For, um, ever… publishers have maintained this image – a faceless institution, it’s inner workings only revealed in aspirational sit-rom-coms from the US whose leads need a “serious” profession – and it’s mostly been a successful position to take. Now, though, I think it’s holding them back from evolving into the new age of publishing. In a global market in which customer loyalty is closely tied to brand, publishers have no tangible entity upon which to build a brand. Their product is branded based on the author name on the cover or the characters within, and their employees – the editors, typesetters, salesmen, marketers, designers, etc. that represent the true worth of the company – are unseen. Could you name a single editor working for one of the big six? Could someone browsing Amazon with no interest in publishing beyond the books under their mouse pointer?

Could you name a record producer?

I can name a few. They stand just behind the band when it comes to claiming responsibility for the quality of an album. Some would say they deserve more credit than that.

So why don’t book editors – their literary counterparts – command the same respect? No one, no matter how vehemently they champion the self-publishing cause – can deny the benefit of the input of a good editor. But the people working within publishing houses, specifically the big six, aren’t good editors; they’re great editors. They’re literary surgeons working at the top of their field. They can make a good book great, and a great book legendary. So who the hell are they?

As the deluge of content that self-publishing has permitted lands on eShop shelves, people are looking for curation to filter that flow. Crowd-sourced filtering will be the primary mechanism (recommendations and reviews) but there’s still a need for champions – people to identify and promote good writing. I’m not talking about tastemakers (oh, how I hate that term); I’m talking about authoritative voices. People whose opinion is established, tested and trusted. That’s the kind of value you can hang a brand on.

Yet the publishing houses still seem reluctant to open their doors – just a crack – to show us the inhabitants and workings of the chocolate factory. As marketing budgets for new books shrink, the money available to market the parent company seems tighter still.

Or is the publishing industry hiding its stars on purpose? If an editor could make an eBook a hit by offering their patronage, and a mega hit by working with a vetted, paying author directly, what’s left for a publisher to do that a freelance cover designer couldn’t?

With the need for a publisher already being questioned by many authors, what use for them would an independent, respected, branded editor with an impressive cv and an overflowing list of potential clients choose?

The commercial viability of books, and how some books are too niche to sell enough copies to justify the setup costs, is one of the main arguments of the “gatekeepers” – those who decide who does and doesn’t warrant a book deal, namely agents and editors. It’s a fair point; if a book is going to lose money, you’d hope they wouldn’t print it, especially if you have shares in their employer. It’s a shame, then, that so many vocal supporters of the gatekeeper model are so negative about the alternative – namely indie publication (whether small-press or self-published). Books published through these channels are so often dismissed as “not good enough”, but the fact that they could just be “too niche” is never considered.

I don’t think Make a Move is niche (in fact, my current readership is more diverse than I dared to hope for) so this isn’t about me. It’s about a segregated market – and the colour and variety that can provide – being hindered by a curious, self-defeating world view of the mainstream.

I’m not sure what the cause of this view is, but whenever I see some unfair disparity in a situation involving massive numbers of unconnected people, I just assume it’s fear, and it usually is. I know that makes me sound old and bitter (I’m 35, and reasonably equanimous) but I’m pretty sure it’s the case here. Maybe it’s the fear that with the advent of eBooks, there’ll never be another Harry Potter (there won’t – piracy guarantees it) but maybe the real fear is that we might see a literary Blair Witch Project. Now that would upset the apple cart.

It’s not a polished theory, but it’s an interesting notion, and one I’m going to explore more.

Thoughts?