Booksellers versus Bestsellers
by John MacBeath Watkins
S. was a tall woman, in her private life a sort of den mother for anarchists with whom she shared a house. Some time after she started working for me, she began dating a cousin of mine who I'd never previously met, and eventually she married him.
So, I suppose whatever forces shape our fate must have Intended that she be part of my cohort. I thought of her recently, when I asked my business partner where something was.
"Why do men always ask women where things are?" she replied.
That was an easy one.
"Because you move them."
She had, in fact, tidied away the object in question, and knew exactly where it was in precisely the way I did not. And that is one of the many great things about Jamie. She generally knows where she puts things.
Not so with S. And this was a problem, because of the way I tend to organize things.
If I want to be able to find something, I do the obvious thing: I leave it out in plain sight. This tends to lead to a bit of clutter, with the most often-used items on top.
S. wanted a neat work environment. To her, this meant less clutter. The way she achieved less clutter was in the obvious way: She put things out of view. Unfortunately, once things were out of view, she seemed to think the problem was solved, and actually finding the object next time it was needed was not a high priority for her unless it was something she used.
I came to view this in terms of entropy. Entropy isn't just a good idea, it's the law, and it clearly states that the universe is going from a higher state of organization to a lower state of organization.
My system of organization acknowledges this. My environment is in a state of apparently increasing disorder, and yet, for the most part, I can find things. The system S. used involved the expenditure of energy, which is entropy itself, to bring the environment to a state of greater disorder, in which information about where things were was destroyed, which is entropy again.
Now, it is possible for a system of putting things out of sight to preserve this information, even for it to preserve information better than my somewhat sedimentary system of piles. You would, for example, put stuff under "S" for "stuff," and other stuff under "O" for "other stuff."
This was not the method S. employed. Her method was to expend energy to destroy information, and I cannot help but think that on some level, she did so as a friend to entropy, an anarchist at heart.
by John MacBeath Watkins
There was an age of myth, when we explained the world to each other by telling stories about the gods. There was an age of fable, when we explained morality to each other by telling folk stories that belonged to the culture.
And there is the age of literature, when we know who wrote the story, and make it their property.
In the age of myth, we told each other stories that were supposed to be true, and didn't know where they came from. During the age of fable we understood them as parables. In our age of literature, we understand them as personal insight.
We regard all as contributing to our understanding of the nature of human nature, but by stages, they have become more tenuously connected with socially constructed truth, and more subject to our self-conscious understanding. We ask ourselves, is this a story we can accept as telling a truth about humanity, or do we reject it? Rejecting the myths was not optional during the time those religions were active. People lived in societies where the truth of the history of the gods was too socially accepted.
To reject the story of a fable, we would have to say that we disagree with the culture, not with the gods. To disagree with an author, we have only to disagree with one individual. The judgments of the author and the reader are those of individuals, with the social acceptance mediated by markets -- which books people talk about, and buy, or feel left out because they haven't read.
We have other ways of understanding human nature, such as the more rigorous storytelling of science, the unreliable narrators of our families and friends explaining themselves as best they understand themselves, or the frantic efforts of our news sources trying to attract our attention to fragments or figments of information or gossip they think we might like to know.
But it is literature which works the most like mythology, transporting us into stories and allowing us to experience things that have not happened in our own lives. It instructs us or subverts us in ways mere facts do not, influencing the emotional armature on which we hang our facts and shape them into our beliefs.
As our culture has changed, we've become more self-conscious of the process. We may choose to judge a book by its author. We might decide that if Ayn Rand could live off Social Security in her old age, perhaps the philosophy she pushed, which would claim only the morally inferior "takers" would need a safety net, was not even something she could live by.
Or we may say to ourselves, "J.D. Salinger seems so deep when I was so shallow, such a sallow youth, but now that I'm in the working world I have put aside that juvenile cynicism and taken up the more useful and manipulative cynicism of Dale Carnegie."
The ability to do this makes our emotional structure more malleable than we would be if the stories we based our lives on were eternal verities handed to us by the gods, as if the clay of our feet never hardens. This gives us an adaptability our ancestors never knew or needed, but what is the cost? Do we become chameleons, taking on the coloration of our social surroundings to better camouflage our true selves, or do we change our true selves at a pace never before seen in human history?
