In the classic mock-rockumentary, This is Spinal Tap, the eponymous band visit Graceland, the home of Elvis. “It really puts perspective on things, though, doesn’t it?” muses lead guitarist Nigel Tufnel. “Too much,” replies lead vocalist and fellow axe man David St. Hubbins. “There’s too much f***ing perspective now.”
This Thursday, 23 February, sees the publication of my latest book, How to Think Like a Philosopher, and it falls on two other anniversaries that seem to put it in too much f***ing perspective too. One year earlier, it was the eve of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which has already caused over 200,000 military and 40,000 civilian deaths, as well as countless other horrors. Two years before on the very same day, I was in the middle of a hospital admission in which I had just (I think) come out of intensive care, where I was close to being intubated. This Thursday should be a big day for me. But when it is compared to global events or other personal ones, it sometimes seems not so big after all.
Before making any comparisons, how big a deal is publication day in its own right? I can only share my personal thoughts and feelings about this, but I hope they’re of interest, since they reveal something about what it is to be a writer today, but also about how we should think about any event that is personally meaningful at the time, but of no consequence to ourselves or there world in the grander shame of thing.
Publication clearly a significant moment, but often it’s a bit of a damp squib. Nothing really happens, except that the book is “officially” on sale, although it has probably been available to buy before anyway. It is only an “event” when the book is huge, like the latest Harry Potter or Prince Harry’s moan-moir.
If other big things happened close to the day itself, it might still count as an occasion of sorts. But with fewer newspapers carrying reviews, and hundreds of book published every week, you’re lucky to get any reviews at all, and the ones you do get could well be weeks or months later in a magazine. These are unlikely to be raves and could be vicious.
Anyone foolish enough to closely monitor sales is destined to experience even more of an anti-climax. Earlier in my career I found it hard to avoid the lure of constantly checking my book’s Amazon Sales Rank. Its constantly changing nature made it writer’s crack. I went cold turkey about a decade ago and honestly haven’t checked it out once since.
The reason is that monitoring sales is soul-destroying. Hard data on book sales in general are difficult to come by but the CEO of a major non-fiction publisher in the US reported that in 2019 the median average number of copies of one of their books sold in the first week was 174. That’s in a huge country. In the UK, I’d expect it to be double digits. If your book is one of the tiny minority to do well, you’ll hear about it. If not, you really don’t need or want to know just how modestly it is performing.
Even becoming a bestseller is not as impressive as it sounds. You just need to have spent at leat one week on the relevant best-sellers chart. For hardback non-fiction, at certain times of the year that could be be achieved by sales comfortably in three figures. Forgot million sellers: lifetime sales over 100,000 marks exceptional success. In twenty years of publishing books I’ve has two “best-sellers”, The Pig that Wants to be Eaten and How the World Thinks and I can assure you the pension pot remains paltry and the mortgage hasn’t been paid off.
There are many ways in which stages in the process of writing the book are more rewarding than the day it comes out. Finishing a manuscript feels much more of an achievement, although you still have to finish it again, and maybe one more, in response to editors’ comments. The only real end point is when the final corrections have been made to the proofs, but sending off a list of typos hardly feels like a landmark.
In short, on publication day nothing happens and in the days that follow little to nothing continues to happen. David Hume’s account of his own debut publication has rung true for many an author since: “Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of Human Nature. It fell dead-born from the press, without reaching such distinction, as even to excite a murmur among the zealots.” Except that in Hume’s case, he was exaggerating and in time the book became a classic anyway. And no author should feel so uniquely cursed. It would be more accurate to say “Almost every literary attempt has been as unfortunate as my [insert title]”, and the rest of the quote can carry on verbatim.
For these reasons, I’ve tended to treat publication day as the non-event it evidently is. But this time, I am going to celebrate. Even if the book is a total flop, there is a kind of ingratitude in not acknowledging the huge fortune to be published in the first place. Other people have shown faith in me to get the book out into the world and so if I dismiss the occasion, I also dismiss them too. And for all its arbitrariness, this is the only point in the process in which writers can say their work is done. If every book deserves a celebration, publication day is as good as any.
