Booze to schmooze. Photograph: Don McPhee
When the call went out for extras to be in a Christmas party scene for the film version of Martin Wagner's play, The Agent, I naturally didn't hesitate to volunteer, interested to see if art would imitate life. After all, I got quite good at sneaking in to literary dos when I was working in publishing.
No depiction of publishing in books or films is complete without a scene at a bookish soiree. To wit, this particular scene in The Agent in which I was lingering in the background pretending to eat the same canapé over and over again was crucial in the build-up of the searing power struggle between the poor, exploited, down-to-earth author - bearded, carries a knapsack, expresses no preference for colour when offered a glass of wine - with his impeccably-groomed, flash-suited agent. But is it authentic?
In a lot of ways publishing parties are like any other office party. They are attended by people who, if they really liked each other, would choose to socialise rather than wait for a company mandate to do so. There are drinks and food of varying quality depending on the budget (the best one I ever attended evolved at a certain point in the evening into a disco worthy of an 18th birthday, complete with vodka shots of frightening fluorescent hues). People get into undignified, clandestine clinches which the participants think have gone unnoticed but which, will usually be obliquely alluded to in the next week's Bookseller.
But publishing parties do play a very particular role because they often underline the somewhat paradoxical nature of an industry that hinges, in many instances, upon the relationships between quite extroverted people (agents, publishers) and those for whom success in their careers requires, to some extent at least, that they be comfortable sitting in garden sheds or similar, alone with their own thoughts and a word processor. While on the whole, as Wagner portrays, these sometimes rather difficult relationships are mostly conducted over the telephone or via email, parties give writers, publishers, and agents the opportunity to rub shoulders in an ostensibly jolly, relaxed atmosphere.
When your ready access to the people who control your career is as limited as it is in the case of many writers, and you mostly see them when you have a glass of wine in hand, it may indeed be tempting to take the opportunity presented by such an uncontrolled encounter to bend their ear about your work, even if they are obviously looking over your shoulder to see if there is anyone more important there for them to chat with. These terrible moments are something that most attendees at any publishing-related bash have at least borne witness to, if not personally experienced, and it can induce serious cringeing.
Not a lot of glamour, then, but the potential for a lot of terrific gossip.
