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There are two questions about the impact of digital change on publishing that are just about impossible to answer.

One is: how much of the sale of ebooks is incremental business and how much of it is cannibalization of prior print sales?

The other is: what will be the fate of independent bookstores?

The two are connected.

As we watch the (long-term) inexorable but (short- and medium-term) unpredictable growth in ebook sales, it is really not possible to tell to what extent we’re just selling established customers the same purchases in a different form (certainly some of it and my personal guess would be the lion’s share of it) and to what extent we’re finding new customers (also certainly some of it and, to my way of thinking, more likely to the user of a multi-function device than a dedicated book reader like Kindle or Nook) or making incremental sales to established customers.

(We plan to address the whether the multi-function device users have a different consumption profile at the Digital Book World conference in January. It’s a knotty question but we think we have a way to get at it.)

The measurements of industry sales have been far too imprecise and muddied to address a sophisticated question like that. (The AAP and BISG are making a serious joint effort to remedy that situation; I have seen some of the great work in building a new data model that has been led by Tina Jordan of AAP and Scott Lubeck of BISG. More on that very promising initiative some other day.) The aggregate industry numbers that we’re used to probably won’t be sufficient to change any closely-held opinions any time soon.

Individual publishers might see data worth intepreting in the total unit sales of major authors that  have established clear sales patterns over time, if they can analyze their way past the fluctuations that must inevitably occur in the sales of each new major release by an established bestseller writer. One place one might expect to see an uptick is in the prior titles in a series (but, even then, you don’t know if the extra sales of four prior Carl Hiaasson titles weren’t instead of sales of four other books, do you?)

My own analysis has been simplistic, assuming pretty much flat sales into the digital future because that has been the case in our overwhelmingly non-digital recent past. When I do the calculations that lead me to think that the sales available to brick-and-mortar stores will decline drastically over the next five years, I’m assuming that the rise of digital sales results in a pretty much equivalent decline in print sales. I also assume that the increase in ebook sales and the reduction in retail shelf space allocated to books accelerates the movement of print book sales to online. If ebook sales aren’t largely cannibalizing, and they don’t themselves reduce the sales available to be made in stores as much as their growth would suggest, then shelf space might not disappear as fast.

My back-of-the-envelope calculations (which have been endorsed in a series of private conversations with publishers, booksellers, and analysts but also strongly resisted in a private conversation by at least one person whose judgment I really trust and also apparently contradicted by the expectations expressed by Random House CEO Markus Dohle in his recent interview) are that brick-and-mortar’s share of total trade book sales will reduce from around 80% today (some say it is higher) to about 30% five years from now. That would be a reduction of more than 60%. Let’s say the share is still 50% in five years (which I speculated might be the number in 2-1/2 years). That would still constitute a 35-40% reduction from where we are today. That’s drastic.

But it still doesn’t tell us “who fails?” Shelf space reductions can come in a variety of ways. Stores can be closed, chain and independent. Dedicated bookstores of all kinds can become less dedicated and turn over shelf space to other items. And mass merchants can decide to reduce the space they gave books or to eliminate them. All three things will happen to varying degrees.

This is a bit like trying to do a weather forecast based on one’s confident knowledge of climate change. The two are related but there are local factors in addition to global ones. Each time a store closes or reduces its shelf space (or, for that matter, in the rarer cases where a new store opens or one increases its shelf space), it affects the fate of the other stores in its vicinity.

On Tuesday night, I came home from a late meeting with a former Cabinet official who was thinking about buying an independent bookstore and seeking my advice, which, based on no specific knowledge, was “don’t.” I walked in to receive a call from a reporter who asked me for my comment on the Barnes & Noble “news.” “What was that?” I asked. “They’re putting themselves up for sale,” he said. “What has happened recently that would motivate that?”

Without having read the press release, which would have signaled to me that they weren’t actually putting themselves up for sale so much as beginning the process of taking themselves private, I strived to answer the question. I thought the acceleration of ebook uptake, some of it fueled by B&N’s Nook device, was recent news that didn’t bode well for physical bookstores. I thought the recent rescue of Borders, which could postpone their demise or shrinking, wasn’t happy news for Barnes & Noble. And I wondered whether the Ron Burkle lawsuit might make the Riggios less interested in owning the business.

