Several years ago to the day, my favorite travel companion and I celebrated his birthday in the beautiful hills of Switzerland. To observe the big day, we splurged on a rental convertible and spent the afternoon driving through the Alps.
The country is so small, we were able to drive all the way from the top, starting in Zurich, down to the bottom at the Italian border. At one point we crossed through a tunnel so long it took half an hour to drive through at top speed. We entered on the German-speaking side and came out so far south the signposts had changed to Italian.
On the way home, we wanted a route with a bit more scenery, so we selected a road on the map which looked like a series of squiggles. What we didn't appreciate was that the squiggles stood for a set of switchbacks -- and they were steep!
As small as Switzerland was, we were able to detour into one country which was even smaller:
This just about the entire country, right here.
After all of that driving, we were pretty tired of being behind the wheel. The next day, we set off for Interlaken, Switzerland, but this time, we took the train to enjoy the view.
Granted, I completely understand the delicate balancing act between making books both profitable and affordable. Books may pay my rent, but I am just as guilty as anybody of finding ways to get books as cheaply as possible. (Thanks, Boston Public Library!) When my publisher in India explained to me that many of their colleges have a set of textbooks freely available for student use throughout the semester, I remember being very surprised. At the time, I had heard very little about American universities doing the same.
With the new laws from these past few years, though, I think we're starting to see a huge shift towards providing more low-cost options. We've probably hit the breaking point on how much we can feasibly charge for a book. In the past, I've been told that it's possible to reduce the cost of a brand-new textbook to the cost of the same used textbook, just by following smarter business models like custom publishing or electronic publishing. But is it true? And what if bookstores like BU's start to take matters into their own hands? What's an editor to do?
An honest question for my Indian readers: Is there an unwritten rule that every Bollywood movie has to contain at least one dance sequence between the two young lovers against the backdrop of an unspecified mountain range?
Or is that only every single Bollywood movie I've seen?
I guess it's about time to share the news: your correspondent is once again into the wild, blue yonder.
This time, the locale is sunny, exotic . . . England.
I've been accepted into the Brookes Oxford University Masters in International Publishing program, which means that in two months I will be waving goodbye to Boston and boarding a plane to the United Kingdom. It promises to be a wild ride: with a sister in Morocco (just a RyanAir flight away), Wales to my direct left, and the Continent just beyond the English Channel, I am sure to find plenty to keep me occupied between semesters.
Most importantly, though, I'm excited for the chance to tease out these difficult publishing questions I've been faced with since beginning this blog. Looking back on these past few months, I think you'll agree that pursuing a further course of study on the industry is exactly the right move. This is publishing's most dynamic hour since Gutenberg. I'm looking forward to taking a look from 30,000 ft, and hearing what some of the most brilliant minds studying the industry have to say.
I hope you'll keep reading through my next round of adventures--I, for one, am certainly looking forward to them. Who knows what's in store for this international woman of myster-- errrr, publishing?
Because of our affiliation with several large imprints, my company has an entire division specifically for what we call the "rebind". In a rebind, you're taking something that's already been published and printed, cutting off the spine, taking out just the pages you want, and putting it all back together as a brand-new book. It's a cost-effective way to manage excess inventory and customize a book in full color when a print run is too small and too expensive. It requires a whole new way of looking at a book, and the instructions an editor has to give reflect that. A loose* version would look like this:
Remove covers and spine. Discard.
Keep front endpaper “A Brief Guide to Getting the Most from This Book”.
Keep pp. iii – P-10 ( Table of Contents – Chapter Text Prep Video)
Keep windowsleeve containing CD-ROM ISBN 012342536X (2 discs).
Keep rear endpaper “Definitions, Rules, and Formulas”.
End of rebind.
*modified to take out all of the super technical stuff, which you don't want to read and I don't want to share. :)
All of the work is purely physical, and will be repeated hundreds of times by the same bindery worker. Because, yes, rebinds are all done by hand.
The problem is, in our busy season, the books pile up and the same binderies have to produce thousands and thousands of handmade rebind books in the course of just a few weeks. It makes you wish you could be a little bit more specific with your instructions:
For the similarly nerd-inclined, The Economist is running a brand new language blog. I've quickly fallen in love, not the least because of little vignettes like this:
Spanish has five common ways to say that a future event might happen, and I assumed that as in English, each expressed a vague but nonetheless distinct level of probability. [. . .] But in Mexico people seemed to use all five expressions interchangeably. [. . .] If I asked an assistant whether Mr Rodríguez would be back in his office later on, I quickly understood that the the answer "Probablemente sí, señor" could mean anything from "Yes, if he has nothing else to do" to "I have no idea" to "Don't count on it" to "He's in now, but we're not telling you." A request to have Mr Rodríguez call me back would usually elicit a "Cómo no", ie, "How could I not"—a delightful combination of sincerity with lack of commitment.
