Paper Empires: A History of the Book in Australia 1946-2005

A dicey methodology mars the third and final volume of what could have been a landmark history, writes Peter Ryan

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Paper Empires: A History of the Book in Australia 1946-2005
Edited by Craig Munro and Robyn Sheahan-Bright
University of Queensland Press, 433pp, $45

THIS is the third and final volume of a noble enterprise begun years ago: to recount the story of books in Australia from the First Fleet to the present day. Volume one told the then slender but fascinating tale up to 1890; volume two carried it forward to 1946 and the end of World War II; now volume three takes us inside the infinitely more complex book world of the day before yesterday.

No country, from its foundation, has depended on books more than Australia; without them, a small population at the far end of the world would have been excluded from Western literature, science, philosophy and ideas in general. Books, whether read by some scholarly exile in Sydney or by some shepherd ruining his eyesight by slush-lamp in a hut, have powerfully helped to make Australia what it is: much better for them than it would have been without.

So we are indebted to University of Queensland Press for its original vision and for its stamina. Yet, as poet Robert Browning put it, "a man's reach should exceed his grasp". Which means that if we applaud the reach of Paper Empires, we must also acknowledge some significant shortcomings of its grasp.

The editors offer us not so much a book as a compilation. They have stitched tenuously together the contributions of 66 disparates who have inhabited (or infested) academe, publishing, bookselling, editing, journals, libraries and the printing trade at various times during the past 60 years. Paper Empires proceeds largely by way of case studies and the overall voice of the volume has the coherence of the playground after school has been let out.

This certainly allows refreshing freedom for the expression of personal opinions: under "Feminist Publishing", page 263 tells us that "the most important poetry publishing event of the 1970s (was)  Mother I'm Rooted"; page 312 carries the reassurance that in 2003 there were in print 240,000 copies of The Day My Bum Went Psycho.

Some histories of particular firms are heavy with overdetailed accounts of, say, how the well-known Melinda Minicare succeeded the famous Freddie Fastfeet "in charge of the trade list". These passages have the allure of Bible chapters where Zebad begat Ephlal and Ephlal begat ...

The editors perhaps did not intend Paper Empires to have a light touch but one nevertheless has crept on to page 92. There, Penguin veteran Bob Sessions tells us of Lloyd O'Neil of Lansdowne Press. Setting out to impress London publishers, O'Neil photographed five of his Melbourne mates, all dressed in suits and wearing hats, standing beside five identical (borrowed) black cars. The caption: "Our experienced sales force, ready to set out on their monthly sales visits."

The very title of Frank Thompson's chapter, "Sixties Larrikins", hints at high jinks. He would know! And I can recall the merriment (as well as the hard, often improvisational labour) of Australian publishing in the '60s. Little of it escapes here, although pioneering giant Brian Clouston is credited with the sardonic realism of his reply to the question of how one could produce successful textbooks: "You ask around until you find out who are the 'gun teachers' and you approach them to write the textbook. It helps if they are on the syllabus committee."

The Australian publishing scene since 1946 would have gladdened the heart of Leon Trotsky: "permanent revolution" describes it perfectly. The market has grown from miniature to something approaching mass dimensions; the global grip of multinationals has tightened, even as they sponsor many authentically Australian books through their local companies; book printing has moved (alas) from metal and letterpress to offset; paperbacks and case-bound books have almost swapped places in the bookshops; copyright law has been amended. Will printed books be superseded by electronic means of reading? What has been the effect of the GST?

How do government grants bear on decisions to publish (or not publish)? Are the ubiquitous writers centres and endless writers festivals, fairs, weeks, conventions, readings, prizes and booze-ups a good thing? (At the pioneering Adelaide Festival of 1964, noted author Alan Moorehead advised them not to do it: a writer's work was serious and solitary.

Today, says Robert Dessaix, a successful author must be able not only to write but be a performing figure-skater as well.)

Paper Empires touches helpfully on all the above matters and more, and to a few subjects devotes deeper consideration. But the bitty case histories make the book resemble Dr Johnson's description of a city under siege: "Every man gets a little, but no man gets enough."

The book's general authority is weakened by a long list of inexplicable omissions. I will mention only three.

In 1966, a partnership between the Australian National University and Melbourne University Press led to volume one of the Australian Dictionary of Biography: 17 stout volumes later, the ADB continues steadily to publish fresh instalments of this unparalleled distillation of Australian life and experience.

In 1996, general editor Tony Macdougall brought to triumphant fulfilment the sixth edition of The Australian Encyclopaedia: four million authoritative words in eight splendidly bound volumes.

In the years since World War II, the Australian War Memorial, under general editor Gavin Long, published 22 large and impeccable volumes of the nation's history in the war of 1939-45.

These three accomplishments have won international acclaim for Australia's world of books; Paper Empires does not mention them.

• Peter Ryan was director of Melbourne University Press for 26 years; he is the author of four books.