A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Chapter 138 Negotiation (Two Chapters Combined)

August 1st, London.

At seven o'clock sharp, it was already bright in London.

Lin Shubai lay in bed, mentally reviewing his tasks for the day: Bloomsbury at nine, Pushkin at ten, and Faber & Faber at two in the afternoon—three companies spanning three boroughs of London, with lunchtime in between.

Last night, Alan and I drove back to London from Bath, and it was almost midnight when we arrived at the hotel.

He took a shower first, then stood in front of the mirror and shaved.

At 8:30, Allen's car was parked in front of the hotel.

The car drove out of the hotel and merged into London's morning rush hour traffic. Bloomsbury is in central London, and it takes about twenty minutes to drive there from the hotel.

Lin Shubai leaned against the car window, watching the houses along the street recede into the distance. "What kind of terms do you think the two families will offer this morning?"

Allen tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel twice. "It's hard to say. But one thing is certain—the conditions are definitely better than we expected. The Bass Prize has made your bargaining chips stronger, and the news that Gallimard came to see you last night should have spread by this morning."

"Has it spread?"

"The publishing circle is very small. Who meets whom and what they say is known to everyone the next day. Philip DuPont was not there to drink champagne at the Bath Prize ceremony; he was there to discuss copyrights. This news will be in the inboxes of all British publishers this morning."

"Did you also contribute to this?"

Allen smiled but did not answer Lin Shubai.

The Bloomsbury office is near Bloomsbury Square. The receptionist was a young woman who smiled when she saw Allen. "Allen, it's been a long time. Emily is waiting for you on the second floor."

The two went up the stairs to the second floor, where there was an open-plan office with various book covers and posters on the walls, all of which were bestsellers published by Bloomsbury.

"Do you like these books?" a voice came from the side.

Lin Shubai turned his head and saw Emily standing at the end of the corridor, holding a folder in her hand.

"I've read it; it's very well written."

Emily nodded and led them into a conference room.

"Let's get straight to the point." Emily's tone was direct, without any pleasantries. "Bloomsbury wants to publish your 'The Little Prince' in English, on the following terms."

Emily pushed a piece of paper in front of Allen. Allen picked it up and looked at it for about a minute, then pushed the paper to Lin Shubai. Lin Shubai glanced at it and saw that the advance payment was £5,000, the royalty was 10%, the hardcover edition was priced at £12.99, the contract term was five years, and the English version had global rights.

Five thousand pounds, not much, but not little either. For a new author's first English book, this advance payment is not low.

Alan put down the paper and looked at Emily. "What about the copyright scope?"

"Global copyright for the English version, available in all English-speaking countries including the UK, USA, Australia, and Canada."

What about the film and television adaptation rights?

"We are not currently asking for film and television adaptation rights. If you are willing to grant separate authorization, we can discuss it separately."

Allen nodded, scribbled a few lines in his notebook, and said, "Okay, we'll think about it when we get back."

Emily glanced at Lin Shubai. "Are you going to Pushkin and Faber again today?"

"right."

"Then I won't take up any more of your time. Give me a call anytime after you've reviewed their terms." She stood up, extended her hand, and said, "No matter the outcome, it's been a pleasure meeting you, Lin Shubai."

After leaving Bloomsbury, Allen drove towards Pushkin, a short drive of about fifteen minutes. As he drove, Allen remarked, "Bloomsbury's conditions are average."

Do you think they can add even more?

"Yes, but not much. Bloomsbury has a keen business sense, but they always keep the advance payment to newcomers between five and eight thousand. Their financial model is different; they invest more money in large projects, use the success of small projects to support large projects, and then use the profits from large projects to gamble on even bigger projects. In their eyes, your current scale is still a 'small project.'"

Lin Shubai nodded.

Pushkin Press's office is on a quiet street. Allen pushed open the door and went inside. The first floor is a small showroom with the covers of all the books they have published hanging on the walls—mostly translations, in French, German, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, and the names of authors in various languages ​​crammed together.

A middle-aged man came down the stairs, wearing a gray suit jacket and carrying a coffee cup. Lin Shubai recognized him—James White, the one he had seen at the awards ceremony last night.

"Allen, Lin Shubai, welcome."

The offices on the second floor were different from those in Bloomsbury; they were much smaller, with only three or four desks. James led them into a small meeting room.