After reading that section, my mind immediately went to the Indian head-wobble. Even after returning to America, I kept right on wobbling -- mostly as a great way to communicate complete, absolute noncommitance to any answer. The right wobble looks like both a 'yes' and a 'no' to an American, which sometimes it actually is.
Meanwhile, this article ("When Normally Doesn't Mean Normally") reminds me of a game of Balderdash played with my co-climbers in the Nepal region. We teamed a bunch of Brits, Aussies, Canadians, Kiwis, and this sole Yankee against each other to "define" various culture-specific words. Expressions like "mind the gap" and "barbie" (for barbeque) were given, and we'd have to try and come up with the "best" definition for each. (It didn't take long for the game to turn terribly obscene, but that's another story.) Afterwards, I was surprised at how often we'd find some of us honestly wouldn't know the meaning of certain words, though we all shared a language. I still, for instance, don't know exactly what an "iced vovo" could be, except that it's edible and involves Grandma. The definition we decided on probably doesn't belong in the dictionary--no matter what country you're from.
There's no shortage of good stories you get when you travel abroad. I realized today that, although I mentioned before how I went to my company's National Sales Meeting in Pattaya, Thailand, I didn't elaborate much beyond that.
So picture this: I'm sitting on a bus full of my Indian coworkers, driving to Pattaya in the custody of a Thai tour group. We had just taken the "overnight" flight between Delhi and Bangkok, which was only four hours long and which definitely did not constitute an entire night's sleep. We were hot, exhausted, underfed, and ready to relax in our hotel before heading into three days of meetings.
As we're nearing our resort, the tour guide comes on the microphone to give us a briefing. "Tonight," she says, "We are going to take you to the world-famous ... Alcazar ... transvestite show!"
Before I had time to react, she adds, "And by the way, it is very important you listen to me, because I won't get a chance to tell you later: When you are out on Walking Street at night, and you are out walking, and you see a beautiful girl, be careful! She may not be a girl, she may be a man."
She then cheerfully turned off the microphone and we carried on to the hotel.
Now, I had no idea what to do. I had never heard of Thai lady-boys, and I had no idea transvestite shows were a common, accepted tourist attraction in Thailand (and not at all tasteless or obscene). My first instinct was to laugh at the sheer randomness of our chosen entertainment, but I quickly stopped myself.
No one else was laughing.
I looked around me. No one else was laughing? Was this for real? Was I really going to calmly sit through a transvestite show next to . . . my boss? My marketing team? Where was I?
Later, some Indian editors and I finally were able to giggle about it in the privacy of our hotel rooms. "I had to put my hand over my mouth!" someone said. "I thought they were joking!" said another. I knew I hadn't been the only one on that bus feeling a little confused.
Then, at the show itself, at one point the dancers performed a Bollywood number. I got it on video, and you can hear two full rows of Indian editors in the background just erupting into applause. The poor dancers onstage probably had no idea why we were all so excited.
The next number, as any Yankee could have seen coming, was Lady Gaga. I immediately gave a big cheer. The same two rows of people turned their heads to wonder, ". . . What's gotten into her?"
It's just one of those things I wouldn't have believed if it hadn't happened to me. There's nothing in the world quite like getting culture-shocked right by the side of people who are still culture-shocking you!
Math textbooks these days make heavy use of what they call "real-life applications" to keep students interested in the subject. Today, I came across one "real-life application" called (in bold type): Punkin Chunkin. Which means, I guess, tossing pumpkins.
My favorite travel companion and I play this game whenever we go anywhere. He's a University of Florida grad and I'm a University of Notre Dame grad, so we compete to see who can spot the most people wearing their alma mater's gear. So far, he's been in the lead with UF hats spotted in the airport in Iceland, on our way both to and from Europe. When I left for Asia, it was with a sinking dread that, once again, "Gators" would dominate the landscape with only the occasional "Irish" to console me.
Nothing even remotely like that happened. I saw none of either. After being in the continent for four months, I hadn't seen so much as a t-shirt. (There was once an Ohio State University 2006 National Champions shirt, but I didn't want to tell the wearer that tOSU had lost horribly in the title game that year.)
It wasn't until I was on my way downhill from Everest Base Camp, at an elevation of 4100 meters, that someone walking up the hill finally greeted my Notre Dame visor with, "Go Irish!"
None of the Aussies, Brits, or Sherpas in my immediate vicinity had any idea why I suddenly turned, high-fived the man, and cheered for the next twenty minutes of descent. One of the Aussies kept asking if the man had been in my sorority. There was something totally lost in translation. But for someone who has as many fond memories of Notre Dame as I do, and who knows how much of a tight-knit community exists between its grads past and present, meeting another Notre Dame grad all the way up here was a very special thing.
