movable-type printing and the sophistication of modern typesetting software. The cover, in terms of design and finish, should be attractive and shout quality, and the production values, from paper to binding, should be as high as possible.
Many of our classics contain, in addition to extensive notes, extra material for readers wishing to delve deeper into the life and works of their authors. We always commission new translations of foreign classics, which are checked carefully against the original. Our children’s classics are given a new take by famous contemporary illustrators, and their extra-material sections have glossaries and a fun “Test Yourself Quiz”. In short, by sprinkling a little editorial and production gold dust, you can make those old books look brand-new and exciting. Although it’s often a matter of laborious craftsmanship, the result is always rewarding: the book is given a new lease of life.
Could anybody do it? Maybe. But how many would do it well enough to make a positive contribution to the world as well as earn a living from it? The late publisher Peter Mayer once relayed to me a piece of advice: “So long as you are one of the last farriers or cigar-sellers in town, you’ll do well. So don’t give up, even if there are not many horses around, and fewer and fewer people are smoking cigars!”
Alessandro Gallenzi is the publisher of Alma Books and Calder Publications. Albert Maltz’s A Tale of One January will be reissued by Alma later this month. All rights are available from Alma.