I suspect the latter. We are bombarded with stories, on television, in games, in books, even, for the dwindling few, in magazines. We grow by accepting them into ourselves, or set boundaries by rejecting them, and we are constantly reshaped, little by little, meme by meme.
by John MacBeath Watkins
I've been reading The Shallows
, a 2011 book by Nicholas Carr about how the internet is rewiring our brains, and in the midst of this alarmist text on how much shallower we shall become because of the internet, I've found a cause for hope.
You see, the PewResearch Internet Project has found that younger people are more keenly aware of the limitations of the internet then their elders.
I am not a digital native. You might call me an internet immigrant, or even a digital alien. I've come to use the internet quite a lot, but I'm keenly aware that much of what we know isn't there. It's in books, or in peoples' heads.
But on this issue, as on so many others, I find that young folks today are in better agreement with me than my own generational cohort. From the report:Despite their embrace of technology, 62% of Americans under age 30 agree there is "a lot of useful, important information that is not available on the internet," compared with 53% of older Americans who believe that. At the same time, 79% of Millennials believe that people without internet access are at a real disadvantage.
I think that's a very realistic assessment. The internet makes it easy to find the information on it, but there's a lot that just isn't there.
And there is also the issue of what you want to read on the screen. In At Random
, Bennett Cerf's memoir of his life in the publishing business, he noted that prior to the introduction of television, fiction outsold non-fiction about three to one. After its introduction and subsequent ubiquity, that reversed.
But when I looked at Amazon's list of top-selling e-books recently, there wasn't a non-fiction book in the top 40. The Barnes & Noble list of the top-selling hardcover and paperback books shows five of the top 10 being non-fiction.
It would appear that peoples' reading habits are adapting to the reality of reading things on a screen which can also be used to go on the internet and buy things or roam around the infosphere. It is Carr's contention that silent reading, which invites us into the private contemplation of the information and thinking of the author better than the public performance of reading aloud, has been with us for about a thousand years. Printed books invited us into this quite, private world, while reading on a device connected to the internet invites constant interruption. A text littered with links, GIFs, and videos invites cursory and distracted reading.
But stories were performed by a storyteller or a cast of actors long before silent reading came about. We can immerse ourselves in stories without thinking deeply, let them wash over us and sweep us away without trying to interpret or challenge their thinking. That seems to be the sort of thing we are willing to read on the screen, partly because the experience of being transported into the story makes lower demands on our intellect.
It seems odd that the newest technology is best for the sort of mythopoetic storytelling where we don't consciously absorb information, while books that demand our use of instrumental logic are best read on paper. Mr. Carr has himself noted that while e-books are now about a third of the market for new books, they are only about 12 percent of the sales of his own, somewhat intellectually demanding books.
Perhaps this is only a pause in the twilight of the printed word, until e-publishers work out the interface a little better. But I found when I was reading A Course in General Linguistics
on line, I wasn't getting as much out of it as I did when I got a paper copy. The text was not interspersed with links, and the copy I got in book form had the distraction of marginalia, but I found it easier to immerse myself in a text I needed to read critically and contemplatively when it lay before me on paper.
Now, you might think that the young, more adapted to reading on the screen, would simply read more of the sort of short, punchy stories about who was showing side boob at the Oscars and watching cat videos and porn, but according to the Pew study, they are more likely to have read a book in the past year.Some 43% (of millenials) report reading a book--in any format--on a daily basis, a rate similar to older adults. Overall, 88% of Americans under 30 read a book in the past year, compared with 79% of those age 30 and older. Young adults have caught up to those in their thirties and forties in e-reading, with 37% of adults ages 18-29 reporting that they have read an e-book in the past year.
Interestingly, e-books seem to have caught on with older adults first, perhaps because you can adjust the type size in an e-book.
But for now, e-books seem to have unexpectedly plateaued, and printed books persist.
by John MacBeath Watkins
One of the most popular posts
on this blog explores the roots of religion, and the need we have for a mythopoetic understanding of the world. Scot Adams, blogger and cartoonist of the Dilbert strip, says that religion is not a bad interface with reality.
