Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind (8 page)

As legitimate as Mitchell's excuses were, her failure to get the manuscript to New York by the conference posed serious problems for Latham. He was worried not only about the sales staff 's interest in the novel but also because Hugh Eayrs, president of the Macmillan Company of Canada, would be present at the meeting. Macmillan Canada was an independent affiliate that Latham hoped would issue its own edition of Mitchell's book. Although the retail book market in Canada at that time was small, Macmillan New York had a vested interest in having a Canadian edition published. The American company owned stock in the Toronto firm and would benefit financially if the book sold well there. But, more importantly, due to a quirk of international copyright law, having a Canadian edition issued simultaneously with the American one would offer Macmillan automatic copyright protection on Mitchell's book throughout most of Europe and in other parts of the world without the firm having to file for protection in each individual country.

Unfortunately for American authors and publishers in that era, the United States was not a member of the Berne Convention, an international treaty under which Canada, most of Europe, and some South American countries automatically granted each other's citizens copyright protection. This meant that, if Macmillan wanted to protect its publications overseas, it had to register the copyrights country by country. Without such registrations, publishers in Berne nations were free to sell their own editions of Macmillan books without asking permission or paying royalties. The only way around that quagmire was a loophole in the Berne treaty that allowed authors from nonconvention countries to obtain copyright protection in signatory countries by having their books published simultaneously in their home nation and a Berne nation, such as Canada. Macmillan was fortunate to have the Canadian affiliate to facilitate the process, often referred to as “backdoor” Berne coverage.

With the conference looming, time was of the essence for Latham. Assisting him in making the presentation about Mitchell's book would be Alec Blanton, Macmillan's sales manager. In contrast to Latham's old-school demeanor, Blanton was a charismatic businessman full of big ideas.
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The two were a dynamic duo of the New York publishing world, credited with many of Macmillan's successes. As one industry executive put it, between Latham's sense for picking winners and Blanton's skill at selling, there was not a publishing house in the United States to compare with Macmillan.
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Making a successful pitch at a sales conference depends on many variables. If the staff has already read and approved a manuscript, or when the author is well known, it can be a simple process. Presenting a new writer demands more effort, especially in a case like Mitchell's where none of the sales team had yet read the manuscript. Armed with little more than a title, a plot summary, and a few chapters, Latham and Blanton had their work cut out for them. Yet, according to Eayrs, they gave a masterful performance. The two men demonstrated wild enthusiasm for Mitchell, and their excitement spread through the assembled crowd. The Macmillan sales team was thoroughly impressed and convinced that Macmillan had never experienced such a book as
Gone With the Wind
. Everyone in the room sensed that the publisher was on to something special. On the spot, Eayrs requested the right to publish a Canadian edition.
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Evidence of the sales team's approval can be found in Macmillan's decision to order an initial print run of ten thousand copies, a generous number given that a typical book of the era sold only five thousand copies in its lifetime. Blanton's enamored staff also decided to send five hundred autographed copies to major booksellers with hopes of grabbing their attention.
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Equally impressive, Mitchell earned a spot on the inside front cover of Macmillan's preliminary list of upcoming spring releases. A testament to how rushed things were, the book was listed as
Come With the Wind
; a handwritten note on Mitchell's copy assured her the title would be corrected in the final catalog. Inside, the novel was given a full-page description, with a small photograph of the author and this bold declaration: “The stirring drama of the Civil War and Reconstruction is brought vividly to life in this really magnificent novel.” Rhett and the newly christened Scarlett were off to a good start.