Of course, all of those things are true but none of them apply because the premise was wrong. The Riggios are probably not trying to sell the business; they’re more likely trying to buy the business.

Then I checked with a commission rep friend of mine about the bookstore the former politician I met earlier that evening wanted to buy. It turns out to be an independent with a relatively solid future, with knowledgeable staff underneath its owners and a great reputation with the publishers which assures a continuing flow of traffic-building author appearances. In other words, “don’t” might not be the right advice in this particular case.

Whether the brick-and-mortar share of the business falls by 25%, 50%, or 75% over the next five years from what it is now (and all are possible), the reduction in shelf space depends on whether that reduction is against a rising base of total sales or a stable one. And how it affects any one particular store depends on what has happened to the shelf space allocations by others in that store’s immediate vicinity. That will be very hard for anybody to track.

I am still extremely skeptical of recent celebrations of the successes of independent stores, which we’ve seen coming out of New York City and Pittsburgh in the past couple of weeks. Anecdotal information is not projectable data; it is often misleading data. Nobody seems to be making the claim that bookstore shelf space is increasing in New York or Pittsburgh or anyplace else. Any one bookstore might still, for a while, be a reasonable bet. But this is a case where the usual laws of investment (diversify as much as you can) would likely not apply. It is hard to imagine bets on five or ten or twenty independent stores paying off in the aggregate in the years to come. Unless you were making those bets with knowledge about exactly where Barnes & Noble, Borders, Books-a-Million,Walmart, Target, and Costco were reducing their shelf space the odds will be against you, and I’m pretty sure there won’t be anybody who knows all those facts in a timely way.

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I am finding an eerie similarity between the disastrous Gulf oil spill and the parlous state of America’s bookstores. In both cases, the forces are in place for a disaster that will play out over the coming months and years. And while the tragedy of what is happening in the Gulf is far more consequential to everybody on the planet than what is happening to our bookstores, we are appoximately as powerless to prevent an eco-system disaster of the first magnitude in both cases.

Of course, the causes of the problems are quite different. British Petroleum, it would seem from here, could have operated differently and the blowout might not have happened. If the US government had the same offshore drilling rules as the Canadian government, requiring the relief well to be dug at the same time as the main drilling well, the disaster might have been averted.

Just like the shrimpers on the Gulf Coast, we are entering the highly visible stages of what will be a painful and accelerating change in the circumstances for general trade publishing. In an exchange in the comments of a post here from last November called “Why are you for killing bookstores?”, I was told by a resident of Orange County, California, that he didn’t even know where his nearest bookstore was. Now there is news that Laredo, Texas, is aware of its status as the largest city in America without a bookstore because its local B. Dalton outlet has been closed. Unfortunately, I don’t think Laredo will retain that status for very long. Much larger cities will be joining Laredo. These are like ships not bothering to leave the harbor because there is nothing out there worth catching.

Bookstores in the US are being pushed aside by the forces of what in the larger sense is definitely progress. The four biggest villains are the switch by consumers to Internet shopping (which affects all brick-and-mortar retail; Walmart’s sales are down too) and three aspects of that switch that amplify the problem: the ubiquitous availability of used books sold alongside the new, competition from long tail books that would have disappeared from commercial view in years past, and the rise of ebooks. All three of these effects reduce print sales in terrestrial stores, crippling retailers and damaging publishers as well.

The trend is impossible to ignore. Borders, just rescued by the latest White Knight that believes the business can be saved, announced that same store sales were down over 11% in the first quarter compared to a year ago. Barnes & Noble’s reduction in same-store sales was put at “2 to 4 percent” in its most recent reporting. [Late add: B&N actually reported same store sales down 5.5% in the most recent quarter.] Borders is a financially challenged operation with an inadequate supply chain, which could have led to not having the books they need to get all the sales that might have been available to them. But, if that’s true, the well-financed and well-operated B&N would be benefiting from their rival’s problems. (They probably are; sales would have been down more if they weren’t.)

I first worked in a bookstore almost 50 years ago, in the summer of 1962 in Brentano’s flagship store on Fifth Avenue. I’m going to guess that there were about 25,000 titles in that store: 10,000 hardcovers upstairs on the main floor and about 15,000 paperbacks downstairs in the brand new paperback department where I worked. Maybe there were more, but not a lot more. And this was one of the best bookstores in America at that time.

