Anna Baddeley in The Spectator
Monday, 23rd May 2011
The only time in the last decade I’ve bought something other than wrapping paper from Waterstone’s was when last winter’s snow prevented my Amazon order showing up in time for Christmas. Two hardbacks cost me a whopping £22 more than I had paid online. Short of forking out £50,000 for a super-injunction I can’t imagine a less satisfying transaction.
Last Friday’s news that the chain has been bought by one of Russia’s poorer oligarchs was greeted rapturously by the book industry; its new managing director James Daunt (founder of the upmarket book chain) hailed as a messiah with excellent taste in bookshelves. But the notion that this takeover is going to provide any more than temporary relief from Waterstone’s problems is wishful thinking in the extreme.
The hope is that Mamut’s milions and Daunt’s expertise can revitalise a business that has suffered from ineffectual management and lack of vision. Over the years, Waterstone’s massive losses have been variously blamed on:
1) The ineptitude of its booksellers
2) The incompetence of its supply system
3) Its embarrassing rebranding
4) Failing to engage with local communities
5) Promoting celebrity memoirs over more literary fare
6) Its three for two offers starting a trend for discounting
2) The incompetence of its supply system
3) Its embarrassing rebranding
4) Failing to engage with local communities
5) Promoting celebrity memoirs over more literary fare
6) Its three for two offers starting a trend for discounting
Some of these accusations (the disaster of the Hub, for instance) are legitimate; others (the intelligence of its staff) are a tad unfair.
But all pale into insignificance beside the real – the only – issue at stake: price. People are no longer prepared to pay recommended retail price for books, and unless Amazon goes bust, not even the Daunt-Mamut dream-team can save Waterstone’s.
Thanks to Queen of Shops, Mary Portas we know that if you can’t compete on price, you have to compete on something else: knowledgeable staff, swanky interiors, and strong links with the local community.
Bookshops, however, are not the same as organic greengrocers. At least if you go to Whole Foods for your tinned tomatoes instead of Tesco’s you can kid yourself that the extra two pounds you’re paying is for their richer, pesticide-free flavour. A book, however, is the same wherever you buy it.
Daunt’s shops may be gorgeous, their range superb, their staff friendly and erudite, their events delightful, their tote bags chic. But once it is on your shelf, there is nothing to distinguish a Daunt-bought copy of The Finkler Question from one bought on Amazon or “Bookseller of the Year”, Sainsbury’s. It doesn’t come with a calf-skin dust-jacket, or a scratch-and-sniff facility, or a fold-out Stephen Fry to read it to you when your eyes get tired.
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