Pub Talk is an interview series where we chat to some of Australia’s most experienced and influential publishers, editors and agents about the industry and the many pathways to publication for new writers.
Louise Adler is the director of Adelaide Writers’ Week. Her illustrious career as an editor, publisher and leader in the arts spans more than three decades, and notably includes her time as CEO and publisher at Melbourne University Press from 2008–2019.
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What a great line-up for Adelaide Writers’ Week! There’s such an interesting mix of writers. What excites you about the festival in your second year as director?
As it did in my first year, it’s the privilege of being able to range across the whole world of publishing to bring the best Australian writers together with the best of the international writers.
We ask people to travel a long way—and some authors are reluctant to do that. Now that we have all become accustomed to online events we have the opportunity for writers to join us both in person and virtually which allows us to curate an even richer program.
Of course, there are limits. We only have six days in total, and a devoted audience that sits in the gardens from 9am to 6pm, eager to listen to the civil conversations that take place. It’s quite amazing. But I think we’re at the limit. 190 writers will appear in over 130 sessions this year.
This year’s theme is ‘The Past is Not Another Country’. Could you tell us about what this means to you?
I don’t know whether you know the novel by LP Hartley called The Go-Between. The theme of this beautifully written and morally complex novel is that ‘the past is a foreign country’. But I actually don’t think that the past is another country. The past informs and influences all that we are today and how we think about the future.
When you were publisher at Melbourne University Press, one of your goals was to ‘bring the academy into the public sphere, and the public sphere into the academy’. This seems to have continued into your role as festival director, and we see prominent historians featured in the program. Why has this been important to you?
Not all academics are intellectuals and not all intellectuals are academics. But I think the best academics are intellectuals who want to engage with a broader audience. As a publisher, I thought it was our task to assist in bringing the best research and scholarship into the public sphere.
The past informs, infects and influences all that we are today and how we think about the future.
At Writers’ Week, I am delighted to continue that work. So the eminent historian Julian Jackson will be joining us. His most recent book is about the trial of Pétain who led the collaborationist Vichy government during the Second World War. Tragically, 75 years on, and complicity in war crimes is yet again an issue. So the discussions with Julian Jackson will focus on the context for those who resist, those who are bystanders and those who are collaborators.
Image: Adelaide Writers‘ Week (supplied).
You said last year that you are interested in creating ‘brave spaces, not safe ones’. Why do you think we could use a bit more bravery?
I admire Alastair Campbell and Rory Stewart’s aspiration to ‘disagree agreeably’. Obviously, public conversations should not be rude or hurtful to those who don’t share our views; it is just common decency to be respectful and courteous to those with whom we are in dialogue.
But that doesn’t mean we need to refrain from arguing our positions with passion. Feelings are important, but I think they are a matter for individuals to manage. I would hope that even if we are upset or disturbed we don’t lose the capacity to listen to each other. Provocateurs might propose ideas that are confronting, but in terms of conversations in the public square, I think resilience is a worthy aspiration. That said, the joy of Writers’ Week is that we have three stages and if you don’t like what’s on the east stage, you can go to the west stage, and if you don’t like what’s on the west stage you can go to the north stage and if none of those conversations appeal, the cafe offers good coffee!
Palestine was spotlighted in the festival last year. This theme continues this year, with appearances by Ilan Pappé, Tareq Baconi, Sara M Saleh and more. Why do you think Palestine is important to be discussed in a local setting?
The Israel–Palestine war is the international crisis of our times. We would be remiss to ignore that moment. But to be clear, our curatorial decisions are determined by the books that are being written. That’s the overarching criteria for us. As it happens, there are important historians, political scientists and commentators writing books about what’s going on in that part of the world. If a war broke out in Wagga Wagga, and there were credible writers writing about that crisis in Wagga Wagga, we would program accordingly.
I would hope that even if we are upset or disturbed we don’t lose the capacity to listen to each other.
We have witnessed the ‘history wars’ in Australia, those arguments about the history and impact of colonisation have also dominated discussion in the Middle East. This year, we have gathered together some of the most influential writers working in this area, and—to return to our festival theme—the present conflict is incontrovertibly linked to the past. So it is an opportunity to explore competing narratives about the past and speculate about the future.
Israel–Palestine has marked your life and career in some ways. You studied in Israel in your late teens and then worked as Edward Said’s teaching assistant for three years at Columbia University. How did these formative experiences shape your worldview?
You’ve done your research! Well, my mother and her parents fled Germany in 1939 from Berlin. My father was in the Jewish section of the French Resistance in the Second World War in Paris and came to Australia in 1948. I was brought up in the shadow of the Holocaust. I grew up in a household that was conscious of that history and discussed it. So it’s not by chance that the Israel–Palestine is an issue that is close to my heart.
But it’s not because I’m Jewish that I think this current crisis in Israel and Palestine is important. It’s important to me because I’m a human being. I always want to make that clear. It’s not enough to say, you’re Jewish, so that’s why you care. No, we should all care.
You’ve taken on so many different roles in your career. Has this been by chance or disposition?
