William Boyd - Bamboo - Essays and Criticism

And then it all goes quiet for three years, a kind of phony peace. I was now happy with my new French publisher; I’d had a fair chunk of the money owing to me, paid in dribs and drabs (I was still short by £15,000), but Balland seemed to have gone off the radar, at least as far as my journal was concerned: there is no reference between October 1987 (when the repayments scheme was formalized by the lawyers) and April 1991. More than three years of silence. The monthly payments were coming through and when they stopped, it seemed I made no fuss. I put this down to a kind of malignant unworldliness that tends to afflict novelists (there are exceptions, of course). To describe it at its most simple I think the reasoning goes like this: you, the novelist, can’t believe you are actually earning your living writing novels — and to complain about being defrauded, messed about, unpaid, or ripped off under these circumstances seems somehow churlish. True, in my case, everything was going fairly well, especially in France, and I suppose I had written off the Balland affair as just one of those bad experiences that afflict writers from time to time. But looking back over my papers and journals, as I researched the background to this story, I found myself baffled and angry with myself for being so compliant and complacent. So they still owe me £15,000?—well, let’s not rock the boat.

In early 1991 Editions André Balland formally declared themselves to be in financial difficulties. In French the expression is to déposer votre bi-lan. No exact equivalent exists in Britain (it’s not like going bankrupt) but in the USA the expression is “to file for Chapter 11.” What it means, in real terms, is that your bank (supervised by a court official) takes over the running of your business and you, the enterprise, admit you cannot meet your financial responsibilities. Creditors are thus warned. And I was a creditor.

In 1991 I started to receive registered letters from Paris about my status as said creditor. I had to notify the authorities exactly how much I was owed by the moribund Editions André Balland. I really didn’t know what to do. And here my translator steps in. Christiane Besse (a truly remarkable woman) had (and has) translated all my novels into French and had become a close friend. As a result of the new association with Le Seuil it became clear that, over the last few intervening years (since 1989), royalties from my paperback sales (of my three Balland titles) had been properly paid to Editions André Balland but I had not received a penny. When Balland had déposé son bilan it had been bought by another company called Copagest. “Copagest” is an acronym for “Com-pagnie Parisienne de Gestion Automobile de la Gare de l’Est”—in short, a taxi-firm. Balland-Copagest, this unlikely coupling, had been receiving the monies due to me (from Le Seuil, from another paperback company and from book clubs) but had neglected to pass my share along. As well as the £15,000 Balland had not paid me, and for which Balland-Copagest was liable, it seemed I was also owed other sums of money by way of unpaid royalties by the new company.

After some discussion, Christiane Besse introduced me to a lawyer in Paris called Anne Veil, who specialized in literary and publishing litigation. We met one afternoon in Christiane’s apartment. As we took tea, Anne Veil spoke with eloquent, enormously grave, yet reassuring calm: the case was clear-cut — it was up to me. If I wanted to proceed we would institute a procès against Balland-Copagest. How much was involved? At that stage of accounting it appeared that, first, they should have paid me the outstanding £15,000 that Balland owed me (plus interest); second, there seemed to be some £7–8,000 of outstanding royalties that I should have received. And then there was the question of costs and damages.

A few dark nights of the soul ensued. All the old reservations about going to law came to mind (the time, the stress, the benefit accruing only to the lawyers, and so on) but it seemed to me I was in too deep now. I had already sued (via Heald Nickinson) and had achieved partial reparation. But now, by all accounts, it appeared I had been wronged yet again — all my royalties and earnings from my three books since Balland went bust had been quietly sequestered. The malignant unworldliness that afflicts novelists for once didn’t apply; this was a matter of principle — it seemed to me there was no other course of action to take. I instructed Anne Veil to sue Balland-Copagest.

French justice moves slowly, but inexorably, and French lawyers are paid half their fee up-front. It wasn’t until 9 September 1993 that the “Affaire William Boyd v Balland-Copagest (dossier no. 82231091)” was pleaded before the 3ème Chambre Civile du Tribunal de Grande Instance in Paris. Anne Veil and I were now on first-name terms and I have to say I had a confidence in her abilities that was adamantine. I felt sure we would win; she hoped for the best — she just kept warning me it would take a long time. The judgement of the tribunal was scheduled for 13 October 1993. In the meantime I had formally cancelled all the contracts of the three books I had had with Balland and had resold them to Le Seuil. I should mention that I could not have undertaken all this litigation without the tireless support and energy of Christiane Besse (all authors should be so lucky with their translators): she was busily orchestrating events behind the scenes — Anne Veil was our force de frappe. Looking today at the dossier we presented to the court (a formidably argued case, some thirty-five pages long) I see we were suing Balland-Copagest for 150,000 Frs (£15,000 approximately) — (“dus aux termes des relèves de comptes remis par les éditions André Balland, et non réglés depuis 1989”), 59,132 Frs (unpaid royalties for 1989 and 1990). And 103,460 Frs (unpaid royalties for 1991 and 1992). Altogether approximately £31,000. On top of that we were asking for 100,000 Frs (£10,000) “à titre de dommages-intérêts pour le grave préjudice matériel et moral à lui causé,” and another 50,000 Frs towards our legal costs. All in all, getting on for £46,000.

13 October came around. We won. Balland-Copagest were ordered to pay me the 150,000 Frs, 59,132 Frs and 162,116 Frs representing the various unpaid royalties (curiously, this last figure represented more than we’d asked for). In the dommages-intérêts clause we received 80,000 Frs and 10,000 Frs costs. Balland-Copagest immediately appealed against the judgement. All the money that was owed to me (and which I had legally won) went into an escrow account (non-interest-bearing) to which I had no access. The fight had to go on.

We move on to May 1996 (French justice is slow but inexorable). Balland-Copagest’s appeal against the 1993 judgement had been thrown out by the 4ème Chambre de la Cour d’Appel de Paris. I received a letter from Anne Veil: “Cher William, la société Copagest et les Editions André Balland ont fait un pourvoi en cassation [lodged an appeal] contre l’arrêt [ruling] rendu en votre faveur par la Cour d’Appel. J’ai, par conséquent, été contrainte de confier vos intérêts à un avocat à la Cour de Cassation … Vous trouverez sous ce pli … la facture de ses honoraires.” Ah, another lawyer, another court, another bill. What, in the name of justice, was the “Cour de Cassation”? It turned out that this court was, in effect, the court of last resort: it is a court designed to test the absolute propriety of a case — where the minutiae of the legal arguments and the precedents (and for all I know the punctuation of the documents) of the warring parties are scrutinized. My journal: “The Balland case continues, into its 10th year, I would say. Balland-Copagest are challenging the appeal verdict in La Cour de Cassation which, as far as I can understand, is purely to do with legal technicalities, where they will attempt to find a point of law that is wrong and therefore overturn — casser —the judgement. Anne Veil said she thought we were blindés [armour plated]— mais on ne sait jamais dans la vie. There must be a ton of money in the escrow account — maybe one day I’ll get my hands on it.” I was now to be represented by Maître Piwnica (whom I never met) and whose fee was £3,000.