Poor authors are told they should do it out of love. Try Telling That to a Dentist | Gareth Rubin

TIts week will be like baccalaureate results week for authors, but with added economic risk. For many of the UK’s 100,000 writers and translators, knowing how many books they have sold in the run-up to Christmas will mean the difference between turning on the heating and sitting around shivering through the January frost. Many in the latter camp will be forced to accept that the life of a professional novelist, poet or playwright is no longer viable. It’s time to close the book. The end.

Could it be that bad? Surely novelists aren’t really on the sidelines? Well, given that the median income for professional writers has fallen from £12,330 in 2007 to £7,000 in 2022, you can understand why most are desperate for a festive boost in their income. A bohemian life in a freezing attic only seems attractive to those who have never experienced it.

In a country proud of its literary history, we are at a tipping point where the number of books and plays written may soon collapse along with the number of people who can afford to create them.

It’s strange that the role of the creator is seen as vital to the well-being of society – even wartime armies have entertainment corps – but when authors dig their pockets to demonstrate what “really means” broke,” they are told they must pursue their art. for art, may the love of writing support them. No one expresses the same sentiment to dentists.

This is also the dominant opinion of governments: health professionals must be supported until direct employment, because in the event of a shortage, society suffers. But if the river of novels, films and poems dwindles to a trickle as authors give up, what’s the problem?

A real problem is that we need a whirlwind of stories for each generation to find their own. Society is changing daily – demographically, technologically and psychologically – and we must take this into account. Jane Austen may still tell us about romance, but not so much about race relations. Therefore, Netflix The Bridgerton Chronicles.

There is also a macroeconomic argument: our authors fill the crown coffers with income and taxes from publishing, television, film and theater, simultaneously strengthening our influence on the world stage. There is no need to rehash the slogan “we are the land of Shakespeare, Dickens and JK Rowling”; try the “we are the land of Shakespeare, Dickens and JK Rowling annualized and adjusted profits” argument instead.

However, successive governments have made the situation worse. The last made a point of raising the status of science and mathematics teaching by devaluing the arts. This has been a resounding success in terms of better results for the former and department closures for the latter. The justification put forward was that Britain must compete on the global economic stage with technological powers such as China and the United States – which makes sense until you get the first idea of ​​how much money the creative industries are worth Britain (£125 billion in 2022, employing 2.4 million people) and that our place in the world may actually rest more on books and pop music than on manufacturing cutting edge.

The Department for Education’s attack on English (or Welsh or Gaelic) literature in schools has undoubtedly been one of the main drivers of the collapse of reading for pleasure among children. This is why reinvesting resources into hungry creative arts departments would fuel ongoing joy and inspire both the creators and consumers of these social products. This must be a first step towards healing the wounds inflicted by the previous policy.

Direct financial assistance is also important. In the Republic of Ireland, most income from writing and composing music is exempt from tax – not because the government is made up of aesthetes, quoting Yeats, but because it values ​​the analysis of uncompromising profitability. Writers and musicians spread a positive image of the country, attracting tourist dollars and promoting soft power, much cheaper than hard stuff: granting a tax break to a creative and bringing in five times more for American visitors. A question the Chancellor should ponder as she looks glumly at the Treasury’s projections for 2025.

We, the authors, have never been able to exist without a certain patronage. The coming year will be particularly difficult for literary festivals after investment firm Baillie Gifford was forced to stop funding several festivals by campaign group Fossil Free Books.

The best thing for charitable companies to do would be to ignore these groups; then we can all get back to supporting these vital events that introduce debut authors to debut readers and allow fans to meet their sheepish, disheveled, mute idols. And, at the end, it is the public who has the last word: the one who buys the books, demands the policies, encourages the companies.

We want written books because they expand our inner lives. We need them because they fuel industries that fund the sweeping of our roads and the recruitment of staff to our hospitals, industries that preserve Britain’s international reputation that successive governments have done much to break. But for books to exist, authors must exist. This means that schools, readers and politicians view and celebrate them as an asset for the future, not just a relic of the past.