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When one publishes a book, a volume that somehow manages to deliver neither the fame, the riches, nor the lucrative movie deal one so richly deserves, one learns to settle instead for small pleasures.
Take the mysterious delights of foreign publication, for example. When my own humble little hardback was published back in 2000, publishers from a number of European countries -- England, France, and Germany, among them -- expressed interest in purchasing the rights to it. I harbored visions of a triumphant European tour, of well-attended promotional events in all of Europe's major capitals, of attractive, intellectual women with enticing accents lining up for hours just for the opportunity to tell me how deceptively brilliant my work is.
But one by one, those European publishers fell by the wayside. I was given the impression (though I can't say for certain) that it's not so much that one's representatives ever have to take no for an answer, exactly; instead, a week or three goes by with no contact until finally it's understood by all involved parties that the moment has passed, that no deal is forthcoming.
Still, since I viewed as astounding the mere fact that I'd managed to have published a collection of my pithy fluff, I tried not to let the fact that few of those foreign nibbles turned into actual bites distress me. Everything above and beyond the very publication of my modest little volume struck me as the sweetest of icing upon the cake.
Besides, one foreign publisher had, in fact, decided to take the plunge, so there was due cause for celebration. Vassallucci, a Dutch publisher, bought the rights to publish the book in the Netherlands in a trade paperback format. I was further pleased to learn that the cover of the Dutch edition would closely resemble the American edition (a jacket I'd had a hand in designing). I also got a kick out knowing there'd be an edition of my book of which I couldn't read a single word.
Alas, not long after the Dutch edition hit the shelves, the American edition of the book went out of print, an occasion that can't help but make a first-time author like me feel a little blue. But hey, at least the book was still in print somewhere in the world, right?
But how well was the book doing there? One doesn't really receive much in the way of sales reports on foreign editions (I haven't, in any case). I came to assume the book was not a huge success in the Netherlands because I'd received no royalty checks. The advance had not been so very large, so, surely, if the book was a runaway hit, I'd have covered my advance and started to rake in the royalties by now, no?
But a few weeks back, I got an email from a representative of another Dutch publishing company, Rainbow. It seems Rainbow had purchased the rights from Vassallucci to publish a pocket edition of Men My Mother Dated. I was tickled pink by this news, to tell it honestly. The fact that my book was still going strong in Holland, if not here, cheered me immensely.
The new edition's decidedly different cover doesn't really appeal to me, I have to admit, but since I had no say in the matter, I chose to focus on the positive.
On the very day my four complementary copies of the pocket edition arrived in the mail, I stopped by my favorite lunch counter for a turkey burger. The amiable fellow behind the counter was speaking a language I almost (but not quite) recognized with another customer, a young man in his mid-20s. It was soon revealed to me that the language was Dutch, that the young man was visiting New York from Holland.
I couldn't resist sharing my recent good news with him. "You know, I have a book that just came out in a pocket edition in your country."
"You do?" he said. "What's the name of it?"
"I'm afraid I don't know how to pronounce the Dutch title," I admitted sheepishly, "but here it's called Men My Mother Dated."
These are the moments a relatively unknown author lives for. Imagine the thrill when a chance encounter such as this one turns into a delightful affirmation, when a young man from across the Atlantic expresses delight and disbelief at the opportunity to meet Brett Leveridge -- the Brett Leveridge! -- whose book is so very popular among those in the young man's circle.
"My friends and I love your book!" he would gush. "We all have the first edition, but now that it's out in a pocket edition, we'll all want to buy that, too. Could I please have your autograph, Mr. Leveridge?"
And, of course, I would happily oblige the young man. In fact, I'd grab a stack of paper napkins from the counter and sign them all, so that he might distribute them among all my ardent fans in his social circle.
It would be the least I could do, after all, to show my appreciation for their enthusiastic support.
Sadly, though, that's not the direction this encounter took. After I revealed the name of the book, the young man tilted his head a bit and looked skyward, obviously scouring his brain for the slightest memory of such a title.
"I'm sorry," he admitted, finally. "I don't think I've heard of it."
"You're hardly alone, my friend," I thought.
Duly humbled, I took my turkey burger and slunk away.
Posted by brett at 04:21 PM | TrackBack