Yep, It Stinks

My post about buzz marketing a little while ago was a little short on specific cases, but here's a shiny new one: Algonquin, an independent publisher whose recent title Water for Elephants ended up a surprise bestseller, attracted some police attention this week with its kooky publicity campaign for a new title, An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England by Brock Clarke. Frankly, I don't think they need a publicity campaign; the title says all I need to know. Things being what they are, though, here's what happened.

Various members of the press who were targeted by Algonquin's campaign received what appeared to be a handwritten letter from one person to another (neither of whom was the person to whom it was actually mailed), suggesting that they burn down Edith Wharton's house. According to Algonquin, the letters are clearly fictitious--though considering that the entire Boston Police department cannot tell the difference between a bomb and a Lite Brite, "clearly fictitious" is more of a perspective matter these days. The plan was (and still is, or so my sources indicate) for several of such letters to be mailed, followed by an advance reading copy of the book. In any case, the curators of the Edith Wharton Home got ahold of the letter and felt it was better to be cautious and inform the police.

Of course, that's not Algonquin's fault. Well, okay, maybe it's partially their fault for writing rather silly letters that could foreseeably not be interpreted as they planned, but let's forget about that. Even then, I still think that this publicity stunt was a dumb idea. Any guesses why?

Publishers Weekly gets the prize: "The note, signed 'Sincerely, Beatrice Hutchins, Lenox, MA,' makes no mention of a book, publisher or publicity effort, nor that Pulsifer and Hutchins are characters from a novel."

The letters do sound really clever, and I'm sure they got the attention of the people they were sent to. But a boat load of attention won't do you any good if nobody knows what you're selling. This was, incidentally, the same thing that was wrong with the Cartoon Network's mooninite stunt. It's akin to picking up a book and looking at the back cover to see lots of praise from reviewers, which is all well and good, but still leaves you wondering, "Yeah, but what's the story about?"

What happened here is that An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England is a very innovative book, and Algonquin got really excited about that (which is good; people should get excited about what kind of material they put out). They decided that it deserved a little bit of innovative advertising to match, which is also good. But there was always the option of just writing a really innovative press release, ad copy, or other promotional material, and they went over the line on that one. What they ended up with was literary graffiti: it sticks out and grabs your attention, but most of the time it doesn't really mean anything to you.

When you get your hands on something clever and innovative like this, it's great to be able to roll with those qualities and end up with a truly innovative product, but you need to be conscious of where to be experimental and where doing so would hurt more than help your project. Be aware that conventional forms exist because they work. To borrow a phrase, you have to know the rules before you can break them.