"Authors are easy to get on with" - if you're fond of children. -- Michael Joseph, "Observer"

…and the Curious Case of Authorly Affability

The observation, delivered with characteristic dry wit by publisher Michael Joseph in a recent Observer piece, has sparked a surprisingly robust debate within literary circles and beyond: “Authors are easy to get on with – if you’re fond of children.” It’s a statement that, on the surface, seems flippant, even a little cruel. But scratch beneath the surface, and a complex portrait of the authorial temperament emerges, one frequently characterized by a particular brand of sensitivity, ego, and, yes, a certain childlike vulnerability.

Joseph’s comment wasn’t intended as a blanket condemnation, he clarified in a subsequent Twitter thread. Rather, it was a reflection on the often-intense emotional investment authors pour into their work, and the subsequent fragility that can accompany the process of sharing that intensely personal creation with the world. “It’s not about immaturity,” he explained, “but about a fundamental openness, a willingness to be hurt, to be misunderstood. That takes a certain…innocence, I suppose. The kind you see in children.”

The reaction has been predictably varied. Many authors themselves have chimed in, often with self-deprecating humour. Novelist Sarah Winman, author of Still Life, tweeted a picture of herself building a Lego castle with the caption, “Guilty as charged. My agent has to remind me to eat proper meals when I’m nearing a deadline.” Others have been more defensive. Veteran crime writer Ian Rankin responded with a curt, “Speak for yourself, Joseph,” followed by a string of exasperated emojis.

But beyond the immediate authorial responses, the comment has ignited a wider conversation about the psychological profile of the creative individual. Dr. Eleanor Vance, a psychologist specializing in creative professions, believes Joseph’s observation touches on a core truth. “The act of creation, particularly in writing, requires a degree of regression,” she explains. “You’re essentially building worlds, inhabiting characters, and exploring emotions from a deeply internal perspective. That necessitates tapping into pre-rational modes of thinking, a kind of imaginative play that is often associated with childhood.”

This isn’t to say authors are incapable of rational thought or adult behaviour. Rather, it suggests that the very qualities that allow them to create compelling narratives – empathy, imagination, a willingness to explore vulnerability – are also those that can make them, at times, emotionally demanding or prone to sensitivity.

The publishing industry, notoriously fraught with rejection and criticism, doesn’t exactly foster a robust emotional shield. Authors are constantly asked to relinquish control of their work, to subject it to the scrutiny of editors, reviewers, and ultimately, the reading public. This constant exposure can be particularly difficult for those who are already predisposed to emotional intensity.

“Think about it,” says literary agent Amelia Hayes. “They’ve spent months, sometimes years, pouring their heart and soul into a manuscript. Then they hand it over, and it’s dissected, critiqued, and potentially rejected. It’s a deeply vulnerable experience. You need a certain level of resilience, but also a degree of…hopeful naiveté to keep going.”

The comparison to children isn’t entirely unfounded. Children, while capable of profound emotional depth, also possess a remarkable capacity for forgiveness and a belief in the possibility of positive outcomes. Authors, too, must maintain a degree of optimism in the face of constant setbacks.

However, the analogy isn’t without its critics. Some argue that it perpetuates harmful stereotypes about artists as being inherently unstable or emotionally immature. Others point out that the experience of being an author is incredibly diverse, and that generalizations are inherently problematic.

Ultimately, Michael Joseph’s seemingly offhand remark has served as a surprisingly insightful commentary on the complex and often contradictory nature of the authorial personality. It’s a reminder that behind the published works, the book signings, and the critical acclaim, there are individuals who are, at their core, deeply sensitive, intensely imaginative, and perhaps, just a little bit like children, still hoping to be understood and appreciated. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit easier to get on with if you remember that.