"Pushkin Press is different from Bloomsbury," James said while pouring tea. "We are small, but we are focused. We only translate literature, only produce high-quality works. We don't pursue quantity; we strive for each book to live a long time."

He pushed the contract towards him, and Lin Shubai glanced down at it.

The advance payment was £8,000, the royalty was 12%, the hardcover edition was priced at £14.99, the contract term was three years, and the English version had global rights. Lin Shubai noted that the royalty was tiered: 10% for the first 5,000 copies, 12.5% ​​for 5,000 to 10,000 copies, and 15% for more than 10,000 copies.

Allen noticed it too. He picked up the contract and looked at it for a moment, then looked at James and asked, "This staircase?"

"I suggested it. I believe this book can sell more than 10,000 copies, but I need the author to believe it too. Tiered royalties are an incentive for both parties. The more books the book sells, the more the author earns. It's a win-win situation."

Allen scribbled a few lines in his notebook, "What about the copyright scope?"

"Global copyright for the English version."

What about the film and television adaptation rights?

"We're not asking, but if you're willing to grant permission, we can help make connections; we have some resources in Hollywood."

Allen nodded, glanced at Lin Shubai, and Lin Shubai nodded slightly—this condition was better than BIoomsbury's.

Okay, the advance payment is £3,000 higher, the royalties are two percentage points higher, there are tiered incentives, and the contract term has been shortened from five years to three years, which means that if the cooperation does not go smoothly, Lin Shubai can terminate the contract more quickly.

"Okay, we'll go back and think about it."

It was already 11 o'clock when we came out of Pushkin. Allen glanced at his watch. "Lunchtime. What would you like to eat?"

"casual."

"I know a Chinese restaurant in the Soho area."

"Then let's go."

After driving for twenty minutes, the car stopped in front of a restaurant called "Bashu Renjia".

As he pushed open the door, the aroma of chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns wafted towards him, and Lin Shubai took a deep breath—it was the best smell he had ever experienced in England.

Allen ordered a boiled fish, a Mapo tofu, a bowl of hot and sour soup, and two bowls of rice. While waiting for the food, he opened his notebook and made a table listing the conditions of the two publishing houses that morning.

"Bloomsbury: £5,000 upfront payment, 10% fixed royalty (no tiers), five-year contract, no film or television rights required."

"Pushkin: £8,000 upfront, 10-15% royalties on a tiered basis, three-year contract, no film or television rights required."

Lin Shubai looked at the form and said, "Pushkin's offer is clearly better."

"Yes, but Pushkin is smaller than Bloomsbury. Their distribution channels, marketing resources, and overseas copyright agency capabilities are not as good as Bloomsbury's. If this book is handed over to Pushkin, it might sell well, but it's unlikely to become a true international bestseller. If it's handed over to Bloomsbury, they have the resources to promote the book in the US, Australia, and Canada."

This extends to Canada, and even to English-speaking readers in non-English-speaking countries.

The dish was served. The boiled fish was topped with a layer of red oil, and the aroma of Sichuan peppercorns was very strong. Lin Shubai picked up a piece of fish and put it in his mouth. The fish was very tender, and the spicy and numbing flavor rushed from the tip of his tongue all the way to his throat. He ate several bites before putting down his chopsticks.

"Faber this afternoon, what conditions do you think they'll offer?"

Allen thought for a moment, "The upfront payment for a Faber won't be less than £10,000. But their royalties might not be tiered. The tradition of tiered Fabers is a fixed royalty, without tiers. They don't play the 'the more you sell, the more you get' game; they play the 'the more books we help you sell, the more you naturally get' game."

"What do you mean?"

"It means that their distribution capabilities are stronger than Pushkin and Bloomsbury. Ten thousand copies is the ceiling for Pushkin, but it's just the starting point for Faber. You get 10% royalties, but they can help you sell 50,000 copies. You get more money than you would get from selling 10,000 copies with 15% at Pushkin."

Lin Shubai was silent for a while. What Allen said was not just numbers, but two completely different publishing logics.

"There's one more thing." Allen picked up a piece of boiled fish. "Faber's connections are different. They are one of the oldest independent publishers in the UK, with a deep network in the European and American publishing circles. If they sign your 'The Little Prince,' they can find the best publishing partners in the US and help you get your book on the desks of major book review media. Pushkin can't do that, Bloomsbury can't do that, but Faber can."