And it strikes me that as we've made our machines more compatible with us, we've made them more artistic and poetic. I do not speak machine language, but I am able to communicate with my computer through my simple faith that when I reverently click an icon, the file will open.
On rare occasions, I have to use the command line to communicate in a more concrete way with my computer, and sometimes I even have to open the back and stick in more memory. But I don't really understand the machine in the way my nephew Atom Ray Powers, a network administrator, does, nor do I understand the software the way his brother, Jeremy, a programmer does. And neither has studied assembler code, which my uncle Paul learned after he was injured out of the woods as a logger.
It's as if we are replicating the way people perceive the world. The graphical user interface gives us a visual, metaphorical understanding of how to face the reality of the computer, just as religion gave us a metaphorical, poetic, and often visual way of interacting with the reality of the world. The command line gives us greater control of the computer, just as technology gives us the control of nature
. Science attempts to learn how the world really works, at deeper and deeper levels, similar to knowing how the transistors work and how to read machine language..
The fact that computer scientists, who started at the scientific end of things, felt a need to make the interface more metaphorical and even artistic tells us something about how humanity interacts with the world. The intuitive approximation is vital if we are not to be overwhelmed with detail. It is sometimes said that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny
, because every fetus goes through phases of looking like a primitive fish, then a salamander, and eventually takes on human form. It would appear that the same thing happens cognitively.
Those of us, like myself, who follow the methods of the metaphorical interface in our daily lives often seek guidance from computer gurus. And those gurus, when they are not repairing malfunctioning machines or recalcitrant code, operate their computers in the symbolic realm made possible by the GUI.
We seem to have some difficulty doing this in our world of faith and science. This is usually because each side insists that its way of understanding the world is truth
, therefore the other cannot be truth. But a model of an atom isn't what an atom really looks like, because an atom is smaller than a visible light wave. All of our understanding is metaphor and artistic license at some level. In my view, we have understandings at different levels.
Now, perhaps I've offended some religious people by saying religion is metaphor. But all sacred texts were written to be understood by people, not by gods. All of our understanding is metaphor. "For now we see through a glass, darkly
" a biblical passage says. We understand the world by telling stories about it, and deciding which best describe it. Sometimes, as with math, the stories can be very precise, and the grammar quite rigorous, but they are stories none the less.
by John MacBeath Watkins
The Guardian has an interesting article on the failure of anglophone philosophy here
. In it, Roger Scruton argues that the analytic philosophy of English-speaking philosophers has taken philosophy out of realms where it might be relevant to peoples' lives.
Scruton says:Academic philosophers in the English speaking world still regard philosophy as Locke defined it in the 17th century, as "the handmaiden of the sciences": it doesn't explore the world beyond science but the limits of science, with the result that philosophy doesnt really intrude into the public world. In the early 20th century were were caught up by the movement to form analytical philosophy, based in the study of logic, the foundations of mathematics, the syntax of ordinary language, the validity of arguments, something very formal. So when people have a big question, especially now since the decline of the orthodox religions, they don't turn to philosophy for the answer but try to formulate it in whatever technical words have been bequeathed to them, and when a scientist comes along and says "I have the answer", or even "there is no question", they think "this guy knows what he's talking about, I'd better lean on him".
The French, he notes, did not fall into this trap. Sartre was willing to address the great moral questions, even if the morality of his actions in World War II might be a little questionable (he gained his teaching position during the war because Vichy law eliminated a Jew from that position, and chose not to be active in the resistance.)
But Scruton fails to note that many people don't look to science for their answers. Some turn to religion, some turn to New Age gurus. Both reflect a backlash against the Enlightenment ideas reflected in modern philosophy. Most modern philosophy (yes, even the French) is unwilling to deal with the spiritual feelings people have.
Part of the problem is that people tend to believe in the spiritual in an a priori manor., and will interpret any attempt to analyze it as an attempt to destroy it, to reduce it to the physical world. Any logical and analytical approach to the spiritual that does not treat the existence of the spiritual as an accepted fact and a realm not readily explained by the physical world will be seen as the reductive destruction of the spiritual, equivalent to trying to understand the Mona Lisa by turning it to powder and doing chemical analysis of the molecules.
