A good editor can tell when an author has struggled to get a passage substantially right. And when an author has run a bit too freely with a turn of phrase or a hastily read bit of supporting evidence. That’s not a mortal sin; we’ve all done it, and we deserve to feel a bit giddy in the midst of what can be a slog. “But what’s this? Alliteration? Yes, dear reader, I aim to inform and delight.” “I wonder if most readers have heard of Schrödinger’s cat. Perfect example of an enduring paradox, though.”
Those passages are easy enough to deal with when you like the manuscript and trust the author. But what happens when you don’t? When the Tom Clancy bits of a techno-thriller aren’t grounded in reality? When the bibliography is riddled with URLs that end with utm_source=chatgpt.com? When the manuscript’s premise and its author’s credentials are so far divorced from your own, and in such morally important ways, that you find yourself arguing with the thing despite yourself?
The first two of those objections arise from the willful or careless neglect of important details and from a potentially haphazard approach to research. They’re easy enough to deal with: React on your own time, then, remembering that a whole team has gotten the manuscript this far, let the production editor know what you’ve found. And edit the thing on its own terms, with an additional degree of skepticism tuned to the PE’s feedback.
The third objection—deep misgivings about a manuscript’s premise, scope, and execution—is likewise above a copyeditor’s pay grade. But it speaks so deeply to the pitch that earned a contract in the first place that there’s no point in contacting the PE. You won’t be calling attention to anything that escaped the acquiring editor’s notice, and what you might see as flaws of argumentation are in keeping with the scope and pace of the thing. You don’t represent the projected readership, and no one’s going to miss the money you won’t be paying to buy the book.
But that’s a pretty resigned attitude, and many of us copyeditors (well, many of us who are writing this little essay) feel most comfortable and competent when we’re on a mission to make the manuscript the best book it can be, on its own terms. Which leaves us a bit becalmed when those terms seem ludicrous, demeaning, and easily countered. We’re here to reduce the noise in the signal that carries the author’s argument. What happens when that argument is fundamentally unconvincing? Is it a mistake to look for ways to advocate for the manuscript? On what terms would we? Or should the copyeditor focus on technical issues and just get through the ordeal?
To avoid that dismal last option, we need to replace the passionate investment we’d hoped we’d feel with something else. Inspiration is for amateurs, after all. When we really believe in a manuscript—to the point where we tell the PE “I’m going to buy this book in hardcover”—it’s natural to imagine ourselves as early members of a large, notable and appreciative club. This book will move people, among them the right people, we think, and that thought helps us dig a bit deeper, ask a few more constructive questions, leave a friendly query or two. In turn, that spirit keeps us steady and consistent. We need that sort of spirit to sustain a healthy momentum across an editing job.
When that spirit isn’t easily at hand, I remind myself that by doing my part to make a problematic manuscript as good as possible, on its own terms and with full respect for the author and the editors who have deemed it worthy of publication, I’m also making it the sturdiest possible target for the criticism I hope will greet the book. If I let too much slide—say, because the author seems to deliberately misread a source and that must be what the readership wants—the book will be that much more dismissable and the arguments against it that much less weighty. If I suggest improvements to the sorts of things under my remit as a copyeditor, I’m not selling out my side. I’m expressing faith that the book will enter the broader conversation boldly and proudly and that it will inspire criticism that outdoes it on both counts.
So send me your manuscripts on how oxygen should be privatized and left-handedness should be genetically edited out of embryos! I’ll do all I can to make your manuscript worthy of considered, insightful, and utterly overwhelming critique that permanently shifts the conversation in the direction of the angels. That exchange is up to others. Your manuscript’s final polish is up to us.
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