"Then why bother going to Pushkin and Bloomsbury? Why not just go to Faber?"

"Because you need to know other people's conditions; without comparison, you won't know exactly what makes Faber so good."

Lin Shubai nodded.

2 PM, Faber & Faber.

Faber's office is in Bloomsbury, in a red brick building with a small brass plaque hanging at the entrance.

Jeffrey Smith stood at the top of the stairs on the third floor, wearing a dark brown corduroy suit jacket. "You're here? Come on up."

Jeffrey's office wasn't big, with a large desk and a whole wall of bookshelves behind it. He poured the contract out of the manila envelope and pushed it over.

The prepayment is £15,000, with a fixed royalty rate of 10%, no tiered pricing, and a hardcover price of £14.99. The contract is for a five-year term, covering global rights except for the Chinese version. Additional clause: If the English version of The Little Prince sells more than 20,000 copies in the UK, Faber will automatically have priority to negotiate the next book by Lin Shubai.

£15,000, almost double that of Pushkin, but the royalties are fixed with no tiers, the contract term is five years, two years longer than Pushkin's three years, and there's also the additional clause of "right of first refusal".

Allen read the contract twice from beginning to end, then put it down and looked at Jeffrey. "Priority negotiation rights, we need to discuss this clause."

"Allen, do you know why I added this?"

"Because you want to lock him up."

“No.” Jeffrey shook his head. “Because I know his next book will be better than this one, and I don’t want to compete with other publishers for his rights in two years. I’m not trying to lock him up; I’m trying to tell him that Faber isn’t betting on this book; Faber is betting on him as a person.”

"A five-year contract is too long, three years is better."

"Four years."

Allen thought for a moment, "Okay, four years. The right to priority negotiation is changed to priority under the same conditions."

If other companies offer the same terms, you will have priority.

The two looked at each other and smiled.

Jeffrey turned to Lin Shubai, "And you? Do you have any more questions?"

Lin Shubai thought for a moment, "I have a question, but it's not about the contract."

"explain."

Why are you willing to place such a huge bet on me?

Jeffrey didn't answer immediately. He picked up his coffee cup, took a sip, then stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled out a book. The cover was faded, and the words on the spine were blurry. He opened the title page and handed it to Lin Shubai.

On the title page, a line of words was written in pen—the handwriting was messy, but legible: "To Faber, with gratitude."

TS Eliot."

Lin Shubai paused for a moment. T.S. Eliot, the author of "The Waste Land".

"This book was signed by Eliot and given to Faber. Faber has published many books, some that sold well, some that didn't, some that won awards, and some that didn't. But the ones that truly stand the test of time are not the best-selling ones, but the ones that are worth reading again and again. I see that possibility in you."

He looked at Lin Shubai and said, "So I'm not betting on your book, I'm betting on your next decade."

The office was silent for a few seconds.

Allen cleared his throat. "Contract term: four years, with priority negotiation rights, and priority given to other parties under equal conditions. Do you agree?"

Jeffrey nodded. "Agreed."

"What about the film and television adaptation rights?"

"We don't want it, but we'd like to see if you can let us know before you authorize it to someone else. We have the resources to help you find a better buyer."

Allen wrote a few lines in his notebook, then glanced at Lin Shubai, who nodded slightly.

"Okay." Allen stood up. "Let's go back and think about it."

Jeffrey stood up and extended his hand. "No rush. Call me anytime when you've thought it through. I'll save this spot for you."

As we left Faber, the London sky began to clear. Alan stood beside him, opening his notebook. "Bloomsbury five thousand, Pushkin eight thousand, Faber fifteen thousand. What do you think?"

"Faber's offer is the best, but there's still one thing that hasn't been decided."

Allen glanced at him, knowing what he was talking about, "Galima."

"Yes, Gallimard hasn't talked about The Little Prince yet."

Allen was silent for a few seconds. "You're right. We can't make a decision without knowing Gallimard's attitude. If Gallimard wants the global rights to the translated version of 'The Little Prince,' it means the book has a foothold in Europe, a foothold that Faber can't provide."

"So what do we do now?"

"Go back first, you rest, I'll call Philippe DuPont."

The car drove back to the hotel.

My phone vibrated at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Alan's text message: "Philip Dupont is returning to Paris the day after tomorrow. He said we can meet tomorrow afternoon at his hotel."

shop. "

"it is good."