Anticipating enchantment

The myth of editorial perfection and the legend of the solo author

Featured in

  • Published 20240206
  • ISBN: 978-1-922212-92-4
  • Extent: 204pp
  • Paperback, ePub, PDF, Kindle compatible

TELLING A STRANGER that you are a book editor normally results in one of two responses. Either you’ll be told that editing has deteriorated – whether in the past five or fifty years depends on your interlocutor. Or the charge is that editors intervene too much, their contribution a sort of con job perpetrated on unsuspecting readers. Both responses are characterised as a symptom of the evils of capitalism: either there is no money for proper editing anymore, or books are being smooshed into more marketable boxes. Some claim that there is no proper editing because they’ve found typos or misused words and phrases in contemporary books. Others hold that editorial interventions are extreme and endanger the concept of authorship. 

But, as with any generalisation, the reality is much more complicated. As a book editor and researcher of editing and publishing history, I have defences for each accusation, if it will please the court of public opinion.

Already a subscriber? Sign in here

If you are an educator or student wishing to access content for study purposes please contact us at griffithreview@griffith.edu.au

Share article

More from author

No small change

As a 2022 industry survey showed, around 50 per cent of respondents – people who also worked in the literary sector – went to private school, compared with only 36.7 per cent of current Australian students. Considering private school numbers are now at an all-time high, the percentage for the total population would have been far lower when these graduates were entering the workforce. Put simply, these figures show the publishing industry is not representative of the Australian public. 

More from this edition

Apocalypse, then?

FictionWriting took almost everything from me. Most afternoons, I’d arrive home from teaching classrooms of uninterested students, have a little Henry time, defrost a ready-to-eat supermarket meal, open a bottle of shiraz and write until midnight. Most weekends, I’d start writing once the hangover wore off, break for lunch, and then write again until dinner. It wasn’t just punishing on my physical health, it ruined my relationships, most recently with Greg, who said I’d die miserable and alone if I maintained my grim routine. And for what? The occasional acceptance from an obscure journal read by twelve other short-story writers?

Walking through the mou(r)n(ing of a)tain(ted life)

Non-fictionMy big black cloak could probably keep me from freezing overnight. I remember a movie where a character smeared a layer of dirt over their body to stay warm. That would be my ‘break in case of emergency’ action…if my OCD will bury the anxiety of contamination for survival’s sake.

The kiss 

FictionThe name, when it came, sounded as if it had been uttered by somebody else. The man’s look shifted from one of mild affection to puzzlement. ‘Excuse me?’ He was still smiling, but it was a different kind of grin – the type of smile people offer a stranger who begs them for spare change.

Stay up to date with the latest, news, articles and special offers from Griffith Review.