WORDS TOM ROSEINGRAVE
The most startling revelation of Morrissey’s Autobiography appears on the front cover. It is the white band that bears the inscription “Penguin Classics,” the quasi-sacred imprint that has published only the greatest literary texts since its inception in 1946. With the publication of Autobiography, Penguin has offered Morrissey an unlikely invitation to dine at literature’s top table, alongside such luminaries as Homer, Virgil and Aristotle. Steven Patrick Morrissey may well be the co-founder of The Smiths, a respected solo artist, lyricist par excellence and, according to popular consensus, a British national treasure; but a giant of literature he is not. By issuing Autobiography as a Classic, Penguin have delivered an impossibility: an instant classic — and the publishing industry, for the most part, have reacted with hostility. For some, Penguin have pandered to the ridiculous demands of an egotistical celebrity. For others, the publication of Autobiography as a Classic amounts to little more than a crude and cynical marketing ploy. One thing is for sure: the reputation of the revered Penguin Classics brand hangs in the balance. Morrissey’s much-anticipated memoir is a Classic, but only according to Penguin.
The publishing saga began as far back as 2011, when Morrissey made the admission on Radio 4’s Front Row programme that “I’d like to go to Penguin… but only if they published it [Autobiography] as a Classic.” This set in motion a sequence of events that ended with the publication of the Autobiography on October 17 of this year. The negotiations were kept secret; in January 2013, Rosie Glaisher of Penguin UK stated that “Nothing [is] on the schedule at this time.” The air of mystique surrounding the publication only served to heighten the anticipation of the book’s release. No copies of the book were sent to reviewers prior to its publication, nor did the author himself engage in its promotion. Penguin refused to comment on the book and continue to remain silent despite the controversy. Autobiography had been turned into the “literary event” that its author had so desired. Fintan O’Toole, chief literary critic at The Irish Times, believes that Penguin can only blame themselves for the furore: “Really good publishers don’t pander to the author.” For O’Toole, Penguin was a willing participant in Morrissey’s “ironic” in-joke, undertaken for the amusement of the man himself and his fans. Yet O’Toole forgets that Penguin saw this “pandering” as mutually beneficial; Penguin Classics have had their marketing position challenged by Wordsworth Classics, a company that essentially supplies the same product as Penguin Classics but often at a reduced price. Penguin struck the deal with Moz in an effort to boost sales. Granted, an autobiography by someone of Morrissey’s magnitude was always going to sell well, but it surely surpassed Penguin’s expectations, selling thirty five thousand copies in Britain in its first week. It seems that Morrissey’s “literary event” amounted to no more than a rather clever PR stunt. Though Waterstones’s PR Manager, Jon Howells, called on publishers to celebrate Penguin’s “playful arrogance”, Anthony Farrell of Dublin’s Lilliput Press labelled the affair a “cynical marketing ploy”. Roger Taholm of the industry website publishingperspectives.com added his voice to the growing band of critics, chastising Penguin for selling “its most cherished brand down the river”.
The question remains however: Are we really to believe those who consider Penguin Classics to be the “gatekeeper of human knowledge”, as Brendan O’Neil of The Telegraph puts it? Is Penguin Classics anything more than a brand? Well, yes, quite frankly. The imprint has become an important factor in the making of a Western canon, and however elitist this may be, it exercises considerable power. The political implications of the publication of Morrissey’s Autobiography cannot be underestimated. By setting Morrissey alongside Homer, Penguin have surrendered to a cultural relativism that eschews judgement in favour of a skewed conception of equality. As Fintan O’Toole stated bluntly: “Some stuff is better than other stuff. Homer is more important than Morrissey.” Penguin have deprived the public the chance to decide whether the book deserves to be considered a classic, and its meek explanation that “it [Autobiography] is a classic in the making” is anything but egalitarian. Penguin have adopted the same misguided sentiment that saw Bob Dylan included in the Oxford Companion to Modern Poetry in English many years ago. This year’s edition of the same anthology has removed Bob Dylan without a trace.
Penguin brashly reminds us in the book’s blurb that this is the autobiography of the “second-greatest living British icon”, and the “greatest northern male, of past or present,” as voted by the public. A national treasure Morrissey may well be, but it is his book that is under scrutiny here; and unfortunately, reviews of Autobiography have been tepid. For The Independent, Morrissey’s narrative begins brightly but descends into “droning narcissism”, while The Guardian review declares that although Autobiography “comes close to being a triumph”, it focuses unduly on Morrissey’s legal battles with ex-Smiths drummer Mike Joyce. Morrissey, it seems, won’t be jostling for a place in the pantheon of great writers any time soon. Penguin’s low attempt at a “literary event”, meanwhile, has attracted the scorn of its fellow publishers. For the publishing industry, that joke isn’t funny any more.
