Writing on Ditchwalk, Barrett quotes several news sources implying that Sarah Palin knuckled down and wrote her very own 400-page book in four months. Perhaps the most ridiculous is her publisher's statement, repeated without criticism by ABC:

Gov. Palin has been unbelievably conscientious and hands-on at every stage, investing herself deeply and passionately in this project," Jonathan Burnham of HarperCollins told the Associated Press. "It's her words, her life and it's all there in full and fascinating detail."

ABC also mentions that Palin worked with "collaborator" Lynn Vincent, but what no one's really saying is that in all likelihood Vincent wrote the whole fucking thing. Barrett is especially critical of this line from the ABC piece: "Once the manuscript was complete, Palin then reportedly spent several intense days in New York working with her editors at HarperCollins." Barrett writes,

First, the intent of that graph is to get readers to believe that Palin was ‘intensely working on the manuscript', when what she was probably intensely working on was a double-secret plan to combine PR-driven hype with a juicy talk-show-circuit revelation just as the book is getting ready to hit store shelves.

Second, note the inclusion of the word ‘editors' in the quote: as if an actual editor was working on the manuscript with Palin herself in the room. Because I'm betting nothing like that actually happened, or came close to happening. In fact, if Palin, anyone with content-editing experience, and a copy of her manuscript were all in the same room at any one time I would be shocked.

Palin may have had a little bit more involvement in her book than, say, Paris Hilton had in designing her fragrance, but to hear Barrett tell it, the endeavors are actually pretty similar. He writes,

[T]he publishing world is not genuinely concerned with ideas and authors, it's concerned with selling objects (books, magazines, etc.). To the extent that hyping specific authors is done at all, it's done to create bankable stars in the same way that Hollywood wants, needs and hates bankable stars because they attract customers. In the publishing biz these stars might be literary stars (proving the industry cares about artistic authors), or genre stars (proving the publishing industry cares about entertainment authors), but in all cases the caring is ultimately sales-based, not author-based. Proof of this, if it's needed, is found in the simple fact that when it makes sense to lie about authorship in order to increase sales, the entire publishing industry eagerly turns a blind eye.

Simply put, Sarah Palin is a brand, and HarperCollins knows that brand will sell books. So that's what goes on the cover of Going Rogue, even though Lynn Vincent did the actual writing. As Barrett points out, it's interesting that the publishing industry, the snootiest arm of the entertainment business, is the one that's cool with this type of lying. Pop stars don't get songwriting credits unless they actually write songs, and when celebrities direct films, they do actually have to show up on set. Perhaps the reason ghostwriting is so accepted is that prose isn't particularly valued just now, and audiences are very interested in books written by people famous for things other than writing. This is especially problematic when the celebrity in question is famous for things that are basically the antithesis of good writing — like relying on bizarre metaphors, not reading the newspaper, and being generally inarticulate.

It's certainly no surprise that Sarah Palin needed a ghostwriter, but just because it's expected that doesn't mean it shouldn't be condemned. Barrett points out that failing to acknowledge "collaborators" like Vincent — she's not on the cover, and she's not on HarperCollins's webpage for the book — ignores the work of the actual author in favor of the big name that gets slapped on the book when work is done. If we want the felicitous use of the English language to be respected again (and Sarah Palin has certainly worked hard against this), we need to honor the people who actually know how to use it. As Barrett says, "ghostwriting is lying, and it's the kind of lying that devalues every author. It's time to give up the ghost."

Giving Up The Ghost [Ditchwalk]

So while vampire-fiction lovers have seen their genre become the hot new thing in publishing, they've also seen their genre watered down and packaged in various pretty boxes, leaving us with less Dracula tales and more stories about hot teenage vampires who don't actually suck blood and who, uh, sparkle in the sun. And now comes news of a new take on vampire fiction: Christian Vampire Fiction, where the vampires apparently represent "demons anyone must overcome."

Thirsty, a Christian vampire tale from Tracey Bateman, will hit shelves in February, and will feature a vampire named Markus and his target of obsession, Nina, "a divorced alcoholic dealing with addiction." Oh, lord help us and save us said Mrs. Davis, as my mother would say. Somehow, Markus the vampire and Nina the drunk divorcee will lead the reader towards redemption and the idea that any demons, even those with fangs, can be overcome. Or at least that's what editor Shannon Marchese wants you to believe: "These are themes that work in the Christian life. You have to fight to say, ‘Am I going to choose unconditional love and redemption or a life of following obsessions, a life with holes in it?"

But alas, the Christian Vampire train may be pulling into the station a bit too late: NPR is currently running a story about our "fascination with werewolves," noting that "werethings are showing up everywhere." Perhaps Markus and Nina should relocate to a suburban high school and weave spiritual themes into Teen Wolf, instead?

