e that Riggio was a country bumpkin, because who else would want to plunk down his hard-earned money to get into a dull business like retail bookselling?

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one not able to pick up on what was occurring in the book-publishing business, because even the biggest publishers didn’t see it coming. In fact, no one paid much attention to Riggio and his little chain of bookstores until well into the 1980s.

He moved quietly and cleverly until, little by little, Barnes & Noble maneuvered itself into a position where it was able to tighten its control over the gates that stand between book publishers and retail customers. And, al

Once upon a time, there was a ferocious dinosaur known as Publishsaurus rex who roamed the Earth, devouring everything in its path. Bookstores and authors were especially attractive prey for this carnivorous monster.

While scientists believe that most dinosaurs disappeared as a result of some catastrophic natural disaster about 250 million years ago, the Publishsaurus rex not only managed to survive, but prosper. In fact, it’s still around today, though it has been tamed.

It took the cleverness of an entrepreneur by the name of Leonard Riggio to accomplish such a feat. The story of what Riggio did to bring the book-publishing industry to its collective knees would rival Jurassic Park on the big screen.

First, a little history. I don’t know how book publishers ever got themselves trapped into such a bad deal, but since the beginning of time, most books have been “sold” to bookstores on a consignment basis. From a business standpoint, this arrangement is so absurd that whenever people who aren’t familiar with the book-publishing industry hear about it for the first time, they’re amazed.

Nevertheless, publishers were always able to live with the obscene consignment arrangement, because they were so powerful and could push bookstores around. In earlier days, when large bookstores chains hadn’t yet been invented, many bookstores were fearful of returning too many books to a powerhouse publisher for fear of being cut off from future shipments.

But, as Waldenbooks and B. Dalton developed into large chains in the seventies, the bookworm slowly began to turn. Even so, the publishing dinosaur was so busy with other more important matters that it didn’t even notice what was happening to its own business.

By important matters, I’m referring to publishing executives attending sales conferences four times a year in such fun-and-sun locations as Puerto Rico, Miami, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas ... the Frankfurt Book Fair once a year in Germany ... the annual London Book Fair in the U.K. ... having lunch and dinner with literary agents at New York’s finest gourmet restaurants, where they could (as one agent gently described it in a national magazine) “plot how to screw authors” ... and, of course, at the highest levels of management, partaking in extramarital affairs that provided highly entertaining gossip for the publishing industry.

Then, one day, a funny thing happened to publishing executives on the way to lunch at 21 Club in Manhattan: A fellow by the name of Leonard Riggio bought a little bookstore company called Barnes & Noble. You had to figure that Riggio was a country bumpkin, because who else would want to plunk down his hard-earned money to get into a dull business like retail bookselling?

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one not able to pick up on what was occurring in the book-publishing business, because even the biggest publishers didn’t see it coming. In fact, no one paid much attention to Riggio and his little chain of bookstores until well into the 1980s.

He moved quietly and cleverly until, little by little, Barnes & Noble maneuvered itself into a position where it was able to tighten its control over the gates that stand between book publishers and retail customers. And, alo

ollective knees would rival Jurassic Park on the big screen.

First, a little history. I don’t know how book publishers ever got themselves trapped into such a bad deal, but since the beginning of time, most books have been “sold” to bookstores on a consignment basis. From a business standpoint, this arrangement is so absurd that whenever people who aren’t familiar with the book-publishing industry hear about it for the first time, they’re amazed.

Nevertheless, publishers were always able to live with the obscene consignment arrangement, because they were so powerful and could push bookstores around. In earlier days, when large bookstores chains hadn’t yet been invented, many bookstores were fearful of returning too many books to a powerhouse publisher for fear of being cut off from future shipments.

But, as Waldenbooks and B. Dalton developed into large chains in the seventies, the bookworm slowly began to turn. Even so, the publishing dinosaur was so busy with other more important matters that it didn’t even notice what was happening to its own business.

By important matters, I’m referring to publishing executives attending sales conferences four times a year in such fun-and-sun locations as Puerto Rico, Miami, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas ... the Frankfurt Book Fair once a year in Germany ... the annual London Book Fair in the U.K. ... having lunch and dinner with literary agents at New York’s finest gourmet restaurants, where they could (as one agent gently described it in a national magazine) “plot how to screw authors” ... and, of course, at the highest levels of management, partaking in extramarital affairs that provided highly entertaining gossip for the publishing industry.

Then, one day, a funny thing happened to publishing executives on the way to lunch at 21 Club in Manhattan: A fellow by the name of Leonard Riggio bought a little bookstore company called Barnes & Noble. You had to figure that Riggio was a country bumpkin, because who else would want to plunk down his hard-earned money to get into a dull business like retail bookselling?

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one not able to pick up on what was occurring in the book-publishing business, because even the biggest publishers didn’t see it coming. In fact, no one paid much attention to Riggio and his little chain of bookstores until well into the 1980s.

He moved quietly and cleverly until, little by little, Barnes & Noble maneuvered itself into a position where it was able to tighten its control over the gates that stand between book publishers and retail customers. And, al

chains hadn’t yet been invented, many bookstores were fearful of returning too many books to a powerhouse publisher for fear of being cut off from future shipments.

But, as Waldenbooks and B. Dalton developed into large chains in the seventies, the bookworm slowly began to turn. Even so, the publishing dinosaur was so busy with other more important matters that it didn’t even notice what was happening to its own business.

By important matters, I’m referring to publishing executives attending sales conferences four times a year in such fun-and-sun locations as Puerto Rico, Miami, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas ... the Frankfurt Book Fair once a year in Germany ... the annual London Book Fair in the U.K. ... having lunch and dinner with literary agents at New York’s finest gourmet restaurants, where they could (as one agent gently described it in a national magazine) “plot how to screw authors” ... and, of course, at the highest levels of management, partaking in extramarital affairs that provided highly entertaining gossip for the publishing industry.

Then, one day, a funny thing happened to publishing executives on the way to lunch at 21 Club in Manhattan: A fellow by the name of Leonard Riggio bought a little bookstore company called Barnes & Noble. You had to figure that Riggio was a country bumpkin, because who else would want to plunk down his hard-earned money to get into a dull business like retail bookselling?

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one not able to pick up on what was occurring in the book-publishing business, because even the biggest publishers didn’t see it coming. In fact, no one paid much attention to Riggio and his little chain of bookstores until well into the 1980s.

He moved quietly and cleverly until, little by little, Barnes & Noble maneuvered itself into a position where it was able to tighten its control over the gates that stand between book publishers and retail customers. And, al

kfurt Book Fair once a year in Germany ... the annual London Book Fair in the U.K. ... having lunch and dinner with literary agents at New York’s finest gourmet restaurants, where they could (as one agent gently described it in a national magazine) “plot how to screw authors” ... and, of course, at the highest levels of management, partaking in extramarital affairs that provided highly entertaining gossip for the publishing industry.

Then, one day, a funny thing happened to publishing executives on the way to lunch at 21 Club in Manhattan: A fellow by the name of Leonard Riggio bought a little bookstore company called Barnes & Noble. You had to figure that Riggio was a country bumpkin, because who else would want to plunk down his hard-earned money to get into a dull business like retail bookselling?

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one not able to pick up on what was occurring in the book-publishing business, because even the biggest publishers didn’t see it coming. In fact, no one paid much attention to Riggio and his little chain of bookstores until well into the 1980s.

He moved quietly and cleverly until, little by little, Barnes & Noble maneuvered itself into a position where it was able to tighten its control over the gates that stand between book publishers and retail customers. And, al

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