Horace Bent: Karp navigates over the pond to spread the love

To the London Book Fair main stage yesterday to angle for some Karp—of the Simon & Schuster variety—with S&S boss Jonathan Karp taking the mic to drop some truth bombs and revel in being owned by the benevolence of a private equity firm and not the gnomes of Gütersloh. An aside to say hooray to LBF organisers for instituting a system where questions from the floor had to be asked through an app. That pleased everyone in the audience no end! Although, to be fair, it did eliminate the “this isn’t really a question but a comment” type ramblings that one so often gets at these things.

There was a lot of love from Karp for his colleagues in Blighty, calling S&S UK boss Ian Chapman ’the Michael Jordan of British publishing’

Also, I was unnerved by the Big Brother-esque new system scanning our passes to get into the event, particularly as I was there solely to heckle with bon mots such as “That’s too coy, Karp” if he deflected on answering how long he laughed and was it at Penguin Random House’s expense, when he brought Madeline McIntosh onto the board last year.

There was a lot of love from Karp for his colleagues in Blighty, calling S&S UK boss Ian Chapman “the Michael Jordan of British publishing” as he is a two-time Publisher of the Year Nibbie champ. Steady on, I think you’ll find MJ led the Bulls to six NBA championships. Though, S&S might be in for another gong in 2024 as the Nibbie trade shortlists are revealed this Friday. I’m told table sales—very reasonably priced, at these prices you can’t afford not to buy—are ongoing. Though I can certainly see the Jordan/Chapman comparisons physically and sartorially, given the publisher has taken to completely shaving his head and stands at an elegant 6’ 6” (Chapman uses an AI cloaking device to appear smaller and not to be confused with David Roth-Ey). And his signature “kicks”, the Nike Air Chappers range—the logo is Colleen Hoover jumping in the air with a Nibbies trophy—are selling like hot cakes. Almost as well as those Trump golden high-tops.

The previous evening I managed to sneak into the typically heaving HarperCollins bash at the National Gallery. A lovely night, though slightly disappointing as I was hoping to bump into my old pal Kimberley Young but I didn’t see her there for some reason. But the HC “do” which has become the  fair opener, and evidence is the other parties now being planned around it; WME for example started its get-together about 3 p.m. Although that might have been down to the agents from the LA side having booked a power pilates class.

The convivial HC evening was almost ruined by the smashing of a glass. “Here we go,” I thought. “Andrew Franklin’s here and he’s going to go all Just Stop Oil on a Gainsborough”. Turns out it was just Sam “Skand-y” Copeland with a little miscue. He claimed it’s the only glass he’s ever broken at a pub/party, but as he’s from Manchester, where I’m told smashing a pint glass over someone’s head is almost a term of endearment, I’m dubious.