Any attempt to find the part of the brain that needs to believe in god will receive this reception. My own attempts to understand the spiritual in terms of the ethereal parallel world of symbolic thought have been received this way. As an agnostic, I am open to the possibility of the existence of a spiritual world but not convinced of it. And I have to wonder, if we could understand the spiritual world, would that be tantamount to its reductive destruction?
In my series of posts on the strangeness of being human
, I have stuck with trying to explain what I can, which has restricted me to the physical and analytical. I remain skeptical of those who claim a special knowledge of the spiritual world, because so many have been shown to be frauds, but I respect the impulses and the work of sincere ministers of many faiths. For many people, faith has been a support for them spiritually, psychologically, morally, and socially. Scot Adams, long a vocal atheist, said on his blog recently:In recent years I've come to see religion as a valid user interface to reality. The so-called "truth" of the universe is irrelevant because our tiny brains aren't equipped to understand it anyway.
As a pragmatist, I find this appealing. Were I a Christian, I might find it appalling, for the same reason the Catholic Church found Pascal;s Wager appalling: It does not accept the truth of religion as its reason for practicing religion.
Yet in many ways, worrying about the truth of religion is a modern luxury. If you lived in most societies for most of the history of religion, the penalty for failing to believe in the God or Gods of your people was death, ostracism, or incomprehension by your fellows. The notion that religion should have to justify itself was uncommon until recently. Socrates was charged with undermining the young's faith in the gods, and condemned to death. Society was punishing him, not for proving the gods did not exists, but for raising the question of how we might logically confront religion.
Thomas Aikenhead was executed in Scotland in 1697
for the same thing. Thomas Hobbes might have lost his life on a charge of blasphemy for claiming God exists, but is a material being, had he not had protection from the king, who he had tutored.
Although Aikenhead was the last person in the United Kingdom executed for blasphemy, the last successful prosecution in the UK for blasphemy
was in 1977. The law has since been repealed.
There are parts of the world where the law says you can still lose your life for leaving the established religion, although in the best-known cases governments have backed off.
But even for the unchurched, the spell of the spiritual has an appeal that the logical mechanisms of philosophy cannot address. This is an interesting problem, because for centuries, philosophy was taught in Europe at Christian institutions. In fact, if you wanted to be educated in Europe after the rise of Christianity, for centuries you had to take orders.
This led to exactly the sort of reductive logic chopping we now see in our more materialistic philosophy. Schoolmasters were ridiculed for arguing how many angels could dance on the head of a pin (my view is, all of them or none of them, depending on whether angels have a sense of rhythm -- after all, they are as immaterial as the question.)
So the problem of the relevance of academic philosophy is not a new one. One of the aspects of the academic environment is that to be wise, you must specialize, so that you may know more about something than anyone else. That specialization takes you away from the big questions. Another is that the trap of irrelevance is not always obvious. The question of whether angels had a material presence interested some philosophers, and the thought experiment about them dancing on the head of a pin was a thought experiment intended to illustrate it.
The real trap was in failing to understand that in the grand sweep of things, whether angels had a material presences was irrelevant to the important questions of how we should live. The conversation became attenuated because those involved did not realize that they had lost the plot.
And if philosophy leaves the questions of how we should live our lives to the soft science of psychology or the realm of new=age gurus, it will be irrelevant to the questions they attempt to answer. Perhaps these questions are not the ones modern philosophy wishes to deal with, but if so, people will continue to ask, what is it for?
Scruton thinks the notion that philosophy is the queen of the sciences makes it beholden to the sciences, but that is wrong. Philosophy is the mother of the sciences, having spun them off. There was a time when naturalists called themselves "natural philosophers." It was philosophers who first examined the basic questions of physics, math, and astronomy.
Philosophy should not now turn its back on its children, but should integrate them, and show how they affect the way we live. But it seems to me that philosophy is the child of the spiritual rather than its queen or mother. We first tried to understand the world in a poetic and mythic way, and only later brought our problem-solving logic to bear on those understandings. It is much harder for the spirtual's logical child to understand its parent, because its business has been to supplant mythic understanding with logical understanding.