I don’t know! (Laughs.) They’ve all been very bookish, haven’t they really? I have a limited skill set!
One of your early industry jobs was a stint as an editor at Australian Book Review. You later worked in arts and culture journalism at the Age. Can you tell us about your introduction to critical review in this country?
With ABR, I was a complete novice. I came straight out of the academy, so it was a fast learning curve for me. But it gave me a taste for commissioning, which I think is the best job in publishing because you can marry ideas and writers. Of course, you make mistakes, but that is how you learn.
You’re going to make mistakes and your job is to learn from those mistakes.
When I arrived at the Age, there was one critic in each art form. I felt that the paper needed to offer readers a plurality of views. I was lucky enough to work for Alan Kohler, who was the terrific editor-in-chief of the Age at the time; he supported me and gave me more space in the newspaper. I wasn’t a journalist, which didn’t please some staff. Of course, I had a lot to learn about the craft of journalism. But at the end of that job, I was pleased that I had introduced a range of new critics to the Age readers.
The motto at Melbourne University Press in your time there was to ‘publish books with spine’. What strikes me about the books you published is how they traverse wide political and social lines. What draws you to showcase such disparate viewpoints?
MUP’s credibility depended on being a bipartisan publisher. Our task wasn’t to publish writers whose views we shared, but rather to find scholars and writers who could write and make a genuine contribution to the public discourse. Our task was to help our authors and publish their books as well as we could in a highly competitive marketplace.
Images: Books from Adler’s time as CEO and publisher at MUP. Left to right: My Israel Question (2009), Battlelines (2013), Cardinal (2019). Source: MUP.
Some of the more notable books you’ve published, like Cardinal, critiqued powerful institutions and public figures. Did you see any part of publishing as a form of activism?
I don’t see publishing as a form of activism; well, certainly MUP couldn’t take that role in public life. But our authors are taking part in the public discourse. That said, as a publisher, you are curating, acting as a filter because you determine to a certain extent what gets published and what doesn’t.
Did it require bravery to publish some of those books?
Oh yeah, absolutely. Because there are times when there are very real pressures brought to bear on the publishing house: legal threats being the most obvious avenue for unhappy readers with deep pockets.
If you could talk to your younger self and give her any advice, what would you tell her?
Good question. I don’t know! I suppose I would say that you’re going to make mistakes and your job is to learn from those mistakes. But don’t fake it, always do your homework.
You also had an eye for spotting early talent. Do you have any advice to aspiring writers?
It’s so hard, but I would urge novice writers to persist. That’s easy for me to say. But write, write, write. And read, read, read: that’s how one learns to write. The cliché is ‘write what you know’. But I think it’s writing what you don’t know that produces interesting work that might find a publisher. That’s not to say self-reflection and autofiction can’t be wonderful—think of brilliant exponents of the genre like Annie Ernaux. But in general, I would recommend people look beyond their own lives.
I think it’s writing what you don’t know that produces interesting work.
Many years ago, Barrie Kosky gave a brilliant speech at the Victorian College of the Arts when I was there. He urged the students to put down their violins, get out of their leotards, leave the rehearsal space and spend their days and nights at the Melbourne Film Festival. It was a version of my mantra: read, read, read. He was suggesting that it was important to reach out beyond your own experience.
You’ve been in the industry for a few decades. What do you think of the state of local publishing today?
I understand this has been a tough year but let’s take the long view. We have a brilliant catalogue of Australian writers and Australian stories being taken to the world.
Is there anything you’d like to see more of?
Jonathan Rosen, who is coming to Writers’ Week, has written a book called The Best Minds. It’s a superb account of a deep friendship between two brilliant boys interwoven with a riveting history of the failings of the mental health system in the US. I love the big-ideas books that Americans write so well. I feel as if Australian writers can be a bit shy, that they are understated and not convinced about their own capacity to write big thematic stories.
Your career has been marked by non-fiction. Do you read much fiction?
Fiction is my first love. Programming Writers’ Week allows me to read almost full-time, what a joy!
It’s the joy of opening a novel and entering a completely imagined world. I am thinking of the immense pleasure of immersing myself in Anne Enright’s latest The Wren, The Wren or Zadie Smith’s The Fraud or Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead. You open the novel, read the first paragraph and are transported to a place you don’t know by a voice that is utterly seductive, engaging and irresistible. I don’t know how this mysterious process happens, but I am delighted every time I read a truly original novel.
I am not embarrassed to say my particular passion is crime novels. When I’m stressed, I reach for the comfort of a ‘whodunnit’. I was devastated when Phillip Kerr died, because he was too young, but also, selfishly, that my favourite morally compromised hero, Bernie Gunther, was no more. Mick Herron is brilliant, so too are the Scandi noir writers. It will appal people, but I have been known to turn to the end of the book to find out what happens! But it doesn’t stop me reading. The tension of knowing the ending is over so now I can just relax and enjoy the narrative.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
Adelaide Writers’ Week runs from 2–7 March. Tickets are on sale now.
