Books, Arts & Manners: No Such Thing as a Free Gift

The other day, as I was working at my self-appointed task of writing a book (“Why do you write books, Mrs. Hazelton?” “To make an honest living now that I’m too old to do anything else”), a parcel was left outside my door, like Moses among the bullrushes. It was an oblong basket, chastely covered with two napkins, wrapped high in cellophane; far from anything as joyous as an infant, however, it contained a bottle of an aperitif, a bottle of soda water, a box of nuts, and a box of lieprice. Sounds like a free lunch, doesn’t it?

I knew better. A few days later, the publicity firm which had dreamt up this truly unsolicited gift called, wanting to know if I needed more information and what was I going to write about it and when. Dear reader, I do not wish to bring a blush to your cheeks by telling you my answer. But it is an example of the desperation that seems to have seized the public-relations industry in its efforts to get publicity for the wares it is plugging. I am at the moment surrounded by 91/2 pounds of assorted printed stuff explaining to me in full and unnecessary detail the doings of vineyards known and unknown, the composition of new wines down to the last chemical details, harvest forecasts, piles of releases about visiting importers, announcements, folders describing various wine-tastings (in one instance signed by the champagne maker himself), and so on. At best, about onefourth of all of this is useful to a writer like myself.

NH

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Nika Hazelton

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The other day, as I was working at my self-appointed task of writing a book (“Why do you write books, Mrs. Hazelton?” “To make an honest living now that I’m too old to do anything else”), a parcel was left outside my door, like Moses among the bullrushes. It was an oblong basket, chastely covered with two napkins, wrapped high in cellophane; far from anything as joyous as an infant, however, it contained a bottle of an aperitif, a bottle of soda water, a box of nuts, and a box of lieprice. Sounds like a free lunch, doesn’t it?

I knew better. A few days later, the publicity firm which had dreamt up this truly unsolicited gift called, wanting to know if I needed more information and what was I going to write about it and when. Dear reader, I do not wish to bring a blush to your cheeks by telling you my answer. But it is an example of the desperation that seems to have seized the public-relations industry in its efforts to get publicity for the wares it is plugging. I am at the moment surrounded by 91/2 pounds of assorted printed stuff explaining to me in full and unnecessary detail the doings of vineyards known and unknown, the composition of new wines down to the last chemical details, harvest forecasts, piles of releases about visiting importers, announcements, folders describing various wine-tastings (in one instance signed by the champagne maker himself), and so on. At best, about onefourth of all of this is useful to a writer like myself.