But it can talk about the questions the spiritual attempts to answer. After all, the Buddha had little to say about the gods, nor did Confucius. The question is, will academic philosophy reward such efforts, or view it as an enterprise left to some other field of study?
By John MacBeath Watkins
As we discussed in an earlier post,
Julian Jaynes introduced the intriguing concept of the origins of consciousness in the bicameral mind. He supposed that brains worked differently until about 1200 BC, that the part of the brain that produces hallucinations was speaking to us with the irresistible compulsion of the voices of the gods.
This represented a different sort of mind than we now experience, a mind without the metaphorical self-narrating person in our heads.
This brings up several questions. Jaynes claims that only the mentally ill still hear voices from that part of the brain, which is not much used by modern humans. But surely the part of the brain responsible for these hallucinations existed prior to human culture. What role did it play before that, and what role does it play in the style of perception used by animals other than man? Is it part of a system of perception for a spiritual world that is real, or the source of the invention of the spiritual?
I propose that the supposition of the breakdown of the bicameral mind is unnecessary. Psychologists refer to a healthy psyche as a well-integrated personality. This recognizes that a personality is made up of many motivations, often conflicting - the self who wants sweets and the self who wants to be slender, the self who wants children and the self who is selfish, the self who aspires to goodness and the self who cheats on its spouse. Some of us avoid conflicts by compartmentalizing. Some actually fragment into different personalities.
There was a case a few years ago in which a man was accused of raping a woman with multiple personality syndrome. What had happened was that the accused had started having sex with the woman's adult personality, then asked to speak to her little girl personality. The woman had consented to have sex in one personality, but not in the other - in fact, that personality was incapable of consenting to sex. The man was convicted, but the conviction was overturned.
That the woman had shattered into several personalities is considered pathological, but what if a single, well-integrated personality is as much an hallucination as the gods were? Does that mean that neither is real, or that both are real, or something in between?
I propose that both are ways of constructing reality. Scott Adams says that religion is a pretty good interface with the world, and I suspect that for many people it is. Think of it as a graphical user interface. The real world of computers is a world of 1s and 0s, but this is not a way of thinking about computers that enables us to work smoothly with them.
Similarly, the world we perceive is one of differing amplitudes and frequencies of light and sound, of the atoms we are composed of interacting with the atoms of other objects. Who knows, it may even be one of our spirit interacting with other spirits, though I see no particular need to suppose this. We have several levels of perception, memory, and constructing all the evidence of our senses into a narrative that "makes sense" of our lives. The product of all this is a useful interface, a sort of useful illusion of the world.
When societies became larger and needed coordination beyond the clan level, we developed institutions and patterns of behavior that made that possible, resulting in the great age of religion, which gave societies a sort of group mind.
This group mind gave us a structure that allowed stable societies of great size to develop, but it was not adaptable. As Jaynes pointed out, in the Iliad, there are almost no references to individuals having motivations that were not the gods dictating their actions. The later Ulysses is all about one clever, adaptable individual making his way through changing circumstances that his gods did not issue instructions for.
About the same time, the great age ofprophecy
began, and for about a thousand years, new religions told people how to act as individuals. And those religions focused on human prophets, less than on ethereal gods. Mohammed gave the word of God to Muslims, Jesus gave the world of God to Christians, and while Siddhartha had no brief agains the Hindu gods, his followers focus on his teaching more than on worshiping those gods.
Each, in his own way, taught people not to be selfish. It may have been literally unthinkable in the age of myth to be selfish, but in a world where adaptable individuals made their way, it was an ever-present danger.
An it is a danger. Any society that relies for its survival on people having and raising children requires some level of self-sacrifice. Any society that needs to defend itself from aggressive neighbors requires it as well.
We live in a transitional era, when adherents of the prophets are worried about the relentless rise of unbelief, when prophets of the Singularity are trying to invent an entirely material god, when atheism is no longer the creed that dare not speak its name. Reason rules our world more than myth, although often, it is motivated reasoning that seeks out desired conclusions.
