First, a confession: I have not read Jennifer L Armentrout’s latest novel, The Primal of Blood and Bone. Nor have I sniffed it, or licked it. Which might be an odd thing to do, but for the fact that a special edition of the romantasy book has been released with garlic-infused ink.
Armentrout is a hugely-successful “hybrid” author, both self- and traditionally published, and has made the New York Times bestseller list on numerous occasions. She writes in the currently insanely popular romantic fantasy market, and her new novel, the latest in a series, features vampire-analogy monsters called the Craven.
Enter stage right: Hellmann’s, which despite having exactly the sort of name you might find in a romantasy novel, is in fact a purveyor of mayonnaise and other table-top squirty condiments. Hellmann’s has teamed up with Armentrout and her publishers, Blue Box Press, to release a special edition of The Primal of Blood and Bone which is printed with ink mixed with their garlic aioli – the Craven being vampires, remember, and so averse to a bit of garlic.
This is, of course, is an attempt to grab the TikTok generation by the throat. Understandably so: the video-sharing social media platform has become one of the biggest book marketing opportunities for publishers in modern times.
And it is here, dear reader, that I heave a world-weary sigh and reveal myself to be yet another grumpy, middle-aged, largely unknown author waving his fist at the clouds in the style of Grampa Simpson and raging against the dying of the light … or at least, against the shift away from the seemingly outmoded idea of publishers just trying to sell books because, y’know, they’re books, and they’re good.
Just hold off typing that takedown in the comment box for one second and let me explain. Do I sound bitter? Of course I’m bitter. All writers are misanthropic sociopaths at heart. We’re bitter about everything. That’s why we make stuff up all the time, trying to imagine worlds we might not be quite as bitter about as this one.
But in this case, I’m not bitter at Armentrout – may her book fly, garlic aioli-infused edition or otherwise – or at other writers, or at any of my publishers. Rather, I’m bitter at a publishing industry model that seems weirdly averse to selling the majority of books it puts out.
Of course, marketing budgets are limited at even the biggest publisher. There’s only so much money sloshing around. But there seems to be an odd system at work where the books that don’t actually need much promotion get all the money thrown at them.
You know the ones I mean. The ones that zoom to the top of the charts on the day of release, the ones written by pop musicians or reality TV stars or Strictly judges or whoever, who get a nice spot on the BBC Breakfast or One Show sofa to plug them.
The irony being that these are the books that don’t need marketing – they’ll essentially sell themselves. It’s all the other books written by, well, by people like me, who don’t get the benefit of big PR campaigns that really need this marketing push. If people don’t know about a book, they can’t buy it.
There he goes again, being all bitter and shaking his fist. I am a realist, though; nobody wants to see Dave from Wigan awkwardly trying to flog his latest horror novel on the BBC Breakfast sofa between Taylor Swift and Kemi Badenoch when they can book erudite, entertaining and – most importantly – recognisable faces such as Richard Osman and Bob Mortimer and that lad from the boyband.
However, a little anecdote from a Facebook authors’ group I’m in (Misanthropic Sociopath Writers, if you want to join): an author gave her publisher a list of press reviewers, booksellers, fellow authors and social media book influencers who said they would be happy to receive an advance copy of her forthcoming book. When several messaged her to say they hadn’t received a copy of the imminent publication, she checked with her publishers who sheepishly admitted they hadn’t sent any out.
Which is why using gimmicks to sell books somewhat irks me. I have to admit, putting garlic in your ink is quite a topper wheeze, though it’s by no means the first time someone’s had this idea. Back in 1977, Marvel released a comic book about the flamboyant rock band Kiss, which was marketed as “printed in real KISS blood” after the band members did indeed add vials of their own blood to the red ink vat at the printers.
But I wish these sorts of ideas would occur to publishers after they’ve fulfilled what seems to me to be one of their basic obligations: promoting – by the usual marketing means – all the books they have coming out. Otherwise, how will you, the reader, know about them?
There’s also the danger of too much hype. Self-published author Audra Winter embarked upon a massive TikTok pre-release marketing campaign for her fantasy novel The Age of Scorpius. The anticipation reached fever pitch, with millions viewing her promotional videos and thousands placing pre-orders. Then when the book eventually came out earlier this year … people hated it. TikTok user and author LCGallagher posted a two-and-a-half minute takedown of the book with the words “a piece of shit with glitter on it is still a piece of shit”. On the book review site Goodreads, Age of Scorpius earned an average rating of 1.52 stars, with one user opining: “This is why when someone tells you your book isn’t ready, you don’t just dismiss it because it’s not something you want to hear.” And what had been a masterclass in TikTok marketing became an author’s nightmare as the platform’s users turned on Winter and her book.
Still, it all does give me a bit of an idea. My next horror novel, out next year, is set in the coalfields of Lancashire. Most printing inks are carbon-based, aren’t they? So my book could be said to be “printed with real coal!”
Now, can anyone do me a TikTok?
David Barnett is the author of Withered Hill
