From Today's NYTimes.com
Op-Ed Contributor
The Editor's Tale
By JOHN KENNEY
Published: July 14, 2005
Just after midnight on the night of July 15, the year's most anticipated book - "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" - will be released. The first printing in the U.S. alone is 10.8 million.
- The Charlotte (N.C.) Observer, July 5
DID I have the chance to buy the first "Harry Potter" manuscript? Yes. Do I regret it? Not for a second.
I remember the day I read it. It was around Christmastime and I'd just returned from a longish luncheon at Le Cirque. I had the venison and rather a lot of the claret. I was celebrating because I'd almost been named editor of the year at our firm. Also, they'd forgotten to tell me where the company Christmas party was being held and I decided to hold my own. It had taken me longer than usual to get back to the office, as I was having difficulty determining east from west.
When I did arrive, the office was empty. On my desk I saw a manila envelope. The cover letter was from an agent I'd never heard of. British. Said the enclosed manuscript was "the next great children's book," a 'Goodnight Moon' for preteens." I laughed. My father, who had also been a book editor before turning to taxidermy, had passed on "Goodnight Moon," and he and I often laughed at that.
Did I mention that I have taken, at the chairman's and human resources department's urging, a much-needed sabbatical and am working at LeFrack's fish processing here in northern Maine as a scaler? I am.
It's funny to look back on that time. And, I might add, to look back without any regret. I've always thought myself a rather keen spotter of "the next big book." Certainly that was my reputation. I don't wish to boast, but I distinctly remember the day I signed N. Wizbicki for her manuscript "Spontaneity and How to Plan for It!" I remember it because earlier that day I had passed on Charles Frazier's "Cold Mountain." This was on the heels of "I Climbed Everest Without a Hat," to my mind a far superior book than either "Into Thin Air" or "A Perfect Storm," both of which I passed on.
I used to have a cellphone but the court said that I am not allowed to now. Sitting across from me, at this very moment, is my colleague Rose, who works at the station next to mine cutting the heads off the fish and removing their intestinal tracts. Often I can smell nothing else for days.
Where was I? I read the first few chapters of this so-called manuscript and, frankly, thought it drivel. February, perhaps March of the next year, I received a call from J. K. Rowling herself. She asked if I had had a chance to read her manuscript. I'm always embarrassed when fledgling writers get me on the phone. Most are sad, lonely people with no real means of income.
I said I enjoyed her work a great deal, but that it didn't meet our needs at this time, the standard industry brushoff. There was a pause and I thought the line had gone dead when I heard laughing. "Mr. Wortham," she said with a light British accent. "I was calling as a courtesy, actually. To tell you that I sold the book. To Scholastic. For ..." The line went dead. Or perhaps I passed out. I forget which.
My wife left me. Did I mention that?
At lunch some time later I overheard our chief executive talking about the success of the Rowling book. So I happened to mention, with a chuckle, that we'd had a chance to buy it. Why is it that one remembers a long pause? "Chief?" I said, though to this day I don't know why, as no one called him that. "You what?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "May I speak with you in my office?" Obviously I was flattered.
Much of the rest of that meeting is a blur.
I had a secretary once. Margie. I was recognized by maîtres d'. I knew Jonathan Galassi. Judith Regan once put me in a headlock at a cocktail party and dislocated my shoulder "for fun," she said. Now two of the people who do exactly the same job as I do are twins who were recently released from juvenile prison. Ron and Donald. They laugh at me sometimes. Sometimes they grab me roughly by the head and give me a "noogie." It hurts. They call me "Book Boy." I don't mind. Really, I don't. I'm where I want to be.
Break is over now. There are fish to scale.
John Kenney has just completed his first novel.