First we can’t write the books. This might seem dead obvious, but it’s a kind of fantasy buried deep in the unconscious of both author and agent. Some part of the author would like to be absolved from the very arduous, lonely, risky business of writing. The agent is, by definition, something of a literary groupie and may well be a bit of a writer manque too, believing deep down that if only they had more time, they too could write a masterwork.

Not only can we not write the books, we can’t tell an author precisely what to write about, except in rare instances of inspiration. It does occasionally happen that, as an agent, one has a terrific and timely idea for a book that needs writing, and then one finds the perfect author and marries them to the ideal publisher: but it’s usually messier and more complicated. The book is already being written by someone else, perhaps; or although the idea is fine, one can’t find the right author or publisher; or one simply can’t get it all together quickly enough to catch the wave.

We can and do give advice on what kind of books are fashionable and marketable, but by the time your book has been written and published – whether it’s on everyday acupuncture techniques, a survival manual for the new sensitive househusband or a novel of torrid love and lust between hunchbacked dwarves in the Hindu Kush – the readers who were so avid for this kind of thing last year may have moved on to new fads. What really matters in any book is not so much what it’s about as how it’s written. And I’m not necessarily talking about lofty literary standards either: I’m talking about producing a work which achieves exactly what it sets out to achieve, and which people will pick up and read and enjoy.

We can’t force a publisher to take on a book they don’t want. We’re not used-car salesmen and we don’t go in for the heavy sell. This might sway a publisher into temporary euphoria, especially after a few drinks, but they’re going to feel grumpy and foolish when they have to backtrack next morning. The processes of book publishing are too slow and there are too many people·involved for the hard sell to be a sensible technique. A publisher must genuinely share an agent’s enthusiasm for a book, or it won’t be published successfully. So an agent has to rely on having some accurate feeling about which publisher will be right for each particular book.

And event that is only first base; because we can’t guarantee that there won’t be changes in the publishing company while the book is grinding through the production process. I had. an instance last year of sending a novel to a particular company (not, as a matter of fact, my first choice; but you don’t always get your first choice) where the publisher was wildly enthusiastic but couldn’t generate the same enthusiasm amongst his colleagues. He bravely said he’d like to take it on anyway – and I was very tempted, for it was an eccentric kind of novel, not easy to place – but in the end I asked him to send it back, and thank God I did because a few weeks later he left the company. And how would that novel have fared with its one supporter gone?

Even if there are no dramatic changes within a company, the passage of the writers’ work to the readers’ hands may not be all smooth sweetness. However hard an agent tries to make it so, we can’t always pull it off. The author may hate the cover or the printing or the editor. Some authors are desperate for the solid respectability of a hardback, without realising that this will price it out of reach of many readers. Others, who understand that very well, may not have considered. that their percentage of the lower-priced paperback means less money per copy for them. This may or may not be compensated for in increased sales.

All an agent can do is to try to reduce the very understandable paranoia which often afflicts writers. These questions of format and price, production and promotion, are questions which publishers do, in fact, consider carefully and constantly. They too want to get it right. They may not always do so, but when they don’t, they have a lot to lose too: not as much as the writers, because they have more eggs in the basket or irons in the fire, or whatever cliche you prefer. But there are many aspects of publishing in which the writers’ and publishers’ interests do coincide, in which cooperation is helpful if not downright essential, and an important part of a literary agent’s function is to facilitate cooperation and understanding, which doesn’t always come naturally. If, after all the fostering in the world, author and publisher still find themselves at cross-purposes, an agent will be wise to advise their author to change publisher next time around.

Fortunately I seem to have come to the end of what agents can’t do. Just as well, or I shall have talked us all out of business. Now I can start on what we can do, which is much more to my taste.

