Review: The Forest for the Trees by Betsy Lerner

This book offers an interesting glimpse into the world of editors: what they do, what they think about, how they feel, etc. I’ve written several books, worked with several editors, and am ashamed to admit that I never really thought through their perspective nearly as much as I should’ve. The stories about writers waiting to hear back from editors, and especially the one where one of her writers sat in her office while she read a manuscript, were hilarious.

It also offers an interesting glimpse into the life of writers. Here are some of my key takeaways:

Writing alone, but for others

There’s a contrast inherent to writing, where you must spend huge amounts of time completely alone to actually get the writing done, but that ultimately, you are always writing for others.

“There isn’t a writer who gets an editor to consider his work or, better yet, a real live publishing contract from a press, who doesn’t fantasize that his work might take the world by storm. Let’s face it, no one sits down to write something that will be a colossal failure. No one even sits down to write something that will be a modest success.”

The writer versus their writing

There is a tendency for people to confuse the writer for their writing. As a writer, you have to create characters who act and speak in ways you, yourself, never would. You assume everyone gets that your characters are not you. But then, at family dinners, or awkward meetups, people will look at you, and wonder if that serial killer or sexual pervert in your story is in some way autobiographical.

The end result is what really matters, not the effort

“Writers take note: your struggle to produce a piece of writing of interest and value means nothing to the reader. The reader doesn’t care what you went through to produce your work. He only cares if your pieces succeeds, if it looks as if it arrived whole.”

Your work must be completely yours and completely unique

This is the same advice for all business ventures too! See books like Differentiate or Die and Purple Cow.

“If you aim to succeed with a book that’s destined to last, one thing is certain: your work must bear your own stamp. You must be willing to hone your sentences until they are yours alone. You must have a belief in your vision and voice that is nothing short of fierce. In other words, you must turn your ambivalence into something unequivocal.” And another quote: “Evaluating manuscripts, like grading papers, produces a bell curve of what appears to be natural ability. It quickly becomes clear which papers are the most accomplished, which letters the most inviting. Indeed, an editor enjoys nothing more than being startled awake by a particularly witty or moving letter or reading the fresh pages of an extremely well-written manuscript and finding that the world recedes as she becomes more deeply involved in the pages. “I try to remind my students that most of the editors I know are not opening that envelope hoping to find another story like the ten thousand they’ve already seen,” said Michael Cunningham. “They’re hoping to find something alarming, brilliant, and unprecedented.””

Convey truth, but don’t tell the truth per se

“Though the writer’s aim is to convey truth, it certainly isn’t to tell the truth per se. There is simply nothing worse than a novice writer who cries out in his own defense, when a scene is criticized for not seeming real, that “it really happened that way.” No, no, no. Everything you put on the page is a deliberate manipulation of what happened, written to keep the reader entertained, moved, sympathetic, horrified, scared, whatever. You are never writing what really happened. Instead, you are choosing words, building images, creating a rhythm, sense, and structure through which to move your characters and unfold your story. You are making a thousand minuscule choices that you hope will add up in such a way that your readers believe what they’re reading is real. And this is why, when the writer is successful, the best fiction reads like nonfiction and the best nonfiction like a novel.”

Seduce the reader

“Connecting with another human being, whether between the sheets of your book or the bedsheets, involves some kind of seduction. Just as it is said that no one really knows what goes on inside a marriage, so it might also be said that no one really knows what happens between an author and a reader. This much is true: Wooing a reader involves a certain amount of courtship, though one of the great mistakes a writer can make is to behave like the literary equivalent of a suitor who comes on too strong. In his excitement, he lets fly all his passion in the first few moments or exposes more than the reader really needs or wants to know. Too often, the neurotic writer who still hasn’t learned to trust his own voice rushes to spill the beans, when they might have been better left to stew. Often a subtle gesture or the withholding of information creates the greatest tension or intrigue. Think of the novelist Kazuo Ishiguro and his superb portrait of frustrated love and repression in The Remains of the Day. He creates an extraordinary moment when the young Miss Kenton happens upon Mr. Stevens, the senior butler with whom she is falling in love, reading a cheap romance in the pantry. The butler fiercely guards against her discovering the contents of the book, but Miss Kenton keeps advancing. “Then she was standing before me, and suddenly the atmosphere underwent a peculiar change—almost as though the two of us had been suddenly thrust on to some other plane of being altogether. I am afraid it is not easy to describe clearly what I mean here.” The reader yearns for him to throw the silly book down and take Miss Kenton in his arms. But true to his character, the butler, though briefly stirred from his perfectly controlled world, promptly returns to his asexual asceticism after chiding and dismissing his charge. The chaste scene, with its few carefully chosen words, contains more passion than most fully furnished sex scenes.”

