"Often something comes in from which you can see that the person is good, the book may not be perfect as it is, and the person doesn't want to do a re-write. That's something we do almost nothing of"
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Talent alone does not make a publishable book. James Laughlin, the founding editor of New Directions, draws a boundary between recognizing a promising writer and accepting a resistant manuscript. He describes the familiar moment when an editor sees that the person is good, yet the book is not yet right. If the author will not undertake a rewrite, his house will almost never proceed. That stance reveals a larger editorial ethic: respect for the writer’s voice coupled with a refusal to substitute the publisher’s hand for the author’s labor.
Midcentury publishing often celebrated heroic editors who reshaped manuscripts, from Maxwell Perkins guiding Thomas Wolfe to magazine editors carving stories to fit house style. Laughlin’s approach is a counterpoint. New Directions championed experimental, often difficult literature, but it did so by curating finished work rather than imposing a uniform polish. The press would nurture by selecting, not by ghost-rebuilding. It is a commitment to artistic autonomy and to standards at once. If a book needs deep work, the obligation rests with the writer; the press does not pretend it can or should write the author’s book for them.
There is also a test of seriousness embedded here. Willingness to revise is a proxy for craft discipline and openness to the demands of form. Modernist mentors like Ezra Pound preached make it new; revision is the workshop where newness acquires clarity and force. When a writer refuses that workshop, the publisher’s best contribution may be abstention. Passing preserves the integrity of the list and leaves space for the writer to return with a stronger work.
Laughlin’s line crystallizes the delicate balance of editorial stewardship: to recognize promise, insist on the rigor that promise requires, and decline to trespass on the creative ground that only the author can till. The book must meet the writer’s own standard first; only then does the publisher’s belief turn into a binding yes.
Midcentury publishing often celebrated heroic editors who reshaped manuscripts, from Maxwell Perkins guiding Thomas Wolfe to magazine editors carving stories to fit house style. Laughlin’s approach is a counterpoint. New Directions championed experimental, often difficult literature, but it did so by curating finished work rather than imposing a uniform polish. The press would nurture by selecting, not by ghost-rebuilding. It is a commitment to artistic autonomy and to standards at once. If a book needs deep work, the obligation rests with the writer; the press does not pretend it can or should write the author’s book for them.
There is also a test of seriousness embedded here. Willingness to revise is a proxy for craft discipline and openness to the demands of form. Modernist mentors like Ezra Pound preached make it new; revision is the workshop where newness acquires clarity and force. When a writer refuses that workshop, the publisher’s best contribution may be abstention. Passing preserves the integrity of the list and leaves space for the writer to return with a stronger work.
Laughlin’s line crystallizes the delicate balance of editorial stewardship: to recognize promise, insist on the rigor that promise requires, and decline to trespass on the creative ground that only the author can till. The book must meet the writer’s own standard first; only then does the publisher’s belief turn into a binding yes.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
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