The Economist editor peruses The Clavier …
Years and years back, when I was working in Los Angeles, I knew a certain foreign correspondent for The Economist, John Micklethwait.
We were sort of pals. Knew each other quite well. I intermittently lived with his younger brother William for nearly a decade.
Then, seeing as he was a really hot one, John became The Economist’s editor. Paid, apparently, more than almost any other editor on Fleet Street, barring Dacre on the Mail who’s on about £1.5 Mill.
Seeing as I knew John so well, and seeing as there’s nothing that City High-Fliers like more than reading a spot of romantic fiction, I sent John a copy of The Well-Tempered Clavier. No stone has been left unturned in my quest for reviews.Nothing happened.
And nothing happened. And I waited and I waited, patient as Job.
A week ago, I met Micklethwait Minor.
“My brother said to say that he’d got your book,” said William.
“Excellente! So when’s he running the review?”
“And he told me to tell you that he’s passed your book on to his literary editor -”
“With, I hope, a hearty recommendation to give the thing a five-star review?”
“I don’t think so,” said William. “He didn’t want to get involved. But I’m sure that the literary editor will judge the book on its own merits.”
“Pathetic!” I said. “You mean it’s going straight onto the slush pile along with the 10,000 other books that come over his desk every week. What is wrong with good old-fashioned nepotism?”
“John believes that an editor has to be whiter than white. He wouldn’t even give a review to his own sister-in-law - and she’d actually written a book on business.”
“It’s known, William, as looking after your mates! Honestly! Things have come to a pretty pass if we can’t call in a few favours from the editors we know!”
“Well … he did actually look at the cover, if that’s any help.”
“The cover’s awful though! Apart from Idle Tom the publisher, I’ve yet to meet a single person who likes it!”