Get an agent

Yes, you probably need an agent. The book’s explanation on why is a bit thin.

“Too many writers, in trying to secure the services of a literary agent or publisher, simply do not do their homework. The best way to get an agent’s or an editor’s attention is to write an intelligent and succinct letter. And then send it to the right person.”

“Just to make matters perfectly clear: Please resist the temptation to do any of these outlandish things. Also, do not use colored paper (it doesn’t copy well) or scented paper; and no joky attention-getting opening lines, no sob stories, no crazy fonts, no overly long explanations of what follows, and no ridiculous threats or overstated marketing statistics. Be sure to doublespace your manuscript (most of us are going blind), don’t bind it in a three-ring notebook or any other way (we usually like to carry a chunk home to read, and binding makes copying a hassle as well), always paginate (fear of strong winds), don’t attach stickers or drawings (they’re just silly), don’t print out doublesided pages (again, they’re a pain to copy). I am always struck by the writer who, with no credentials per se, blithely compares his work to any number of current or past bestsellers. As if! Every writer who proposes a book of oral reportage swears that he’s the next Studs Terkel. Those who want to describe a year in the life assure you that they are the next Tracy Kidder. Every lawyer is the next Turow or Grisham. Every feminist tract is the next Backlash. And now, every Civil War novel in the land promises to be the next Cold Mountain. Just once I’d like to see a writer make a humble promise or estimation of his expectations. Just once I’d like to see a writer compare his or her work to a book that isn’t a commercial blockbuster. Or better yet, let the publisher draw the conclusion based on the quality of the work. I promise, a simple, dignified letter with a clear statement of your intent and credentials will win more affirmative responses than any gimmick or hype. Remember, Terkel, Kidder, Turow, Grisham, Faludi, and Frazier were once nobodies too. Don’t address your query “Dear editor” or “Dear agent.” Do your homework and find the right person’s name. Read the acknowledgments in books that you love or that are in the category you hope to break into and see if an editor or agent is mentioned. If none is listed, call the publisher and find out who the book’s editor was. Ask who the agent is. Get a list of three or four agents or editors. Just as you would seek out a specialist for a medical problem, find the right agent for your genre or specialty.”

“As in every profession, there are a few people who give the industry a bad name, but unless you already have a publisher interested in your work and feel reasonably certain that you can handle any disputes that may arise, you should spend whatever time and energy it takes to secure the services of a good agent. Do not, however, let an agent’s interest in you or your work keep you from taking certain precautions. A writer is entitled to a reasonable amount of information when he or she signs on with an agent. You should ask who else the agent represents, what books he or she has sold and to what publishers, what his or her percentage, or cut, is, and what, if any, additional charges will be billed back to the client, such as the cost of messengers, copying, and foreign submissions. You need to know what the contractual obligation is between you and the agent and whether you are required to sign a contract. As a client you should be apprised of the general game plan, including where the agent plans to send the book and whether he plans to send it out to just a few publishers or widely. If the first six publishers turn it down, will the agent give up, advise you to revise, or keep plugging until he finds one? What plans does he have for the exploitation of secondary rights, meaning film, foreign, audio, and electronic rights? I know some young writers who are afraid of their agents, who don’t want to bother them or appear needy and insecure. It’s understandable that they don’t want to alienate the first person who actually seems to like their work. Still, you should feel a bond of trust with the person representing you and your work. If at all geographically possible, meet with any agent who expresses interest in representing you and bring a list of questions. Whether through letters, conversation, or an actual meeting, it should become clear if the agent is interested in your long-term career or just a one-night stand.”

Submitting manuscripts

“Writers always ask whether they should multiply submit. The answer is yes, unless you hope to work with an agent who has expressly stated that he or she will not read a multiply submitted manuscript. I recommend sending your work out to a half-dozen people, unless you have a good referral or contact at an agency or house; otherwise you could spend a year making three or four single submissions. However, I also recommend that you make the most of your multiple submissions by paying keen attention to the responses. And I would mimic the strategy our high school guidance counselors suggested for applying to colleges: one submission that is a reach, two that are in range, and one “safety school.” Try an agent at one of the big power firms, a couple at medium-sized firms, and one who is out on her own. And if you’re also trying publishing houses, try a big conglomerate, a couple of smaller houses, and a regional or academic press if that makes sense.”

