An interesting first novel appeared in PW's office this week by an author named Richard A. Clarke. If that name sounds familiar, it is, but from another, less literary context: Clarke was the special adviser to the president on counterterrorism who turned whistleblower on an administration he claimed was asleep at the wheel leading up to 9/11. He then spoke truth to power in his nonfiction book, Against All Enemies, which became a bestseller. Clarke has led many lives—as policy wonk, columnist and witness to the 9/11 commission. One thing he has never been is a novelist.
There was much skepticism in publishing circles, though, when Putnam editor-in-chief Neil Nyren signed up Clarke. However recognizable his name, he was not "a real writer" and certainly not a novelist. Besides, he had "one-off written all over him," as an editor who considered the project told me at the time. Why would Putnam take the chance, especially since Clarke's Enemies publisher, S&S's Free Press—which presumably was feeling warmly toward its newly minted bestselling author—didn't jump on the project?
Perhaps Putnam was so enamored of Clarke's premise—a fictionalized view of the Middle East and terrorism several years hence—that his lack of experience as a novelist was unimportant. Nyren knows his thrillers, after all, having long been the editor of Tom Clancy, among others. And the book, apparently, has real promise: the house has announced a first printing of 350,000, which means that if they're really printing even a third of that, they're pretty optimistic. What's more, our review (check next week's PW) suggests that the thriller works. Which is rare, given that of the government types who have turned their hands to fiction—William Weld and Newt Gingrich, among them—I can count the number who became successful novelists on one finger: Linda Fairstein.
Then again, maybe Putnam's risk wasn't all that great: at least Clarke was already a "brand"—however fleeting and nonfictional—when the deal was made. He was far better known and tried, in fact, than the authors for whom agents now routinely demand that publishers execute second-book options. It's not uncommon, I understand, for some to ask that houses cough up serious cash for second books before the first book has been published, and sometimes, even before delivery. "If the buzz [on the first book] is good," one publisher said, "they want me to commit to the next one—but we don't know yet if the original book will work."
And that, of course, is the point: nobody knows whether a book will work, no matter how many ducks have been carefully placed in a row, until it's out there. It seems only logical—and to everyone's ultimate advantage—to wait for some sign from the marketplace before you plunge back in again.
Whether Richard Clarke has yet another book in him remains to be seen. I did hear he's working on a diet and exercise guide to post-government Beltway life and that his agent thinks he can get him a seven-figure advance now that the buzz on The Scorpion's Gate is so loud.
I'm kidding, of course.
At least I hope I am.
