Growing up with Salt Publishing. I really don’t know where to begin.
. . . It’s . . . Fun?
Saying that Salt doesn’t matter to me would be a big lie because it does mean a lot. It means a lot of things. It means that I can learn a lot about publishing literature like my mum and dad do. It also means that we aren’t ever going to have a massive amount of money. When I tell people that we have our own business they are usually pretty surprised that we aren’t rich. It only takes a sentence to explain why we are as wealthy as we are and that is “We publish poetry and short stories.”
Since before I can remember it’s been problem after problem after problem all the time. I daresay it’s getting worse but at the moment it’s pretty awful. A better memory I have is when I was about 8 and some boxes of books got sent back (we still had the office in the house back then) and dad let us destroy them. So we did, me and Kirsty, tore the pages out of about 100 books. I can’t really remember what books they were, but the torn, crumpled up space station cover is still a cherished memory.
Until the age of 6 I thought my dad’s face was the back of a computer screen, the way he was always hidden behind it. Now I’m blatantly smart enough to realise that his face is the back of his laptop. The sad irony behind it is that he left Cambridge University Press to stay at home with us and we still barely see him. My mum on the other hand is a total bad-ass rebel. She’s the type of person who’d steal a wheelie bin. The type of person who would point and laugh if someone got bird turd on their head. She’s been a brilliant influence on me, nice one mum.
As if my life could be any better, I have a brother and a sister who are both younger than me and both demand more attention than me. There is a major difference between the two. I can beat Cameron up, if I so much as poke Kirsty she will cry her eyes out. Cameron is going to be a drummer. Or a boxer. Or something else that involves primeval instinct and hitting things. Kirsty will definitely at one point or another get a book published, that’s obvious — She is writer material.
I on the other hand will grow up to be an ologologist.
It’s an . . . Ologist of ologies.
Or be an ologist of ologologists, which would make me an ologologologist.
It’s a very broad title.
But I’m keeping my options open. I think watching Salt grow has been a pretty cool thing to see, even if it is the literal equivalent to watching paint dry. Compare it to “How long it takes for a pea to explode if you stare at it without blinking.”
I think it’s been a pretty good experience, despite everything that’s happened. We’re staying strong thanks to everybody who buys books and so long as people keep buying them we’ll be fine.
Location: The Old Queen’s Head (N1 8LN)
44 Essex Road
London, United Kingdom
BBC Radio 2 Folk Club of the Year 2010, The Magpie’s Nest, has very kindly invited us down to their HQ for an evening of Northwest-based folk-influenced acts – plus a very sneaky headline slot from the wonderful cajun band, Mama Rosin, who are currently on tour.
So trotting down to the other end of the country will be:
Ottersgear:
… ‘The singer’s vocal acrobatics evoke Tim Buckley – precise, pure and leaping to graceful falsetto and back with ease, holding notes for aeons amid elegant bursts of mandolin. The crowd are gently rapt with this engaging display of proficiency, laying the foundations nicely for the final act.’ http://www.myspace.com/ottersgear
‘Eliza And The Bear’, an enchanting original poem by Liverpool poet, Eleanor Rees, featuring a live harp score composed by Rebecca Sharp and spoken word by performance artist, Cathy Butterworth http://www.saltpublishing.com/writers/profile.php?recordID=209953
Rebecca Sharp: magical spoken word/poetry and harp compositions.
‘fascinatingly complex, audacious and at times brain-poppingly clever work’ – Glasgow Herald
http://rebeccajoysharp.com/
Tickets are £6 in advance (from http://www.themagpiesnest.co.uk/) or £8 otd.
For more info, please visit http://www.forfolkssake.org.uk/
I’ll never forget this day. It was late winter, 2004 (6 years ago, how can that be?!) and I was sitting at my desk in the cramped, hot and chaotic space that was the Salt office, tucked away at the back of the house, when the phone rang. It was the BBC’s Venezuelan Correspondent, who proceded to tell me that he’d been to see 21 Grams and had seen on the internet that we were publishing the poet quoted in it and could he have a copy of the book, please.
Pardon?
I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, but couldn’t possibly say that! I managed to glean that one of our soon-to-be published poets, Eugenio Montejo, had been quoted by Sean Penn in a film that was due to be released in the UK in 3 week’s time. A quick Google search revealed that we were the last to know this as the whole world seemed to be talking about it! I told Chris who quickly dug the files out – fortunately, we were close to finishing the proofing cycle and we set to work immediately to get The Trees ready for press. This though wasn’t quite as straightforward as it seemed: Eugenio Montejo was in Venezuela and spoke little English; his translator, Peter Boyle, was in Australia — to speak to the author we had to jump through international time zones on a global scale. It took several days to get enough information together to write the press release, with each of our questions requiring at least a two-day turnaround.
It turns out that the maker of the film, Alejandro González Iñárritu, had stumbled across Montejo’s work in dusty volumes in a library in the US. He was particularly taken by one of the poems, the remarkable ‘La Tierra Giró para Acercarnos’; ‘The Earth Turned to Bring us Closer’, and arranged with Montejo to have an English translation of it incorporated into the film. Despite Montejo being Venezuela’s most celebrated poet, little if any of his work had been translated from Spanish.
Meanwhile, while all this was happening, Peter Boyle was working with Montejo to pull together a bilingual selection of his work. And Peter had told us about the film, but it hadn’t registered! We issued a press release and got the book out in time for the film showing in the UK (the cover image was taken one foggy morning by Chris on the village green). The media picked up on it and we managed to get coverage in the Bookseller as well as the press and local radio (I was interviewed – it was terrifying!).
