Nick Duerden talks to writer David Whitehouse and his agent about the difficulties of getting a book published.
Almost three years ago, David Whitehouse, then a 26-year-old journalist with aspirations of becoming a novelist, handed in his notice at a men's magazine and started to write a book about a man so disillusioned with life he takes permanently to his bed where, over two decades, he grows into
the world's fattest man. Whitehouse sent out the first few chapters of what he was now calling Bed to the only literary agency he had heard of, William Morris in London, and was quickly picked out of the slush pile.
"It was my first attempt at a novel," he recounts now, "so to land an agent so quickly and so easily, I suppose felt pretty good. Suddenly, I was walking around in Charlie Big Potatoes, thinking all sorts of great things were going to happen to me." He frowns. "But what actually did happen was, well, nothing."
It took him a very long year to finish the book but upon completion, his agent at William Morris, Cathryn Summerhayes, thought it quite brilliant. "It had such a unique voice," she says, "and it was clear that David had a lot of talent."
She sent it to every publisher in the country, confident of landing a deal. But the manuscript was roundly rejected by everyone, thereby snuffing out Whitehouse's dreams in the process. The experience, he confesses, made him feel uncomfortably empathetic of X Factor rejects: "Promised the world, only for it all to come to nothing."
With no desk job to return to, he chanced his hand as a freelance journalist and attempted to put the episode behind him. But Summerhayes would not forget the book, and when she heard of something called the To Hell With Prizes award, in which agents were encouraged to submit the best unpublished novel languishing in their bottom drawers, she entered it.
The very same manuscript that had been turned down by everyone three years earlier proved, according to a judging panel (including a novelist, a playwright, an editor and a bookseller), to be the unanimous winner. Whitehouse received a cheque for £5000 ($9982), then watched bemused as his book became the subject of a fierce bidding war. Now it has finally been released in Britain and will be published in 10 countries around the world.
"It has been," the author deadpans, "an unexpected turn of events."
It is perhaps a measure of the climate in publishing that it took a hastily invented prize to alert book editors to what Bed - which subsequently went through a rigorous editing process - possessed all along: potential. But then this, as Summerhayes points out, is typical of an industry desperate to find "the next big thing", but only on the condition that everybody else agrees it is the next big thing as well. The winner of this year's Orange Prize, Tea Obreht, was the latest to wake up one morning and suddenly find herself hot property.
"To some extent, publishers are sheep," says Summerhayes. "I honestly think they don't know what they want until somebody else wants it too. Don't get me wrong, I know many creative and brilliant publishers who discover great new things all the time, but it is nevertheless always very helpful if something comes to them already endorsed, either by a prize such as this, or else a quote from someone like Martin Amis telling them how great it is. Anything, really, to convince them of its worth before they have even read a word."
The To Hell With Prize award was the wry brainchild of Laurence Johns, an antiquarian bookseller who wanted to help "secure a deal for a manuscript that we really felt deserved to be published. We are thrilled with David's news, and hope that this will set a precedent of what next year's prize can achieve."
The second To Hell With Prizes was to be awarded last month, but was postponed due to financial problems, the bestowing of £5000 evidently difficult to sustain for such a small enterprise. But wannabe authors and their agents need not worry, for this is merely one of several pre-publication prizes in existence right across the literary world.
In Britain, for example, there's the Jerwood Prize and the Sceptre Prize, while both the David Higham and Curtis Brown literary agencies award bursaries in an attempt to fan the flames of a manuscript that would otherwise go overlooked. It can work wonders: in 2006 Joe Dunthorne won one for his manuscript Submarine, which went on to become both a novel and a film.
On last year's To Hell With judging panel was Francis Bickmore of Canongate, arguably the best and certainly the most innovative of British publishers. Bickmore passed on Bed first time around, but says now that being able to read it afresh, and not just to work our if it would fit his firm's schedule, made him appraise it in a different light. "It's fantastic. It's Roald Dahl meets Kafka."
He promptly put in a pre-emptive bid for it and for a much higher figure than he would have had to shell out three years previously. But Bickmore isn't complaining.
"There are all sorts of prizes these days, and for all sorts of books - the best second novel, the best writer over 55, the best book to be set in Norfolk," he jokes. "And all of them make the winners more valuable. But each prize ... flags up a book that might otherwise go unnoticed, and alerts everyone, not just editors and publishers, but ultimately readers too, that this is something worth reading."
And Whitehouse represents just how life-changing prizes can be. Were it not for his To Hell With award, he'd still be struggling as a journalist.
"I don't think I would have tried to write a book again," he says, "if only because the initial experience took the wind completely out of my sails. But now that it has resurfaced, and quite so unexpectedly - well, I think I might just be Britain's most excited man."
Bed (Text Publishing $40) is out this week.
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