How UK Publishing Was Transformed Since the 1970s

From the Net Book Agreement to audiobooks, AI authors and supermarket shelves - how British publishing transformed over five decades.

The business of books in Britain has transformed dramatically from the 1970s to today.

The UK publishing industry of the 1970s would hardly recognise itself in 2025. Back then, cigarette smoke filled offices in London’s West End handled typewritten manuscripts delivered by post to a business dominated by gentlemanly agreements and a fixed book price system. Fast forward to today, and British publishing is a multi-billion-pound global industry, shaped by corporate mergers, digital technology, and social media savvy. Let’s take a tour through the key ways UK publishing has changed since the ’70s – and then a look into what the future might hold.

From Berkeley Square to the Bookstore Shelf: A Note on “Packagers”

A personal aside, if I may.

I began my publishing career at Reader’s Digest in Berkeley Square, London, where I illustrated The Reader’s Digest Book of Trees of Great Britain - my first book. I later worked on the very first Dorling Kindersley Eyewitness Books, commissioning artwork for what would become a game-changing series in illustrated non-fiction.

At that stage, I wasn’t yet what the industry would call a packager. That came later - first for Franklin Watts and Simon & Schuster - where I began as an editorial packager, delivering camera-ready books to publishers. Their production departments handled the printing, while we created fully designed books, ready to go. Eventually, I became a full packager, delivering finished books straight to the warehouse, ready for sale.

I’ve never especially cared for the term packager. It implies factory-line production - books as products to be shrink-wrapped and shipped out. But the reality, at least in my experience, was creative, hands-on, and meticulous. We weren’t churning out content; we were creating, designing and commissioning books with narrative flow, educational logic, and visual flair.

In many ways, we were publishers in all but name - just without the imprint. So whenever the history of publishing gets rewritten, I think it’s worth noting: the label packager may sound clinical, but the work, at its best, was deeply human and creative.

From Family Firms to Corporate Conglomerates

Consolidation of publishers: In the 1970s, UK publishing still featured a wide variety of independent, often family-run publishers. Names like Collins, Faber, Allen & Unwin, and Hodder & Stoughton were standalone entities. Over the years, however, mergers and acquisitions have vastly consolidated the field. By the late 1980s, the industry was already dominated by a handful of major players and that trend has only continued. Today’s “Big Five” : Penguin Random House, Hachette, HarperCollins, Pan Macmillan, and Simon & Schuster - together swallow a large share of the market, with other big international entrants like Bonnier making their mark in the UK. This consolidation is nothing new (even The New York Times noted a “merger fever” in publishing as far back as 1977 but it has accelerated. For authors, one impact is fewer large publishers to pitch to - though each conglomerate hosts multiple imprints that often still compete with one another for books. It is so far from the more fragmented landscape of the 1970s.

Global ownership

 Along with consolidation came globalisation. Many UK publishers from the 1970s were later acquired by international media groups. Penguin, once British-owned, eventually merged with German-owned Random House. HarperCollins was formed from the marriage of Harper (US) and Collins (UK) under Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp. Hachette UK is part of a French-owned conglomerate. The upshot is that UK publishing is now entwined with the global media giants. This can bring bigger budgets and worldwide distribution - but also a corporate flavour that contrasts with the quirky independence of yesteryear’s publishers. An old-school 1970s editor might be baffled by today’s corporate org charts and profit-and-loss statements driving publishing decisions.

Impact on the mid-list 

One change is the fate of the “midlist” author - those writers who are not blockbusting superstars but steadily sell modest numbers. In the 1970s, a publisher might nurture this category of author  for the long haul. Today’s conglomerates, pressured by bottom lines, often focus on potential bestsellers and celebrities, publishers pour resources into the next big hit rather than a breadth of titles. This isn’t just nostalgia - studies have shown that by the 1980s the business of publishing was increasingly dominated by best-selling authors.The consolidation that created efficiencies also fostered a winner-takes-all market ethos. On the bright side, the gaps left by the big companies have been filled by dozens of independent publishers and presses (some extraordinarily innovative) who champion voices and genres the big publishers might overlook. In that sense, the spirit of the 1970s indie publisher lives on, albeit in the shadow of gigantic giants.

Bookstores, Supermarkets and Amazon: Selling Books Then vs Now

The Net Book Agreement era: One of the defining features of UK publishing in the ’70s was the Net Book Agreement (NBA) – a gentleman’s agreement dating back to the early 20th century which fixed book prices. Under the NBA, books were sold at a set price everywhere, and discounting was prohibited. This protected smaller bookshops from being undercut and ensured publishers a stable margin. The NBA endured for 95 years, surviving various legal challenges publishers.org.uk. But by the 1990s it was seen as a restrictive practice ill-suited to a globalising market and, facing pressure, it was finally abandoned in 1995. The end of resale price maintenance on books was revolutionary. Suddenly, retailers could discount books – and they did, aggressively.

Rise of retail chains and supermarkets

 In the late 1970s and into the 1980s, bookstore chains began expanding. Waterstones opened its first shop in 1982 and grew into a national chain, eventually absorbing rivals (Dillons, Ottakar’s) and becoming a dominant high-street presence. Meanwhile, W.H. Smith, which in the ’70s was primarily a newsagent and stationer selling books at full price, could now offer 3-for-2 deals. Supermarkets like Tesco and Asda started stacking bestsellers next to the cornflakes, luring shoppers with deep discounts. For publishers, this opened lucrative new channels – but also concentrated power in a few big retail buyers. A supermarket might order tens of thousands of copies of the latest Jamie Oliver cookbook (hooray!), but they only wanted sure-fire chart-toppers, not the mid-list literary novel. This shifted the balance: by the 2000s, publishing schedules and marketing plans often revolved around pleasing a few key retail kingmakers.

The Amazon revolution

 Perhaps the single biggest change in book retail since the 1970s is the advent of Amazon. Launched in the UK in 1998, Amazon went from a curiosity (“buy books on the internet?!”) to the largest bookseller in the country. Its convenience and heavy discounting permanently changed consumer expectations – why pay RRP when you can get 30% off with one-click ordering? Publishers initially saw Amazon as just another account, but it grew to wield enormous influence over sales. The 1970s reader discovered books via newspaper reviews and by browsing local bookshops; today, many readers find their next read via Amazon’s algorithmic recommendations or by seeing what’s trending on Kindle. Entire genres (like self-published e-books or Kindle exclusives) have flourished outside traditional bookstores. The flip side is the strain on physical bookshops – hundreds of independents closed in the 2000s under the twin assault of Amazon and chain store competition. Lately there’s been a modest revival of indie bookshops focusing on community appeal, which harks back to pre-1970s days, but online retail remains king.

Changes in distribution

In the 1970s, getting books into shops was a more localised,

many regions had their own wholesalers and distributors, and publishers often maintained their own warehouses. It was slower, certainly, but tangible and human. The introduction of the ISBN system in the late ’60s/early ’70s revolutionised inventory tracking, and since then the supply chain has become increasingly centralised, digitised and, on paper, more efficient.

Today, national wholesalers like Gardners and services like print-on-demand mean a customer can order a book and expect it to arrive the next day - or download it instantly. The logistics of 2025 would astonish a publisher from 1975. But that slick surface masks a more precarious reality - especially for smaller publishers.

Automation in warehouses like Gardners, transformed distribution. But in other cases, centralisation and outsourcing led to fragmentation, not resilience. Small publishers often find themselves without a direct contract with their warehouse, as the relationship is managed through an independent sales team. When something goes wrong - a warehouse collapse or a failed software migration - they are left in limbo, unable to access their own stock, chase payments, or even get basic communication.

My own experience with Orca Book Services, now part of the Independent Publishers Group (IPG), was extraordinarily difficult. After a series of ownership changes, warehouse relocations, and promised "streamlining," ten's of thousands of books sat undelivered or lost, payments were delayed or vanished, and publishers were left without clear points of contact or legal recourse. Some lost tens of thousands in sales. Others, months of trade. The stress was intense; for many, it wasn’t just a business setback - it was a personal and professional unravelling.

Distribution today may be faster when it works - but when it fails, it fails completely. And unlike in the 1970s, when you could walk into the warehouse or call the managing director, today’s systems often leave small publishers isolated, powerless, and invisible.

The Digital Revolution: From Typewriters to Twitter to X

Manuscripts and editing: If you time-travelled to a 1970s publishing house, you’d likely find editors literally cutting and pasting – with scissors and glue! Manuscripts were typed on paper (often with carbon copies for backup). Editorial revisions involved marking up pages by hand and retyping final drafts. Correspondence with authors happened via letters or expensive phone calls. It was slow, but it worked. Today, that world has been utterly transformed by digital technology. Word processors and email began creeping in by the late 1980s; by the 2000s, the red pen had given way to Track Changes in Microsoft Word. Now editors and authors ping manuscripts back and forth via email or cloud services, sometimes with dozens of revision rounds. Turnaround times are faster – an editor can send feedback in a day rather than via snail mail over weeks. Some grizzled veterans mourn the loss of the thinking time that slower communication allowed, but few truly miss wrestling with smudgy carbon paper.

Production and design

 The physical process of turning a manuscript into a printed book is another area of radical change. The 1970s were still the era of typesetters and paste-up layouts; printing involved huge offset presses. Mistakes in print runs were costly. Today, desktop publishing software puts enormous design power in publishers’ hands. A cover designer in 2025 uses Photoshop and digital illustration; in 1975 it was paints or physical typeset. Modern printing can economically produce shorter runs, and print-on-demand means books need never go out of stock – a far cry from the days when a title could simply fall out of print if the warehouse stock ran dry and the publisher hesitated to reprint. E-books emerged in the late 2000s as a new format altogether – by the mid-2010s, e-books often comprised 15–20% of sales for popular titles, a format completely nonexistent in the ’70s. And let’s not forget audiobooks: in the 1970s, audiobooks were rare (clunky cassette tapes sold to libraries). Now audiobooks are a booming market, downloadable in seconds, and often narrated by celebrity actors. For readers, formats and access have never been so abundant.

Self-publishing and indie explosion

 One huge change digital tech enabled is the rise of self-publishing. In the 1970s, if you couldn’t get a publisher, your only option was a “vanity press” – often considered dubious money-making schemes charging authors to print a few copies. Now, thanks to Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing and other platforms, authors can publish their work globally with a few clicks. Some have achieved tremendous success this way, bypassing traditional publishers entirely. This would have been unimaginable in the '70s. The stigma around self-publishing has lessened (though traditional and self-pub remain two very different paths). Digital distribution allowed many niche genres and voices to find their audience without the blessing of a publishing house – a democratization of publishing, if you will. