Stepping into the book exhibit at the MLA Annual Convention was like walking into a busy shopping center. The buzz of conversation rose to the distant rafters of the convention hall, in which dozens of book-laden booths crowded together alongside a presentation space, tables for sitting and chatting, and a small coffee and concession stand keeping the whole operation caffeinated.
Scattered amongst the university presses were commercial giants like Palgrave Macmillan and spunky, independent publishers like punctum books. The selection ranged from critical anthologies and classroom texts to scholarly monographs and edited volumes, with several tables even boasting titles in poetry and fiction—and all of them perused with great interest by a steady stream of conferencegoers. The echoing hall bustled with academics browsing for books, greeting old friends, anxiously inquiring after their book projects, and casually pitching ideas to publishers. As I dodged tweed blazers and loaded tote bags, I couldn’t help but think that for an industry supposedly plagued by simultaneous crises in academia, publishing, and even reading itself, scholarly publishing seemed to be doing just fine.
A few days earlier, I had arrived at the biggest conference in my field with a mission beyond the research, writing, and teaching that were my bread and butter as a PhD student. Instead, I braved Toronto in January with an additional objective: to learn about academic publishing as an industry and a possible career path. Under the auspices of WashU’s Office of Public Scholarship (where I work as an editorial assistant for the Object Lessons book series) I was to informally interview representatives from a variety of publishers about their work and do some promotion for new Object Lessons titles like Eileen G’Sell’s new book Lipstick. I met with seven presses during and shortly after the conference, including Bloomsbury (which publishes Object Lessons), Duke University Press, University of Minnesota Press, UNC Press, Broadview Press, University of Toronto Press, and Columbia University Press. My interviewees’ career trajectories were diverse: some had always planned to go into publishing, others first pursued more traditional academic careers. Their experience in publishing ranged from a few years to a few decades, and their presses varied in size, location, and specialties. Yet despite these differences, many of their responses echoed one another, and I’d like to share some of the insights I drew from our varied conversations.
First, concerns about a crisis in academic publishing are not entirely unfounded. Recent years have brought new and old challenges to the industry. For one, my interviewees unanimously warned me that academic publishing salaries are far from glamorous. University presses are lucky to break even, and even commercial presses often rely on trade publishing for most of their profits, with academic branches offering modest revenue at best. Lately, budgets have tightened still further, thanks not only to funding constraints at universities and libraries but also to changes in the way knowledge circulates. Institutional subscriptions are becoming more common (think libraries buying access to whole databases and series instead of purchasing individual titles) and open scholarship platforms make progressively more research accessible for free.
While these changes are not universally negative—certainly increased accessibility is a step in the right direction—the landscape of knowledge circulation is undoubtedly shifting, and academic publishers are grappling with what this means for their futures. And although these shifts don’t necessarily spell catastrophe, their effects were tangible at the conference: despite my perception of the book exhibit’s popularity, several interviewees noted that both vendor and consumer presence was lower than in recent years.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised by how many presses remained steadfast before the challenges academia currently faces. Despite the ubiquity of generative AI, for example, publishers did not feel overly threatened by its incursion into the academic sphere. Although responses were mixed, most did not perceive an increase in AI use in author submissions, nor did they believe that AI was undermining the quality of their publications. Their greatest concerns were around issues of plagiarism and intellectual property. Several presses reported discovering that their books had been used to train large language models, and while this is undoubtedly worrying, there’s also been pushback against copyright infringement—for example, as one interviewee mentioned, a major lawsuit against Anthropic AI led to a $1.5 billion settlement with authors last year.
Attitudes were similar regarding recent attacks on intellectual freedom. Although the people I spoke with were highly aware of how these attacks affected their authors, they were unwavering in their commitment to stand by faculty and the topics they choose to write about. Likewise, although presses inevitably feel the effects of funding cuts at the universities they rely on, the publishers I spoke to rarely reported feeling directly threatened by these cuts, nor pressured to limit or censor their content as a condition of funding. And although reading habits are changing, everyone I spoke to confirmed that consumers are definitely still purchasing books (even physical books, although the proportion of ebook sales continues rising). For now, the death of the book seems unlikely—or at least, it belongs to a distant, dystopian future.
I left the book exhibit with my suitcase several pounds heavier and my heart a little bit lighter. Of course, the challenges facing presses and authors are serious. They have real, material consequences. But at the same time, a sense of cautious optimism suffused these conversations, as well as a willingness to adapt and to embrace new approaches to publishing. Notably, several people emphasized the importance of public-facing writing, signaling a trend towards more broadly accessible and digestible forms of scholarship. Maybe series like Object Lessons represent a fruitful new direction for academic presses hoping to get rigorous, well-researched texts to broader audiences. Maybe, just maybe, some of these changes are moving us towards a future where knowledge is more accessible (and readable!) for everyone.