How editors look at manuscripts

“Every time an editor lifts the top off of a new manuscript box, listens to its cardboardy hiss, and takes her first intoxicating whiff of the fresh pages within, there is, if only momentarily, that renewed hope that this one will be it. Unfortunately, the pressures of the publishing world too often diminish that feeling of hope, and editors, in dealing with the sheer number of submissions alone, don’t have time to stop and smell the pages. We rely on a body of conventional and received wisdom about what sells and doesn’t sell (which is thankfully proved wrong from time to time) and develop a shorthand to evaluate and reject projects. In combing through the minutes of editorial meetings where editors and publishers gather to consider the week’s offering of projects, one sees the same phrases repeated over and over. Encoded within them are what I call editorial rejection euphemisms: notrightforour list (get it out of here), pacing problems (boring), exhaustive (academic/ boring), somewhat heavy-handed (preachy), not without charm (too precious), nicely written but ultimately unsatisfying (plotless), underdeveloped characters (totally stock), nice sense of place (is this about anything?), not enough tension (mind-numbingly slow), feels familiar (yet another road-trip / coming-of-age / ugly-duckling / dysfunctional-family novel), entertaining (overwritten), crowded marketplace (not another!), and my personal favorite: too special (which of course means it won’t sell).”

The essence of a book

“Once the jacket art is under way, the next series of meetings involve marketing, publicity, and sales, and this is often where an editor can “make or break” a book. Sometimes the attendees have been given some sample material from the book, but more often than not the editors presentation of the book and the author are all they have to go on. The editor will have produced a title sheet with biographical information, a brief description of the book, competitive titles, the author’s track record if there is one, marketing ideas, and probably the most important element: the sales handle. This is your whole book boiled down to a sentence, and in recent years Hollywood parlance has slipped into publishing lingo with a vengeance. According to a New York magazine article called “How to Make a Bestseller,” Knopf characterized Jane Mendelsohn’s I Was Amelia Earhart as “Jonathan Livingston Seagull meets Blue Lagoon.” A n editor at Grove described the recent novel Shooting Elvis to a reporter as “Thelma and Louise meets Tarantino.” But what’s worse is if a book can’t be easily boiled down. If the editor can’t say “Oliver Sacks meets Pride and Prejudice!” or “Catcher in the Rye meets Blair Witch Project!” or “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich meets There’s Something About Mary!” then it’s harder to put the book over in bookstores, where a rep sometimes has but a few seconds with a buyer to make a point. Likewise, the publicist may have to pitch the book to a television or radio producer in twenty seconds or less. The problem with boiling a book idea down is that it reduces it to a single essence, and the best books consist of many essences. Still, in the world of sound bites, it’s critical to get a good, juicy one.”

Some critiques

Overall, this is a worthwhile read for authors. That said, a few critiques:

• I had hoped that this book would answer some key questions for writers in terms that only an editor could answer: e.g., what do editors really look for in a manuscript? What do they discuss at board meetings? What makes you stand out? And so on. I know that this varies based on the publishing house, the editor, perhaps even the time of day, but still, some examples of how some manuscripts played out in the real world would’ve been incredibly helpful. Instead, we only get some high level discussion of this, and not much actionable advice.

• More generally, the book jumps around a lot, and some of it doesn’t seem very useful or relatable. For example, there are several chapters that describe different types of writers: e.g., the natural, the self-promoter, the neurotic, etc. I didn’t really relate to any of these and didn’t find these chapters too useful. There was also a chapter on alcohol abuse, drug abuse, and mental illness. I guess it’s good to acknowledge that these affect writers, but it wasn’t clear what the actionable takeaway was from that chapter.

• Simultaneously this book overly glamorizes writing as some magical pursuit and also overly dramatizes it as the hardest thing you could do. I mean, the book describes writing as one of the hardest pursuits a human can do, likening it to survival of the fittest in nature. Really? I would think that being, say, a soldier at war might be harder. Or a doctor in a tense ER operation. Or a human actually trying to survive in nature while lions hunt them. Writing certainly has its challenges, but I’ve lived the writer lifestyle, and I’m pretty confident there are far harder things out there.

Rating: 4 stars