Christian Literature Branches Out [My SanAntonio]
You Sexy Beast [NPR]

You've probably heard about the massive blood-letting at Harper-Collins and the general sturm und drang currently rattling the publishing industry. =According to today's Wall Street Journal, the industry's knight in shining armor just might come in the unlikely package of nebbish-turned-pick-up-artist Neil Strauss and his new Harper-Collins imprint It Books/Igniter. So far, Strauss' baby has signed "The World According to Bozo the Clown" by the late Larry Harmon, and a tome on modern day gangsters from Hoffa to (Paris) Hilton," and Strauss plans to be intimately involved in every aspect of production.

Make of this what you will - the article makes the point that, financially, the Harper isn't allocating resources to the new project that would otherwise have gone into retaining employees - it marks a distinct agenda for a house that very publicly fired polarizing editor Judith Regan over her perceived vulgarity and commercialism. Of course, it's not that simple - Regan's decision to run O.J. Simpson's (sort-of) tell-all was the excuse, and the powerful editor was never short of enemies - but as Sara Nelson notes, there was always a sense that the sort of commercial, vulgarly successful titles ReganBooks pushed were unbecoming. "But even amid all the enmity, there was a sense among some both at the company and outside of it that Regan's real problem was less the O.J. book — even if it was a bad call — than her personal style; not her low-brow proclivities, but her bad PR."

It would be naive to suggest that Regan was found unpalatable purely because she's a woman - Regan was, by any standard, a difficult personality, and this economy doesn't leave room for gentlemanly qualms - but it's also true that in a world filled with successful writers and editors, they've chosen to pass the mantle to a man who made himself famous writing about the way to get a woman into bed. Strauss' forte, thus far, has been shmucks redeeming themselves - yet still relishing and profiting from their bad behavior. In the tradition of pulp, his bestsellers have been juicy but couched in just enough traditional morality to make them acceptable reading. In this way, his literary m.o. doesn't differ much from his pick-up-artist tactics: the tricks and negging and peacocking are, at the end of the day, always justified as a way to find love. Regan, it's true, never provided an "aww" moment, and Strauss is adept at it. But it's a little grimy to think of publishing, an industry famously well-populated with powerful women, being taken in by a PUA, even a "master" one.

Reganomics, Or How To Publish Like A Porn Star [Wall Street Journal]

This is, not surprisingly, becoming an issue with authors who regard their work as more than beach reads. But Shipley sites several authors who try to buck this trivializing trend and lose; having found a winning formula, the publishing industry, which everyone knows to be in shaky shape in the best of economic climates, is taking no chances.

Shipley concludes that, bored by the number of identical-looking choices, we're going to experience a backlash. Doubtful; homogeneity has never hurt genre fiction like Romance and SciFi, and people looking for fun escapism are unlikely to be repelled by an increasing number of options. They are, however, likely to be disappointed when they get to the beach and find that instead of some heartwarming bit of froth they've ended up with Serious Fiction full of incest and substance abuse.

Yes, I can see why a serious writer would be irritated by what is most definitely misrepresentation (and Shipley's at pains to point out that this kind of branding now extends even to the work of male writers whose stories involve female protagonists.) But in a sense, they should regard this commercial branding as a vote of confidence: to my layman's eye, it means a publisher thinks it might actually sell. It seems to me (and this owes way more to my time in bookstores and on Amazon than my foray into the publishing world) that there's a fairly clear divide between "serious" fiction, and that which actually sells, and unless you're Cormac McCarthy or Annie Proulx, never the twain shall meet. A few Iowa grads on the roster with serious covers might spell prestige, but that's not where anyone's bread is buttered. There seems to be a feeling in our society now that if something's fun — be it movie or novel — it isn't Serious. Serious things are punishment, full of lives of quiet desperation and family tragedies — albeit repressed, undramatic ones. If you're having too much fun, you're not being intellectual. Yes, I'm oversimplifying and there are certainly exceptions that prove rules, almost exclusively by men, who probably have an easier time being taken seriously as bon-vivant wits without sacrificing literary cred. But nowadays there are far fewer Laurie Colwins or Barbara Pyms — great writers who happen to use levity as a medium — and if there are, it's hard to know because they're hidden under pink covers with lounging, thoughtful women on them. Oh, well; if good books are medicine, and you can't blame people for preferring it Pepto-Bismol colored.
The Great Chick Lit Cover Up [The Guardian]
Related:

Brand-Obsessed Chick Lit Makes Us Lose Our Breakfast (At Tiffany's)
Blogging Towards Bethlehem

"When Curtis Sittenfeld wrote that horrible review of poor Melissa Banks in The New York Times Book Review, and she called her a slut—you don't want to be on either side of that equation," she continued. "You don't want to be the person degrading chick lit, because they're smart women writing books that are incredibly popular and sell very well. I'd love to be popular and sell very well. And also, I can't say anything about those books, because I haven't read any of them. It's not my scene."

You know, if only they could figure out a way to QUANTIFY LITERARY TALENT, like the SATs, women wouldn't have these problems proving they were better than other women.