There just weren’t a lot of bookstores in America in 1962. Mass-market paperbacks were on sale in many drugstores and on many newsstands, and were in somewhat limited supply in bookstores. Paperback distribution then was just about exclusively through rack-jobbing local wholesalers and offered lower margins than trade books. Even Brentano’s, which was one of the few stores served direct by mass-market publishers, displayed the mass-market paperbacks by publisher rather than by subject to make it easier for the publishers’ reps to check their stock and fill in empty pockets every week.

Department stores were critical outlets for publishers. They provided what amounted to local chains in each city which were, at that time, just beginning to expand into suburban locations through a nascent shopping center industry. Reps for Dolphin Books (Doubleday) and Collier Books (Crowell-Collier, later Macmillan), two trade paperback lines begun by my father, were putting racks of their books into barber shops and motel lobbies in many parts of the country which had virtually no bookstores at all.

Running a bookstore was very hard. Publishers were numerous, title acquisition was fragmented. The only national wholesaler, Baker & Taylor, was really a provider for the libraries, which were willing to wait for B&T to go get the book after they ordered it from them. Local wholesalers, sometimes the same operations that rack-jobbed the mass paperbacks, didn’t attempt to stock much more than the bestsellers, the resupply for which was their real profit center.

In the late 1960s, as shopping center construction heated up, this started to change. Two national chains, Waldenbooks and B. Dalton Booksellers, grew on the back of that expansion. Shopping center developers preferred a national chain to a local independent as a tenant; they were more “bankable” when the developer was borrowing money to build. So these two chains started to grow as fast as suburban mall development would let them, which was pretty damn fast. When I went into publishing sales in 1974, each of the chains had about 300 stores nationally.

Dalton revolutionized backlist sales. Before scanning technology existed, Dalton instituted unique SKU numbers for every title which the cashier would punch into the register when each sale was made. (The SKU number was on a sticker on the book.) That enabled an automated reordering system to bring core backlist (designated “model stock quantities”) back in as they sold it.

Dalton had a “hot list” and a “warm list” of titles. The “hot” titles sold 10 copies a week across the chain. The “warm” list sold 10 copies a month across the chain. That was in a chain of about 300 stores and gave me my first real understanding of how few titles sold very much in a bookstore! Those lists were very important. If your book wasn’t on the hot list, it wasn’t going to get noticed by a buyer for re-ordering. And if it wasn’t on the warm list, the title was likely to be returned.

At about the same time, the early 1970s, the Ingram Book Company introduced technology that changed life for the independent bookseller: the microfiche reader that allowed every retailer to know, before they ordered, what Ingram was carrying. All of a sudden, just as Dalton was demonstrating how important a broader selection and in-stock backlist could be to a store’s economics, independent stores could imitate that strategy by ordering regularly through Ingram. Although computerized inventory management help was still a few years in the future, just being able to get the books from a single reliable supplier enabled independents to begin to compete and grow. (Of course, independents still didn’t have the advantage of 300 locations providing data so they could detect a “hot” book or “warm” book that might not be evident in a single store.)

There were two newer operations spawning stores with robust backlists in the 1970s: Paperback Booksmith and Little Professor. Both jump-started new independent stores with their branding, their inventory, and systems to support both new title buying and keeping key backlist alive. The Doubleday and Brentano’s chains had fewer stores, but bigger and richer ones.

From the publishers’ perspective, this was all providing more and more opportunity: more stores, more efficient stores, more backlist-conscious stores. So general trade publishers grew. Title outputs grew. Dalton and Walden grew. Independents and various smaller chains grew. Ingram grew. Baker & Taylor grew.

In the 1980s, the growth continued, fueled by increased efficiencies. Machine-readable fonts enabled Walden to imitate Dalton’s point-of-sale monitoring without having to sticker every book. Computerized inventory tracking systems improved efficiency at stores far and wide and at the wholesalers as well. New retailer Crown Books pioneered a new idea: a more limited selection of new books, combined with a lot of remainders and bargain books, and aggressive discounting of bestsellers. Even while the chains grew, the independents grew and became more powerful. A newly-energized American Booksellers Association became an aggressive advocate. They sued major publishers, ultimately forcing changes in sales policies that were deemed too chain-friendly.

