Dear Wags,

Two friends I deeply admire, book guru Kathleen Schmidt and bestselling novelist Jodi Picoult, have been hashing out a big question on their platforms: Will self-publishing totally eclipse the traditional book business?

Kathleen believes readers are now fully in charge, and that how you’re published is less important than building an audience and delivering what those followers crave.

I’m not convinced. Still, Kathleen is right when it comes to particular kinds of books. For years, she’s been avid reader of romances. That sprawling genre relies on certain formulae. For example, book in the “HEA” subcategory must have—you guessed it—a Happily Ever After ending. There are romances focused on every variety of human sexuality (and some involving different species), each with particular rules. If I tried to list all the types of love stories now available, it would become its own Substack. 

Avid readers of such genres know exactly what they want — and reward those who deliver. Listen to Season Two of my podcast Missing Pages, and you’ll learn about Colleen Hoover, whose wildly popular dark romances have made her the hottest author around.

No shade on Hoover (CoHo to her fans) or her legions of admirers. But the audience-driven model doesn’t necessarily translate to work that defies categorization. It’s not built to showcase books the public doesn’t yet know it wants. That typically requires an intermediary between the author and the audience known as an editor.

Traditional publishing involves an arduous vetting process. Gatekeeping has a bad rap — and I’m all for opening those gates to the widest array of writers— but it’s supposed to operate in the interest of quality. Conventional publishers have businesses to run, and for all their flaws, they are dedicated to bringing great writing to a diverse marketplace.

Is that process perfect? Hell, no. But the reasons for pursuing conventional publication go far beyond fan service. It still conveys credibility, and ideally, it’s a path to creative progress. Unlike self-publishing, it’s a collaborative process involving multiple players—agents, editors, marketers, and booksellers — working with readers in mind. Great writing benefits from that support.

I'm not looking for an argument with those who seen big change coming. Authors who build buzz through self-publication are going to be increasingly important to the industry and publishers must adapt. Still, I hope there’s room for a collaborative model that nurtures writers and hones interesting work. That’s worth fighting for.

Yours Ever,

BKP

Edith Holler by Edward Carey

Not only do I love Carey’s quirky characters and their strange, bleak worlds, I adore his illustrations — so much that I own one of them (it’s of Merlin and his owl). Like another Edward (Gorey), Carey’s art revels in Victorian Gothic motifs and is mordantly funny. My advance copy of this novel came with a paper doll of the heroine. That would be Edith, a 12-year-old girl in 1904. Cursed to spend her days inside a theater in Norwich, England, she writes a play about the person she believes is behind the disappearances of local children. Naturally, all hell breaks loose. It’s an eerie and compelling tale.

The Berry Pickers by Amanda Peters

After four-year-old Ruthie disappears on a Maine blueberry farm in 1962, her Mi’kmaq family returns to Nova Scotia to grapple with the consequences. The years pass, and readers hear from Ruthie’s older brother Joe as well as Norma, a girl plagued by guilt. Figuring out what happened doesn’t diminish the storytelling. This isn’t a thriller, but the tale of a family torn apart by tragedy and trying to mend itself. Peters’ debut puts her in the company of two great Anns (Napolitano and Patchett), stylists who find the beauty of life in everyday relationships.

The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

If you haven’t read anything by Due, an award-winning novelist and scholar, let this yarn be your gateway drug. In 1950, Robbie Stephens is sentenced to a Florida reform school for kicking a local bigwig while defending his sister. The 12-year-old has always seen haints (ghosts), but now he’s plagued by visions of boys who died in the institution. Supernatural and hauntingly personal (Due dedicates the book to her great-uncle Robert Stephens, who died at 15 at the Dozier School for Boys in 1937), this sprawling thriller is also a plea for racial justice.

White Holes by Carlo Rovelli

My high school had a cool physics teacher, who made a bet with my boyfriend. That boyfriend believed this teacher’s review prep for the AP Physics Exam was so comprehensive that I— a mere sophomore who hadn’t taken the class— could pass it if I audited his sessions. I didn’t get a 5, but I passed. And I’ve been fascinated by physics ever since. Rovelli, one of Foreign Policy’s 100 Most Influential Global Thinkers, is a theoretical physicist whose writing (Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Helgoland, e.g.) makes a heady topic comprehensible. Here, he unpacks why black holes might morph into white holes, which really matters. It’s fascinating science, made accessible to us humanities types.

Being Henry: The Fonz. . . and Beyond by Henry Winkler

Winkler, an award-winning actor, author, producer, and director, is manifestly beloved. After all, one of the leather jackets worn by his Happy Days character is in the Smithsonian. But his personal tale is far more interesting than any television character. The son of Holocaust survivors, Winkler struggled with dyslexia but found his way as an actor. He nearly quit Hollywood after being typecast, but was sustained by his 45-year marriage and fatherhood. On every page of this autobiography, he comes across as gracious, grateful, generous, and brimming with wonder.