What of the chastening effect of perspective? What is the publication of book compared to being near death’s door on a hospital bed or in a war zone? I think such comparisons only make it more fitting to celebrate. After all, what do we most want for people on life support or in Kyiv? Simply for them to be able to enjoy life, without the threat of annihilation, in peace and good health. Thinking of them does not devalue the small joys, achievements and milestones of life; rather it urges us to value them more. They should not be taken for granted.
So I will be holding a very small and exclusive launch party on Thursday, when me and my better half will, if nothing prevents, raise a glass or two. I won’t need to convince myself that my book is anything more than a modest achievement or that it will change the world. It is enough that I have had the chance to do something that I found worthwhile and rewarding. Of course I hope that the book does well but the toast won’t be to wish for success. It will simply be “L’Chaim!”: to life!
News
Did I mention I had a new book coming out? If you missed the teaser article in the Guardian, Think yourself better: 10 rules of philosophy to live by, check it out. I am awaiting confirmation of a major radio and some big festival appearances. There is still time to pre-order the book, How to Think Like a Philosopher, from independent bookseller Max Minerva’s Marvellous Books. It’s post-free to the UK, signed and with a personal dedication request from me on request, and you’ll also get a free fridge magnet. There is extra postage to pay if you’re outside the UK but if you are a supporter, that’s free too.
I’ve been shamelessly sharing the terrific endorsements I’ve got for the book, from Derren Brown, Anil Seth and Gavin Esler. Today it’s Sarah Bakewell: “An essential, inspiring guide to the challenges of our time, drawing on interviews with contemporary philosophers, and filled with the author’s insights and reflections. It is exactly the book that we need.”
I’m talking about the book at the Bath Royal Literary and Scientific Institution on Tuesday 7 March.
I was on the wireless this week, in Matthew Syed’s BBC series Sideways, talking about scepticism. This presented me with a dilemma: I always listen to Sideways but I never listen to myself. Something has to give.
On my radar
A supporter recommended this article by the evolutionary psychologist Diana Fleischman, “You’re probably a eugenicist.” Indeed, you probably are. We might discuss this as a forthcoming online “café philosophique” session for supporters.
Many a white western liberal ties themselves up in knots thinking abut the best way to help the developing world, in ways that are truly empowering and not patronising or humiliating. In her essay “Aid, structural reforms or empowerment” Dr Rejoice Chipuriro reflects on different types of food aid programmes across several countries in Southern Africa and contrasts short-term food relief with approaches intended to promote longer-term food system resilience.
If you like to have a book on the go that you can dip into for ten minutes at a time, Ha-Joon Chang’s Edible Economics is ideal. Chang makes key ideas and controversies in economics clear and comprehensible by linking them to his passion: food. The device works best if you’re a fellow foodie but even if you’re not, its crisp, short chapters are nourishing brain snacks.
I’ve read Sarah Bakewell’s Humanly Possible for review, so won’t say much for now, except that it as good as you’d expect from the author of How to Live and At The Existentialist Cafe. (Yes, that is the same Sarah Bakewell who endorsed my book, but if you need any assurance as to my impartiality, I long ago reviewed her previous books well and don’t know her personally.)
I’m going to be checking out the new podcast series, The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling. It is especially intriguing since it is presented by Megan Phelps-Roper, who was born and raised in the notoriously cult-like Westboro Baptist Church.
The Shamima Begum Story, the second series of the BBC Podcast I’m not a Monster, is a fascinating insight into how a group of teenage girls went to Syria to join Isis, featuring Begum herself. There’s a bit too much of the currently fashionable “the journalist’s quest is the story” about it but it’s worth the irritation.
That’s it for now. Until next time, if nothing prevents, thanks for your interest.