But what role does reason really play? Often, our reason justifies things we already want to do, but have not consciously acknowledged. What if, when we spoke to the gods to get our guidance, the same thing was happening there as happens when we talk to ourselves?
If Jaynes was right about the literary evidence pointing to a different sort of mind prior to 1200 BCE, it may be that it was a different way of integrating a personality than our current mode, rather than a completely different way of using our brains.The strangeness of being human is a series of posts about the way language makes us human, giving us abstract categories we use to think and memes that make up much of what we are.
13Night of the unread: Why do we flee from meaning?
19The conspiracy of god, the well-intentioned lie, and the strangeness of being human
20Spiritual pluralism and the fall of those who would be angels
21Judging a book by its author: "Fiction is part confession, part lie."
22 What to do when the gods fall silent, or, the axis of ethics
23 Why do we need myths?
24 Love, belief, and the truth we know alone
25 "Bohemians"-- The Journey of a Word
26On being a ghost in a soft machine
27On the illusion of the self
by John MacBeath Watkins
I woke with an aching head, and found there was a heavily-built character sitting on the bed with me. A stitched-up scar ran up his swarthy face to the missing eye, and his remaining eye was dead, completely devoid of human emotion.
But he was my teddy bear, and I loved him.
"You're undercover?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said.
"Well, you look about as inconspicuous as Herman Cain at a Republican convention."
"The streets were dark with something more than night," Chandler said.
by John MacBeath Watkins
On July 25, 2014, ESPN host Stephen Smith brought an uproar on his head with the comment that women should not "provoke" men to anger, shifting the blame for domestic violence.
And he was quite properly pilloried for the comment. There is no excuse for beating your mate. Shifting the blame from men to women is wrong, not just because it's blaming the victim, but because blame is not a useful framework for solving the problem.
Because there is another issue here. The consistent narrative about domestic violence is that the problem is demonic males
, and the solution is controlling those demons.This seems obvious from the fact that most people hurt in domestic violence incidents are women.
Logically, the real hell should be two men living together.
And, in fact, according to a Centers for Disease Control study,
gay men report that 26% have, in their lifetimes, been subject to violence from a domestic partner. That's a shockingly high number. But it's not the highest number. For lesbians, the figure is 44%. For straight couples the figure was 29% for men, 35% for women.
This is the opposite of the expected result. The more women are involved in a relationship, the more violent that relationship becomes. It is an astounding, disturbing result that has received far too little attention.
Now, there are several possible explanations for this. It could be that women are more likely to report having been hit. This is possible, but I submit that this is not about police reports, these people participated in a survey that allowed them anonymity. I believe the numbers. In any case, why would straight men be more eager to report domestic violence than gay men? And why would lesbians be more eager to report than straight women?
Another possibility is that men are beating up lesbians. After all, not all lesbians start out in lesbian relationships. I'm sure that happens, but a psychologist I know told me years ago that a deplorable amount of domestic violence happens in lesbian couples.
A 1949 comic, for sale here
.There are other possibilities. Some people fight with their mate as a prelude to sex. I've never understood that one, but I know it exists.
Maybe there is something wrong with the CDC's sampling or the wording of their questions, but I doubt it. I do think the survey opens a window on a deeply emotional issue, and may even point a way to making peoples' lives less violent.
There is a more disquieting possibility, that women are more subject to violence because they are seen as more vulnerable, even by other women. That would be a more intractable problem. It would also fail to explain why straight men report being hit more than gay men.
If this is the problem, the solution would be to decrease the perception of female vulnerability, a rather difficult bit of cultural engineering.
It is possible that what we are teaching women in our culture about conflict resolution is working badly, especially when dealing with other women.
That is an intriguing possibility, because if conflict resolution styles is a problem, teaching better techniques could benefit any couple having this problem. You'd have to teach both parties, and not everyone would be willing, but lesbian, straight or gay, you'd be better off.
There are a number of stereotypes about this. The woman who enforces her will with a rolling pin. The woman who won't tell the guy what he's done wrong, but expects him to know, for example. I know nothing about the validity of the stereotypes, and I doubt that's the sort of thing that leads to most domestic violence, but having never been involved in domestic violence, I don't know what problems lead to it from personal experience. Is it score settling? Naked competition for power within the relationship?
