dreaded the idea of public events where she would be expected to charm a crowd with amusing or enlightening anecdotes and then sign books with clever inscriptions. She had always felt sorry for authors put on display like that and wanted none of it. Her contract with Macmillan did not obligate her to take part in publicizing the book, and the Marshes wanted to make sure Macmillan had made no false assumptions about her role in the marketing process. After the âprolonged strainâ of the previous weeks, Marsh announced to Cole that Mitchell would not be coming to New York any time soon or, perhaps, ever. If she came at all, it would be on her own terms, not Macmillanâs. He explained about her aggravated back and said she hoped to have enough strength to get through reviewing the galleys. Beyond that, Mitchell would need rest.
With that clear, Marsh turned to technical matters such as the wording of the blurb and the numbering of the chapters. Near the end of the letter, he inadvertently dropped a bombshell on Cole by inquiring about the process of copyediting the manuscript. After sending the final chapters to New York, he said, Mitchell had continued to make corrections on a set of carbon copies and had identified several stylistic concerns about chapter formatting and punctuation. Overall, she was embarrassed by the poor condition of the manuscript. Mitchell assumed Macmillan would be responsible for making sure the manuscript was in good order before it went off to the printers but was willing to help if necessary. 5
Cole panicked. Had they rushed too quickly into typesetting? If the manuscript was as bad as Marsh said, it would be complicated and expensive to make changes down the line. Though loath to slow things down, Cole contacted Everett Hale in the production department and explained the situation. Recognizing the practicalities of their predicament, she conceded that if there was no time, they would have to trust the printers to catch any major mistakes. 6 Hale called in copy editor Susan Prink and asked her to reassess the manuscript in light of Marshâs comments. At a minimum, he wanted her to do what she could about catching errors in punctuation, spelling, continuity, and tone.
With the manuscript under at least a cursory review, Cole responded to Marshâs letter. She broke the news that there was no time for formal editing but assured Marsh they were going back to reassess the pages. She encouraged him to send along corrections on the carbons and to forward guidelines on punctuation and dialect that could be used by the typesetters. As for Mitchellâs refusal to participate in the bookâs release, Cole expressed surprise and disappointment. Enthusiastic about the project, Cole had taken for granted that Mitchell, as a first-time author, would want to enjoy the fun of her success. The editor agreed, however, not to force the issue, given Mitchellâs health. Cole was astonished that the previous months had been so taxing and assured Marsh that, if Macmillan had known what Mitchell was going through, the release could easily have been put off a year. It would not have been the end of the world. 7
With Marshâs concerns addressed, it was now Coleâs turn to raise some issues on behalf of Macmillan. With all the pages of the manuscript finally together in one place, the company had come to the startling realization that the novel contained more than four hundred thousand words, which meant about one thousand pages of printed text. 8 In July 1935, when Latham had only a disjointed pile of papers to go by, he had estimated the book would be about one hundred and fifty thousand words. 9 The Macmillan editorial staff had predicted it would be closer to two hundred and fifty thousand or three hundred thousand words and, based on that estimate, had announced a retail price of $2.50. 10 The firm now realized it had grossly underestimated the size and, thus, expense of publishing