I Actually Read Woody Allen’s Memoir
Woody Allen’s memoir, Apropos of Nothing, is three things: a lively and deeply interesting account of his development as an artist; a lengthy, lurid, and vengeful denial of the child-abuse charges brought against him 30 years ago; and a worthwhile overview of his artistic output since then. It’s an intensely involving book. And one that we almost didn’t get to read.
The publishing conglomerate Hachette acquired it for its Grand Central imprint, but the announcement of this fact—including that actual publication was imminent—was met with outrage. Ronan Farrow, Allen’s estranged son, is also published by a Hachette imprint, Little, Brown. Farrow’s best-selling book, Catch and Kill, includes a lengthy and scathing account of the allegations against his father, who was accused of molesting Ronan’s sister Dylan in 1992, when she was 7. A journalist and an activist, Farrow averred that “as the publisher of Catch and Kill,” Hachette had incurred an “obligation” not to participate in the “whitewashing” of sex crimes committed by powerful men. Hachette employees walked away from their desks in solidarity with Ronan, Dylan, and “all survivors of sexual assault.”
[Read: The ongoing horror of #MeToo]
Books are dangerous things, always have been. But so, too, is publishing. It requires courage and an unsparing dedication to freedom of expression, even when a particular title unsettles and disturbs, even when it puts a publisher on terrible footing with her or his employees. And it was because of this sacred trust that Hachette told its employees they could stay or go, but the book would be published.
Of course it didn’t! This is America! Hachette pulped the books and sniveled back to work. It was the pulping of the books that really bothered me. No book burning, with all the trimmings? We know the publishing industry is in financial trouble, but what kind of hellish austerity measure is this? Banned books deserve the works: bonfire, weenies, the whole bit. You want to make a day of it—get the kids to come out.
There was a time in living memory when editors and publishers were courageous men and women, willing to challenge, unsettle, and confront norms, and take whatever flak came their way. Richard Seaver was one such editor. He and the Grove Press publisher Barney Rosset acquired Alex Haley’s when Doubleday cravenly canceled it