I don't know, but someone must find out.
We'd have to open our minds to a new approach. I would suggest teaching kids conflict resolution, before their patterns are set. You could ask them what they would do in certain circumstances, and what would likely result, and explore alternatives. If 26% of those in all-male relationships are subject to domestic violence, it's clear men need this. If 44% of women in all-female relationships are subject ot domestic violence, women could use it even more.
Part of the problem with the notion of demonic males is that it focused on who was to blame, just as the problem with what Mr. Smith said was its focus on shifting blame. If we shift the focus to how to resolve domestic conflicts without violence, everyone could benefit. After all, most couples of all types manage to avoid violence.
by John MacBeath Watkins
When Amazon sells an ebook published by Hachette, the proceeds are divided as follows: 30% to Amazon, 52.5% to the publisher, and 17.5% to the author. The two companies are now at odds over the fact that Amazon wishes to discount books more heavily.
They have also proposed the authors should get more
-- 35% instead of 17.5%. Only, that wouldn't come out of the Amazon share, it would come out of the publisher's share. So far, the company under attack, Hachette, has had very vocal backing from its authors, who are deprived of part of their income because Amazon is refusing to sell their books. The tactic in suggesting that the publishers give authors a bigger share is an attempt to drive a wedge between authors and their publisher -- let's you and him fight. It's a free lunch for Amazon, which would not dream of giving authors more money out of their share.
And in Germany, Amazon is trying to get a 50% share of the ebook price
My question is, why should Amazon be getting even 30%? The cost of delivering ebooks is minimal, while many of the marketing costs are borne by the publishers.
Suppose you could plug the title of a book into a search engine and pull up a variety of booksellers offering the book at a lower price than Amazon's. The publishers would have greater influence over a large group of independent booksellers than they do over Amazon. They might find themselves paying as little as 15% or even less to such competing sellers.
The reason this hasn't happened is that publishers worry about losing control over the perception of value of their products. What is needed is the agency model -- they wholesale books to an agent who then sells them.
Ah, you say, but that has been tried. Not, I answer, in the way that I propose. The publishers tried to ally themselves with Apple and set a higher price than Amazon wanted to charge.
I say they should fully commit to ebooks, and under-price Amazon. They were tripped up by the fact that they colluded with Apple to have high prices. Well, don't collude. Set prices that cover the cost of finding, editing, and promoting the book, plus a reasonable markup, and try to sell a lot of copies. Don't negotiate what margin the seller gets, just sell them the book and let them set the retail price. The company that can keep its overhead low while effectively promoting itself and the books can make money with a lower percentage of the price. With competing companies selling the books, the one who can make money on the smallest margin will have the lowest price.
No doubt a company like Google could build such a marketplace quickly that would be highly automated and have minimal costs. Or maybe someone wearing bunny slippers and working in their basement will find the key. The big problem is overcoming Amazon's marketing muscle, so I would expect either a well-funded startup or a fairly large existing company to take this on.
Amazon has a large and increasing overhead connected with delivering physical objects. A company with lower overhead could charge less for ebooks.
It has now become evident that not everyone wants an ebook. They seem to be best for leisure reading. For absorbing information, print books still have an edge. There is still, therefore, a place for bookstores and experts on the physical delivery of books such as Amazon.
This is not too different from the mass-market paperback revolution of the 1940s and '50s. Suddenly, news agents who had never sold books before were selling paperbacks with lurid covers. More people read more books, and publishers found that what had been a carriage trade became a mass market. The process was very well documented in one of my favorite books, Two-bit culture: the Paperbacking of America.
But even during the paperback revolution, the business was one of distributing books through centralized organizations. Most publishers did not own printing plants, let alone warehouses and trucks to take the books to the many independent bookstores that peppered the land, which meant more middle men were needed. With ebooks, that lack doesn't matter, and in fact, becomes an advantage, because it means lower overhead.
by John MacBeath Watkins
A ricochet zinged off the rock we hid behind.