Throughout the 1980s, the independents were the ones building the big category-killer stores. Good independents were confident that they beat the chain stores on title selection. They were even competing pretty much at full price against Crown’s deep discounting simply by being the place you could find the books you wanted. In the late 1980s, Borders and Barnes & Noble, along with Wall Street, saw the opportunity. Borders acquired Waldenbooks and B&N acquired B. Dalton to give them operational scale, and then they started to open very large 100,000+ title stores (under their own brands, not the acquired ones) in a model that had been developed by a Texas operation called BookStop (which was acquired by Barnes & Noble.) This just meant more growth for publishers; more backlist being stocked in more places. This might have been when the big indies first started feeling a pinch; I recall Andy Ross of Cody’s expressing concern about a big Barnes & Noble opening in Berkeley about that time. But the indies and the chains had a much bigger problem just over the horizon.

In the summer of 1995, Amazon.com opened for business. And, probably since Day One, but certainly increasingly and increasingly obviously, Amazon has been damaging the ecosystem which spawned a robust bookstore network and, which, in turn, fostered large and powerful general trade publishers. That was when the wall protecting the water that fed bookstores and trade publishers was breeched by the oil of digital distribution.

The analogy is not precise. Amazon is not a villain like BP. They aren’t just destroying an old eco-system; they are building a new one. To the consumer that is finding shopping easier than it ever was before, finding books they could never find before, being presented with cheaper choices of used books and electronic books that were not available before, there is no crisis here. In fact, there is no problem.

But to bookstores that depended on customers that had little other choice but to come to them for the books they wanted, shop from what was available under the store’s roof or wait for something to be brought in from outside, and who were effectively restrained by geography from shopping around for price or selection, the waters have become toxic. And to publishers that built a business whose principal competitive advantage is their ability to take intellectual property and put it onto bookstore shelves, the imminent prospect of reduced revenue, increased costs, more difficult title acquisition, and competition from old IP long-sold or long-dead, are now fouling the drink for them as well.

All of the eco-destroying forces that have so far hit the  bookstores, like the oil coming onshore in the Gulf, are just harbingers of much bigger waves of challenge to come. More and more people buy ereaders and cut print consumption drastically; more and more books get digitized; the long tail only gets longer as more and the more digitized stuff meets increasingly efficient print-on-demand. And more and more competitive material enters the supply chain with some appeal to the public but with no participation in the structure that makes bookstore stocking easy. The bookstores’ problem is not just about demand, it is also about supply. That’s competitive advantage for trade publishers in getting their books on bookstore shelves, but it is competitive disadvantage for bookstores competing against a universe of content a click away from more and more eyeballs and mindshare.

In an exchange in front of a large audience at BookExpo last week, one prominent publishing executive took relative comfort in the fact that “more than 90% of our business is still print.” That’s (still barely) true, but only about 70% of the business is still occurring through brick-and-mortar outlets. That number will be under 50% in 12 to 18 months, and the slide will still be accelerating. Big publishing grew in an eco-system of expanding retail shelf space. It has been challenged in the past 15 years as all that growth was stopped by the new forces unleashed online. Now that shelf space is going to start to shrink faster and faster, it is hard to see how big trade publishing can avoid doing the same.

Another aspect of this problem was raised this morning on a mailing list I’m on. Public libraries are losing the funding they need to stay open. Public libraries buy a lot of books from trade publishers, although most of those sales go through wholesalers and not all publishers are managing library sales discretely the way they should. Library purchases have tended to act like ballast in previous recessions; public funding wasn’t usually as volatile as consumer spending. Unfortunately and somewhat coincidentally, the erosion of the bookstore infrastructure is occurring when we’re also facing what is likely to be a longterm crisis in public funding as well.

Two Australian booksellers were in my office last week. The trauma they face is even worse than it will be here. Geography has protected Australia from competition so books are priced 50-to-100 percent higher than they are here. That’s been great for bookshops. Their trade looks like ours did 15 or 20 years ago.  With the arrival of ebooks and POD, they’re probably facing the changes we’ve seen since then in the next two or three years.

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