The story of Penguin Books, Allen Lane and how they changed the world, to celebrate the 90th anniversary of Penguin
By founding Penguin books and popularizing the paperback, Allen Lane not only changed publishing in Britain, he was also at the forefront of a social and cultural revolution that saw the millions of people given access to what had previously been the preserve of a wealthy few.
In Penguin Special, Jeremy Lewis brings this extraordinary era brilliantly to life, recounting how Allen Lane came to launch his Penguins for the price of a packet of cigarettes; how they became enormously influential in alerting the public to the threat of Nazi Germany; and how Penguin itself gradually became a national institution, like the BBC and the NHS, whilst at the same time challenging the status quo through the famous Lady Chatterley case. Above all, it is the story of how one often fallible, complex man used his vision to change the world.
Jeremy Lewis spent much of his life working in publishing. He is the author of two highly-praised volumes of autobiography, Playing for Time and Kindred Spirits, and of biographies of Cyril Connolly and Tobias Smollett.
Man publishes paperbacks, drinks a lot, gets a knighthood. Quite a sexist time, amplified by the author's habit of always describing women in terms of their physical attractiveness.
That said, Allen Lane was clearly a force of nature, smashing convention and genuinely standing up for good books while at the same time managing to keep an eye on the profits. As well as a biography of Lane, this is an engaging view of the history of England from approximately the 20s to the 60s, chronicling the enormous social change from the pre- to post-war years through the lens of the dominant publisher of the age.
I started this biography hoping for a human portrayal of Penguin’s evolution and its revolutionising the world of publishing, but I ended up reading more of a dense chronology. Allen Lane was a man with a bold vision and created a brand that reshaped how people access literature. However, the storytelling is so flat, it reads like a history textbook, and the book completely avoids any critical discussion of the issues with publishing (then and now), like the sexism in the industry, for example.
Allen Lane founded Penguin Books in 1935, rebranding the publishing company he inherited from his uncle. He came from a well-off family and never lacked funds because of it, so this is more of a story of the privileged class in Britain; there is no underdog here. Lane brought to the world of publishing quality paperback editions at an affordable price, intended for mass readership. His Penguin series sold out instantly and contributed to a higher literacy rate in the country. This move democratised literature and allowed access to classics and contemporary writers, serious works behind affordable covers.
Lane’s Penguin was also a cultural institution, on par with public trust institutions like the BBC or NHS in Bthe ritish imagination. Penguin also broke boundaries, like when they published Lady Chatterley’s Lover and contested the obscenity laws.
Under Lane’s leadership, Penguin also launched Pelican Books in 1937, a non-fiction imprint dedicated to affordable intellectual works. These were also intended to broaden public access to knowledge.
Lewis shows us how Penguin navigated paper rationing, war, legal battles, and commercial pressures while preserving a sense of idealism. However, much of the narrative is conveyed in lengthy passages of corporate decisions, names, dates, and mergers. It was a harrowing read, even for book-obsessed people like myself. The depth of the archival detail is impressive, but it felt like this was all that Lewis wanted to deliver. I didn’t get a strong sense of who Lane was as a person, as Lewis shares multiple accounts and doesn’t draw any conclusion. In this sense, the book feels like a bunch of information put together in chronological order, and this is where it lost me.
Its biggest flaw, however, is that the book glosses over the male-dominated nature of publishing. Women typically appear in supportive and emotional roles. When they hold significant roles in publishing, they are often portrayed as neurotic and unlikable, much like professional women were perceived at the time. To this, Lewis has nothing to say, and that bothered me. It reminded me why I don’t read male biographies, as I have a very low tolerance for sexism these days (I blame it on peri-menopause). So, even if there are women who played an important role in publishing and climbed to the top of this fully male-dominated field (like Eunice Frost or Norah Smallwood), they are portrayed as neurotic, “pushy and prickly”, hated, horrible, addicted to large hats. I rolled my eyes so bad at Lewis not having any comment on this.
There is more to criticise about the book, but I will stop here. You should read this is if you like historical books, with no critical analysis of the time, who share mostly facts and less of the characters that commit them.