Besides, doesn't one "Go Irish" at 4100 meters trump two Florida hats in Reykjavik? We'll call it a tie.
Look closely and you'll see I'm even wearing my Notre Dame backpack
Imagine my surprise, then, when this month's Notre Dame Magazine arrived at my door. On the cover was a picture of a very familiar mountain, and the headline: "Destination Everest".
I stared at the author's picture for a good five minutes. Could it be he looked a little . . . familiar? Could it have been . . . ? And the tour group he was with, weren't his companions wearing that logo . . . ?
There is no better way to cure a little too much Saturday night than with a muffin, a coffee, and the Tour de France. Every July, ad space quickly saturates with Lance Armstrong endorsements, outdoor magazines carry the requisite Lance Armstrong biopics, and even casual cyclists feel the inspiration to dust off their wheels and go for a spin. What is not always appreciated is the gorgeous scenery of France throughout the television broadcast, the aerial views of French farms decorated with "Vive le Tour" or cows painted with the maillot jaune, and fans like le Tourtoufel, who dresses up like the devil and every year chases the cyclists up the most treacherous climbs.
A few years ago, I had the opportunity to see the final stage of the Tour de France in person, as the cyclists made their annual entrance into Paris up and down the Champs Elysees. We found ourselves wedged next to a crowd of Spaniards, whose Carlos Sastre had already ensure himself a victory.
Of course, to get any sort of view we were standing in the sun for a solid six hours. Thank god for crepe stands, and for the delightful (and very French) pre-race parade.
Nothing excites a crowd of cycling fans like a man dressed like a dancing beer.
Once the cyclists arrived, of course, I was amazed at the speed, and the noise. They passed us a total of twelve times, up and down the Champs Elysees, but they passed by so quickly in a flash of brightly-colored jerseys, it was hard to even get a photo.
I did, however, manage to take the following video. Seeing the motorcycles and cars careen into view, then seeing the cyclists flying by at the same high speeds, really highlighted how fast and tactical the sport of cycling can be.
Afterwards, we staggered off for our mandatory (delicious) French meal, but not before watching George Hincapie (who, with Lance still in retirement, was the top American that year) and the winner of the polka-dotted King of the Mountains jersey wave to the fans on their team victory lap.
It's a very European sport in a lot of ways, but my Indian readers will be happy to know, they have a lot more in common with these cyclists than they might think. For instance? It's very important to avoid cows on the road. That's something we can all agree on.
This is the time of year when we switch from feverishly editing hundreds of books per day to anxiously waiting by our pub schedules, hoping the books will have time to be printed before the start of classes. This year, thanks to the insane number of custom textbooks we sold, we're literally having trouble finding space on the press to make all of our books.
Of course, our professors know this, so their strategy is to push to get every book just a little . . . bit . . . sooner.
Whenever I get frustrated, I remind myself that every conversation is almost straight out of an Indian bazaar:
Me: "Class date is August 23."
Prof: "August 23 is too late! We must have the books by July 15."
Me: "July 15? We can't do July 15! That is impossible. Tell you what, you are a good customer. We will do August 19."
Prof: "Then we will not buy any books."
Me: "Oh, but you must buy books! You are first at the printing press. If you don't buy books, it will be very bad luck."
Prof: "Would you do August 1?"
Me: "A week early. August 16."
Prof: "Would you do August 13, and send me an ebook?"
Me: "August 16 is very good class date."
Prof: "August 13, and ebook."
Me: "*Sigh* Tikka-- um, I mean... OK."
I was struck by a thought as I was watching this year's Boston Pops fireworks display from the banks of the Charles. After spending so much time overseas, I feel a whole new appreciation for my home country. Despite meeting people from all over the world and immersing myself in fantastic, wild new cultures, I am deep down proud to be an American. We take many freedoms for granted that others are still giving their lives to taste for the first time. We can say what we want, go where we want, and when we come home fall right back into step with the rest of the great, whirring machine. We can follow our ambition. We love a frontier. It's the American way.
My neighbor, meanwhile, was struck by something else while watching the fireworks: a piece of burnt firework. Her first reaction was to clutch her bruised head and threaten lawsuits left, right, and center. I guess, that's another American way.
Happy Independence Day!
Sunset from my vantage point of the Boston fireworks. View is of Cambridge/MIT across from the Boston esplanade.
If only I could receive timely assistance during all crucial decisions by a dancing Shah Rukh Khan in a pink suit singing "Where Are You Going?" in Hindi.
The only reason I know what he's saying is because my DVD version has subtitles.
I couldn't find a version with the corresponding English, but trust me: he's giving excellent advice. Especially around the 4:10 mark.