We had great fun with this book, including an excuse to go to the cinema during working hours. However, if you’ve seen 21 Grams, you’ll know that watching it in the morning isn’t perhaps the best of moves – we left the cinema dumbstruck and unable to function for the rest of the day, such is the power of it, particularly Benicio del Toro, whose performance is amazing. Sean Penn quoting from ‘The Earth Turned’ is such a poignant part of the story, it moves me even now. That film and this book will always be special to me.
Sadly, Eugenio Montejo died in 2008. I am pleased that it was Salt who brought his work to the English-speaking world. If you are seeking beautifully-written, life-affirming poetry, I wholeheartedly recommend that you look no further than The Trees.
You can hear Jen’s AudioBoo of the Salt FlashMob. Not a huge turnout, but we weren’t expecting a massive show. Saturday’s are for family and relaxing after all. We had a quality turnout and met up with Tim Wells after the event for a drink in the bar of the Festival Hall. Lots of competition from other SBC events, including semi-naked Brazilian dancers and bands.
As we completed our event and were stepping away from the spot on the patio, poet Giles Goodland stared at our feet and pointed out that there was a tiny blue sachet of Salt. To which we all bellow, “A Sign! A Sign!” It was of course a sign to go and grab a drink and have a chat. A great day and lots of fun. London was packed and after it was all over we wandered up to Piccadilly Circus and found a little Italian and had a meal before heading back to Cambridge. Thanks to everyone for coming and to everyone who also did a virtual FlashMob on their blogs! We’ll pick up on those as we discover them; here’s a few:
The phone call came one afternoon. I was caught up in something tricky working on a sales pitch or some typesetting and I’d answered the call when I really hadn’t wanted to, and was regretting it as I put the handset to my ear. “I’m going to die,” said the caller. Very Murial Spark, I thought. “Really, well, how can I help you?” “I’ve put my selected poems together and would like you to publish them,” the caller went on. If I recall it was a bass voice, assertive, even a little bardic. I kept listening. “It’s Jeff Nuttall.” “Oh, hello, Jeff!” I’d never spoken to him before, but knew Jeff’s counter culture credentials and quickly thought, Well this is worth looking at. “I’m sorry to hear your dying, Jeff. Yes, send it in and let me look at it.” I remember laughing a little at the prospect of his imminent demise, joking with him, even.
A few days later a bound manuscript appeared and I decided within an hour that it was a book worth publishing. Jeff was almost entirely absent while I was producing the book, getting hold of him was difficult. When the calls came, they were nearly all preceded with the statement that he was dying. Did anyone know? Soon enough the book reached completion and we went to press. The intermittent conversations had left it very tricky to know for sure if the book was really correct. The stock arrived and author copies went out. I think it might have been a letter that arrived, saying that the cover copy was wrong. A slip in the text had inverted one key meaning. We decided to dump the stock and correct it. A fortnight went by and copies arrived, we sent them out and news came back that Jeff was happy, though there were a few things in the text …
A day or so later, we got a call. Jeff had been playing jazz in his local and had stepped out from the pub into the car park, sat in his car and died.
It was extraordinary and extraordinarily sad. He kept his promise. His Selection is still in print today.
I’d like to thank my wife and business partner, Jen — my terrific senior management team: John Kinsella, Linda Bennett and John Skelton. I’d like to thank my hard-working staff Lee and Sarah-Jayne. Elspeth in Scotland. Sincere thanks to my terrific editors, Janet, Kate, Víctor and Allison in the USA, Ian in Wales, Chris in Northern Ireland, and to Jane and Roddy. To all the interns and colleagues I’ve worked with over the past decade, and former staff, Janna, Tom, Charlotte and Gretel. To my marvellous authors, one and all. And to you, reading this, for supporting us and making the press what it is.
Come and take part in the #SaltFlashMob on our tenth anniversary, this Saturday 17th July at 3 p.m. now at the Southbank Centre, London (Please note the move). If it’s dry we’re on the patio outside, it it’s wet we’re inside the Royal Festival Hall. Do please come if you can. It’s a mass reading of Pablo Neruda’s “Ode to Salt”:
Ode to Salt
This salt
in the salt cellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won’t
believe me
but
it sings
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those
solitudes
when I heard
the voice
of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a
broken
voice,
a mournful
song.
In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.
And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food.
Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste finitude.
I hoped I’d never have to write this note. The recession has continued to have a very negative impact on sales at Salt and we’re finally having to go public to ask you to help support us.
Our sales are now 60% down on last year and have wiped out our grant and our cash reserves as we continue to market and publish what we can from what we believe is a great list. We’ve plans in place to help secure the business from November 2010 — though the books we’ll be publishing won’t deliver any real revenue until 2011. We’re sorry to ask, embarrassed to ask, but we need your help to survive until then and if you were considering purchasing a Salt book, we’d dearly love you to do it right now. We’ve less than one week’s cash left.
If you can help us, please do two things:
Buy one book from us — we don’t mind from where, it can be from your local bookstore (they need your support, too), it can be from Amazon or the BookDepository. It can even be directly from us. But please buy that book now.
Please tell everyone you know to do the same. Buy just one book and pass it on.
Remember too, that every book you buy gets a raffle ticket in our Big Summer Raffle — and you could win one copy each of the next 20 books we publish from 1 September.
One of Asia’s new literary stars, Wena Poon, performs from Alex y Robert, a witty novel about the American granddaughter of a famous Spanish bullfighter who returns to Spain to become a matador. Winner of the 2010 Willesden Prize in England, twice long-listed for the Frank O’Connor Award in Ireland, Wena has been lauded by critics for her acute observations of transnational culture.
Don’t miss your chance to hear Wena perform at the South Bank Centre on Monday, 12th July. For more information and tickets, please follow this link to the South Bank Centre’s booking system. I promise you it’ll be a thoroughly entertaining evening – we hope to see you there!