As I’m sure you all know, the literary agent is the middle person, liaising between writers and publishers, or sometimes writers and film makers or TV producers or whoever is going to present the writer’s work to the public in one form or another. A literary agent is a writer’s agent - their main purpose is to obtain the best deal for the writer in any particular circumstances. There is a tiny handful of writers who enjoy the cut and thrust, the wheeling and dealing aspect of the writing trade: but most of them like writing better than bargaining. They want to be properly paid for what they do – arid, like most primary producers, they tend to be at the bottom of the heap financially – but they don’t want and often don’t know how to hustle; and they sometimes don’t know, either, just what goes into making a book successful, over and above the writing of it.

The first thing an agent does for their writers is to level with them about the qualities and shortcomings of the work itself. A publisher can do this too, of course, but because a publisher naturally wants to buy as inexpensively as possible, it’s hard for honesty not to be tinged with self-interest. Publishers are certainly not the avaricious crooks living off the backs of starving writers that they’re sometimes made out to be, but they are in business to make money, and if they don’t do it, they won’t last long in the business.

Nor will literary agents, but our fortunes are tied inextricably to those of the writers we take on. We sink or swim with them, so it’s vital that the relationship be based on mutual honesty and trust. Many of the writers on my books are never likely to write a world-wide best-seller. That’s all right, so long as we both know it. All kinds of books do very nicely, thank you, without becoming best-sellers: and high-quality fiction, while often hard to place and slow to sell, goes on forever if it’s good enough, and is such stuff as movie dreams are made of.

The precarious nature of a writer’s existence is shared by the literary agent. We know what it’s like to live without pay packets, superannuation, long-service leave, workers’ comp and all the normally accepted, never-even­thought-about safety nets which society provides to most of its members. We know how it feels to have bills coming in faster than cheques. We understand writers’ dual obsession with whether the work is up to scratch on the one hand, and whether the return is enough to live on, on the other - because we share the obsession.

And we also know how it works on the other side of the fence. I started my working life as a publishing secretary in London, and I remember that we sometimes felt we could do a far better job if only the authors wouldn’t insist that their talentless friends be commissioned to do their book covers, that we advertise in unsuitable places or that we spend hours discussing future books instead of getting to work on the present one. Writers aren’t always their own best friends. I also remember being shocked that highly intelligent men and women would sometimes sign contracts they either hadn’t read or didn’t understand, because they were too shy or grateful or prefer to spend on writing or whatever else they do. They don’t want to get involved in negotiating, nor do they wish to follow the ebb and flow of what’s going on and who’s going where in the industry. There’s a funny mixture of gossip and hard and soft fact which swirls around the edges of the publishing scene, and part of a literary agent’s job is to swirl around in it with ears open and mouth closed. The industry is surprisingly volatile, particularly now, and because it’s such a personal business, it’s really important to know who is coming and going, which publishers are branching out in new directions, who is on the verge of a merge, or going briefly bankrupt, or disappearing altogether. One can’t know everything, obviously, but I think an agent does develop a pretty delicate blend of intuition and knowledge, simply by circulating amongst the ‘people who make books happen.

Of course, there’s more to being a literary agent than just waiting for great books to plop onto your desk and then finding a good publisher for them. Sometimes you have to get out there and stir things up. Sometimes you read a piece of prose in a magazine or a newspaper or hear something on radio that inspires you to contact whoever wrote or spoke and try to get a book out of them. Sometimes you have to deal with film producers (who make publishers look like ladies and gentlemen, because there’s a lot more money at stake). Sometimes – and this is the very worst aspect of the job – you have to tell writers that you simply can’t take them on because you know you couldn’t place their work. Very occasionally – and this is the very best aspect of the job – you’re reading steadily through a big pile of manuscripts and without any warning at all you suddenly realise that what you’ve got under your hand is a book which not only is a delight to read, but which-you know you can sell for heaps of lovely money to the publisher of your choice, here and elsewhere, and maybe the film producer of your choice too: and that there’s going to be all round, unconfined joy, starting with the author’s. And that’s when you feel this is a good business to be in.