In the reading room of the State Library of Victoria in Melbourne. Image – Getty: Jui-Chi Chan
By Arpita Das | @arpitayodapress
‘Akin to Being a Therapist’
I was recently invited to deliver the opening keynote speech at the annual Australian Publishers Association (APA) industry conference, BookUp 2024. When the association first got into touch with me, I was genuinely surprised. Why would the Aussie publishing industry be interested in what a South Asian, indie woman publisher would have to say about innovation and experimentation in the industry?
Arpita Das
As I started having meetings with the fantastic organizing team at the association (yep, all women), I began to realize why. This impression of mine was affirmed even more by how enthusiastically the audience engaged with what I had to say on the day of the conference at the magnificent venue of the State Library of Victoria in Melbourne. What followed was an entire day of exciting panels and conversations. However, it was the penultimate panel which made me realize exactly how special the event was.
The panel featured a conversation between the head of a feisty independent publishing house specializing in memoirs and their Arab-Australian author who had recently written a searing account about her father’s incarceration in his home country.
We listened with rapt attention to a viscerally honest yet gentle exchange about the care needed by authors writing on complex subjects, and how often publishing houses, under pressure because of deadlines and budget expectations, decide not to take this onboard. How they look the other way even though they’re aware that the author might need more time and hand-holding while preparing the manuscript, or reading the proofs, or deciding on the right photo for the cover, or even while finalizing the acknowledgements section.
To be honest, very often, all of the hand-holding and care work with authors falls to the editor handling the project, who then does a bit of a tightrope walk between the line manager and author, managing the former’s sense of authority and the latter’s mental health interests.
Having been a publisher and editor of such “difficult” books myself, I’m more than familiar with this conundrum faced regularly by editors.
‘A Practice of Support Groups’
Listening to the sensitive conversation on stage that day, I found myself wondering what we as publishing managers and houses do for the mental health of our editors who work on these complex manuscripts. In the process of working on such manuscripts, they act as confidantes to authors who may be processing grief or trauma, even as they prepare to send their books out into the world.
“It might be supremely helpful if we as an industry consider incorporating such care work for our editors. The work of hand-holding with care should not, after all, only fall to them.”Arpita Das
At times, we joke among editorial communities that being an editor is akin to being a therapist. In all seriousness though, even for copyeditors who might not be engaging with the authors themselves, but rather the text of the book, the pain of being among the first pair of eyes to look at it, to hold it in solitude, much before readers receive it as a community, can be a hard experience. How do we negotiate the acute discomfort of such an experience, the potentially triggering emotional weight of it, as well as the sense of responsibility that the work goes hand-in-hand with?
I remember feeling this way particularly during the pandemic when we were cut off from others on our teams, and were not going into our offices on a regular basis.
I was, at that time, editing a translation of the biography of a militant leader of the Sri Lankan LTTE [Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam], a woman who after the days of war and the aftermath were over, and before she died of cancer, decided to write an unforgettable account of her part in it, and how pointless the war had turned out to be, particularly for the Tamil women of Sri Lanka. I remember sitting on the veranda, after hours of editing, finding it difficult to breathe. It also taught me how hard it must be for freelance editors, and for editors who now work remotely. Not having that opportunity to go back to work the next day and be able to speak to fellow editors.
Perhaps it’s just a practice of support groups we need to introduce at our offices, moderated by someone experienced in holding discussions about trauma; perhaps it’s about running periodic workshops to teach us exercises that reduce anxiety; or perhaps it just involves talking more about what editing such manuscripts and hand-holding authors through complex writing means for us, how it makes us feel, and not pretend that this issue doesn’t exist.
At the end of the panel discussion last week, I was determined to return to India and organize a session for my team with a therapist friend. I feel it might be supremely helpful if we as an industry consider incorporating such care work for our editors. The work of hand-holding with care should not, after all, only fall to them.
Join us for Arpita Das’ columns to come. More coverage of her work from Publishing Perspectives is here. Arpita Das’ opinions are her own, of course, and not necessarily reflective of those of Publishing Perspectives.