The beleaguered team in Atlanta worked through the holidays, most evenings past midnight.
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While Mitchell and Marsh continued revising the narrative and smoothing out the rough edges, the secretaries retyped the corrected pages. The work ground to a halt on Christmas Day, when Stephens Mitchell's father-in-law died of a heart attack at the Mitchell home on Peachtree Street. The author tended to familial responsibilities while trying to keep work moving on the manuscript. Finally, on January 7, 1936, Baugh forwarded three-quarters of the completed pages to Macmillan.
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Upon receiving them, Cole wrote to Atlanta and pushed for an expected arrival date for the rest of the sections.
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In response, Baugh sent another batch of pages on January 16, promising that the rest would follow as soon as possible.
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Two days later, George Brett happened to be in Atlanta on business. Despite
Gone With the Wind
being Macmillan's next big thing, Brett was not carried away quite yet. According to Baugh, when he dropped by the Macmillan office for a brief visit, he did not say a word about Mitchell's book and “acted like he didn't know anything about it at all.”
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He also made no effort to meet Mitchell while in town, for which he later apologized.
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Perhaps he wanted to read the book before passing judgment. However, his trip did lead to what appears to be the first announcement of Mitchell's novel in the press—a plug that probably came from the local Macmillan office. After reporting Brett's thoughts on the current state of publishing, an article in the
Atlanta Journal
noted that his company's spring list “prominently includes
Gone With the Wind
, by Margaret Mitchell (Mrs. John Marsh), of Atlanta, about which the publishers are most enthusiastic.”
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Although Brett had presented a disinterested front, the
Journal
was correct that Macmillan was well pleased with the results of Mitchell's labors. With time getting short, the book's release was pushed back two weeks, to May 5, just to be safe. But otherwise, all systems were go. On January 25, the publisher ran an eight-page ad in
Publishers Weekly
, the leading industry trade journal, announcing its upcoming catalog as Macmillan's “strongest” list in the company's history. Although no one at the firm had yet read the book from start to finish,
Gone With the Wind
was the first title promoted in the notice and one of only three that included a photograph of the author. The ad categorized Mitchell's work among accomplished writers H. G. Wells and Phyllis Bentley. Taken aback when she saw the announcement, Mitchell wrote Cole: “Good God, this book isn't good enough to be there. I know you know your business—but I hope you haven't made an error in judgment because of a kind and loving heart.”
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As of January 28, Macmillan still did not have all the chapters. Cole sent a terse telegram to Atlanta that day demanding to know when Mitchell would be finished. Rhoda Williams, who handed Marsh the telegram, later recalled that he responded with a mixture of fury and exhaustion.
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The manuscript was nowhere near ready. Several sections had not been edited, and many pages needed retyping. However, they had no choice but to send it off. Marsh wired back that the rest of the pages would be mailed the following day. Good, bad, or ugly, the final sections were in the mail on January 29, 1936.
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3
In Cold Type

T
he editorial review of a manuscript can take weeks or even months. In Margaret Mitchell's case, Macmillan did not have time to be so meticulous if it hoped to meet the early May publication date. Lois Cole knew John Marsh had editing experience from his years as a teacher and working for newspapers and trusted he would have caught any significant errors.
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As Mitchell had sent sections of the manuscript to Macmillan over the previous weeks, sales manager Alec Blanton reviewed the copy and decided it was good enough to go directly into production without detailed editing.
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When the final chapters arrived, they were shuttled off to join their compatriots that were already being typeset, a process by which the text was set onto printing plates that would be used to mass produce the book's pages.
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If Marsh had let any major mistakes slip through, Cole trusted they would be caught later during review of the galleys—the draft typeset pages of the book.

Two days after Marsh mailed the final pages of the manuscript, he wrote a lengthy letter to Cole detailing the harrowing experience he and Mitchell had endured over the previous weeks and their utter lack of enthusiasm for the literary life. The opening sentence set the tone for what was to come: “My Dear Lois—I hope my telegram and the g d manuscript have reached you long ere this.”
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He then set forth a detailed list of concerns. First, he wanted to squelch any expectations Macmillan had about his wife publicizing the book's release. Though many aspiring authors dream of becoming famous and embarking on book tours, Mitchell dreaded the idea of public events where she would be expected to charm a crowd with amusing or enlightening anecdotes and then sign books with clever inscriptions. She had always felt sorry for authors put on display like that and wanted none of it. Her contract with Macmillan did not obligate her to take part in publicizing the book, and the Marshes wanted to make sure Macmillan had made no false assumptions about her role in the marketing process. After the “prolonged strain” of the previous weeks, Marsh announced to Cole that Mitchell would not be coming to New York any time soon or, perhaps, ever. If she came at all, it would be on her own terms, not Macmillan's. He explained about her aggravated back and said she hoped to have enough strength to get through reviewing the galleys. Beyond that, Mitchell would need rest.

With that clear, Marsh turned to technical matters such as the wording of the blurb and the numbering of the chapters. Near the end of the letter, he inadvertently dropped a bombshell on Cole by inquiring about the process of copyediting the manuscript. After sending the final chapters to New York, he said, Mitchell had continued to make corrections on a set of carbon copies and had identified several stylistic concerns about chapter formatting and punctuation. Overall, she was embarrassed by the poor condition of the manuscript. Mitchell assumed Macmillan would be responsible for making sure the manuscript was in good order before it went off to the printers but was willing to help if necessary.
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Cole panicked. Had they rushed too quickly into typesetting? If the manuscript was as bad as Marsh said, it would be complicated and expensive to make changes down the line. Though loath to slow things down, Cole contacted Everett Hale in the production department and explained the situation. Recognizing the practicalities of their predicament, she conceded that if there was no time, they would have to trust the printers to catch any major mistakes.
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Hale called in copy editor Susan Prink and asked her to reassess the manuscript in light of Marsh's comments. At a minimum, he wanted her to do what she could about catching errors in punctuation, spelling, continuity, and tone.