The Bookseller.com

7th September 2008

Daisy Frost

Daisy Frost is an agent at the Edward Cecil Literary Agency. She blogs at missdaisyfrost.com.

Snogs, lies and videotape

14.04.08

My first London Book Fair was the legendary Excel 2005 disaster-fest, which made the opening of Heathrow’s T5 seem as slick as a Transworld sales conference. What with the Hair & Beauty Show on the left, and the LBF on the right, it was easy to get confused.

I was expecting to be discussing high art with distinguished literary figures, but after a pedicure and some advice from an Essex girl about my highlights, I began to worry that I was in the wrong place—a fact confirmed when I asked directions to the Brazilian section of the fair. I truly was looking for dear Gonzales Peron at Planeta, but I almost ended up with a lot more—or less—than I bargained for. Ouch.

Book fairs can be like taking a trip with the Ghost of Christmas Past—all your crushes, indiscretions and dodgy deals gathered together in one combined nightmare. You can run (or lope awkwardly if in heels), but you can’t hide.

Sooner or later I know I’ll find myself stuck in a lift with Herr Lipp from Schminky-Pinky Verlag who tried to snog me in Frankfurt, or I’ll try to grope the sexiest cult leader in publishing (Lord Byng of Hype). Not to mention being caught out for the smallish lies I told during the last week’s auction for Harry Windsor’s Six-Pack Workout. Perhaps typing the crucial word “unauthorised” in illegibly small print on the proposal was risky.

Anyhow—here’s my essential guide to surviving the book fair. Please don’t show this to any international publishers:

GETTING INTO THE RIGHT MINDSET

There is no use wandering through the delights of West London, admiring the pretty clouds and listening to the birds tweeting before nipping in to the fair for some light banter. If that is your attitude then just go home now.

Remember at all times that the LBF is a war zone and you have got to be Kate Adie/Martin Bell and Osama Bin Laden all rolled into one. Watch “Jerry Maguire”, “The Devil Wears Prada” and “Apocalypse Now” the night before, read The Art Of War on the way in and listen to “The Ride of the Valkyries” on your iPod as you stride through the doors to face the enemy.

THE RIGHTS LIST

That vital little brochure advertising your agently wares can really stick it to the other guy. Rumour has it that one agency is eschewing a traditional list and producing theirs purely on a print-on-demand basis this year. I am going for a hand-stitched, leopard-print finish.

Here’s how to do it. First “freshen up” those unwanted projects left over from Frankfurt, describing them as “completely re-imagined” (same book, new title), “extensively reworked” (wider margins, new rubber band) or “would benefit from a new injection of energy in your territory” (has just been dumped).

Then invent some projects which sound amazing—but claim that you have just accepted pre-emptive bids on them. This year I am most proud of: teen wunderkind Bella Camden’s misery/fantasy début called Daddy—Please Don’t Touch My Portal, and The Unauthorized A–Z of Christopher Little (legal action pending).

YOUR SCHEDULE

If you procure a temp to handle your LBF diary, brief them that you’d rather not spend any time with a coeditions publisher from Colombia, or anyone with a beard from Canada. Anyone else feel an anxiety attack coming on?

Plan B is to ditch the diary and turn up unannounced at the tables of heavy hitters. Flirt breezily before thrusting your rights list into their hands and legging it back to the bar for more champagne with the terrible trio, Alan Samson, Michael Fishwick and David North. They virtually move in for the week—once foxy Alan brought a sleeping bag. He didn’t use it though.

THE MEETINGS

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to get your manuscript into that inbox. So get a bit frisky with the boys (especially David Young, Bill Thomas and Peter Mayer, who love it) and share some love with the girls too (apart from Claire Wachtel, a.k.a. the Woman In Black).

Invent a series of frankly ridiculous parallels to deal with US editors’ lack of imagination, e.g. “like the bastard love child of Paulo Coehlo and Marian Keyes”, or “Khaled Housseini as told by Sophie Kinsella”. If it gets boring just imagine everyone naked, or challenge yourself to namedrop “Zadie” five times in one conversation. And then send all the publishers all the books anyway. Exclusively.

DRESS TO KILL

Dressing just became a competitive sport. Lady Gush will win every day, and has sometimes been known to change outfits during an appointment (often to match the books she is pitching). But the race is wide open for runner-up. Godwin will go all Arun Nayar in Nehru jackets, Georgina Capel will look gorgeous in racy heels, and Peter Straus knows all the bad girls love a man in a suit. I shall go for the classic von Furstenberg wrap and heels, but have emergency flats on standby (think Sienna Miller in Heat/Harrie Evans in the Groucho). Consider a light application of fake tan to give false look of health.

CREATING HYPE

Nothing easier. Tell either David “Supergrass” Miller or Joel Rickett “confidentially” that you have a hot secret book and within seconds the whole world will be beating a path to your door. Job done.

PARTY MANNERS

Invitations are for wimps. Gatecrash everything you can. The Canongate party is always the hardest to crack, but just say ‘I’m with J D Salinger—he’s running late’. Breeze in, remembering at all times that parties are not social events, they are battlegrounds. Bolt before you actually have a proper conversation with anyone.

I will see you at the Andrew Wylie Brideshead Revisited Fancy Dress Party on Tuesday and Patrick Janson-Smith’s “Coming Out Ball” on Wednesday. Let’s can catch up then?

xDx

 

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