A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Chapter 140 Philippe DuPont

August 2nd, London.

Lin Shu-bai is going to see Philip DuPont at 3 p.m. today.

He thought about it for a long time last night: if Gallimard wanted the French rights to "The Little Prince" while Faber wanted the global rights, how could they coordinate the two?

If he chooses Faber, the French copyright will have to be licensed to Gallimard by Faber. Will Gallimard accept that?

At 2:30 p.m., Allen's car was parked in front of the hotel.

Lin Shubai got into the car and noticed that Allen was dressed more casually than yesterday.

"Aren't you wearing a suit today?"

"The people of Gallimard don't need to look at suits," Allen said, starting the car. "What they need to look at is your book."

"How many days has Philippe du Pont been in London?"

"He came for three days to attend the Bath Prize and meet with a few authors."

"Allen, how do you think he'll negotiate?"

"It's hard to say. The French have a different negotiation style than the British. The French like to chat and have coffee first, talk about literature for half an hour before getting down to business. They don't treat negotiation as a problem-solving process; they treat it as a relationship-building exercise. But the problem is..."

Lip du Pont is going back to Paris the day after tomorrow; he doesn't have time to build relationships, so he'll either finalize things today or not at all.

"What if he doesn't make it today?"

"Then we won't wait any longer. Faber's terms are on the table, and Jeffrey is waiting for our reply. We can't let an uncertain opportunity turn down a certain one."

Lin Shubai nodded.

Philippe Dupont was staying at a hotel in the Mayfair district. As the two men entered the lobby, the receptionist pointed towards the elevator: "Mr. Philippe's room is on the fourth floor, room 408. He would like you to go up there."

Lin Shubai and Allen exchanged a glance. Meeting in a room, not in the lobby, was not conventional, but it wasn't impolite either. Some editors prefer to discuss things in private spaces, where they feel more relaxed.

The elevator reached the fourth floor and the doors opened.

Philippe Dupont stood in the doorway. "Lin Shubai?" he asked in English with a heavy French accent.

"Hello, Mr. Philip."

The three people entered the room. On the coffee table in the living room was a pot of tea that had already been brewed and three cups. Philip pointed to the sofa and said, "Sit down."

"This is some French black tea I brought," Philippe said, pushing the teacup towards me. "Have a taste."

Lin Shubai picked up the cup and took a sip. The tea was strong and a little bitter.

"How is it?"

"not bad."

Philip nodded, put down his teacup, and looked at Lin Shubai.

"Your book, 'Hell Is Where God Is Not,' is excellent. Gallimard wants to publish a French version. We can discuss the conditions later, but in principle, there are no problems."

"Thanks."

Philip picked up a folder from beside the sofa. "I'm here today mainly to talk about another book, The Little Prince. Alan mentioned it to me before, and I also saw the English sample copy you brought."

"These are the conditions Gallimard gave to the French edition of 'The Little Prince'."

Lin Shubai glanced down.

An advance payment of 800 euros.

Royalties are five percent.

The contract term is seven years.

Lin Shubai stared at the numbers for a few seconds, then looked up at Philip.

He quickly compared the figures in his mind: Faber's advance payment was £15,000, which was about €17,000 at the exchange rate at the time, plus a 10% royalty and a four-year contract. Gallimard's offer was only a fraction of what Faber had received.

Allen spoke up, "Mr. Philip, this condition is much lower than we expected."

Philip leaned back in his chair. "Allen, this is Gallimard's standard offer to newcomers: an 800 euro advance, 5% royalties, and a seven-year contract. This isn't just for Lin Shubai; it's the same for all new authors."

"But Lin Shu-bai is no ordinary newcomer; he just won the Bass Prize, and his English version is currently being developed in collaboration with Faber."

Bloomsbury, Pushkin, and Faber negotiated an advance payment of £15,000.

Philip's expression remained unchanged. "Allen, Faber is a British publisher. Their market is different from ours. You can't use British standards to measure France."

"I understand market differences, but the gap between 800 euros and 15,000 pounds cannot be explained by market differences; it's a five-fold difference."

Philip picked up his teacup and took a sip. "Allen, have you ever worked in the French market?"

"Yes, I have represented the English copyrights of several French authors."

"Then you should know that book prices in France are 30% to 40% lower than in Britain. A hardcover edition costs 14.99 euros, which is about 12 pounds sterling. The same book sells for 14.99 pounds sterling in Britain, and advance payments are generally accepted in France."

Lower than in the UK, that's the industry reality.

Lin Shubai remained silent, sitting to the side and listening to Allen and Philip's back-and-forth exchange.

"Mr. Philip, I have a question."

Philip turned to Lin Shubai, "You speak."

"You just said that 800 euros is the standard offer for newcomers, but you also said that you read my book, 'Hell is Where God Is Not Here,' and thought it was excellent. If you think my work is excellent, then why are you still treating me like an ordinary newcomer?"

Philip raised his eyebrows slightly.

Lin Shu-bai continued, "I just want to know, within Gallimard's system, what's the difference between 'good work' and 'ordinary newcomer'?"

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Philip looked at Lin Shubai, his lips twitching slightly, it was hard to tell if it was a smile or something else. "Lin Shubai, you're very direct."

o

"I just want to know the answer."

"Okay, I'll answer you. In Gallimard's system, advance payments and royalties are not determined by the quality of the work, but by the author's market potential. The Bath Prize has influence in the UK, but in France—to be honest—its influence is limited."

Readers don't pay much attention to British literary prizes, except for the Booker Prize, so to me, you're still an author who needs to prove yourself.

"Eight hundred euros, five percent royalties, a seven-year contract—these are the best terms Gallimard can offer. If you accept, we will work diligently on this book, find the best translator, do the best design, and invest marketing resources. If you don't accept—" He shrugged, "then it's our loss, and it's your loss too."

Allen put down his notebook. "Is there no room for negotiation?"

Philip hesitated for a moment, "The advance payment can be raised to one thousand euros, that's the maximum."

One thousand euros, less than a fraction of Faber's salary.

"Mr. Philip." Lin Shubai placed the teacup on the coffee table.

"I do not accept your terms."

Philip's expression remained unchanged. "Are you sure?"

"Sure."

"Aren't you going to reconsider?"

"No need to think about it, thank you for the tea."

Philip remained seated on the sofa, not standing up to see her off. He simply nodded and said, "Good luck."

Lin Shubai walked to the door, stopped, and glanced back at Philip. "Mr. Philip, I wish Gallimard could find more promising newcomers to invest in, but I am not that person."

The corridor was quiet. Lin Shubai walked in front, and Allen followed behind. Neither of them spoke.

The elevator reached the first floor, the doors opened, and the two people walked out of the hotel. The rain outside had stopped.

"Allen".

"Um?"

"Call Jeffrey and tell him we'll sign the contract tomorrow."

Allen took out his phone, found Jeffrey's number, but didn't dial it immediately. "Are you sure? Won't you reconsider?"

"No need to consider it."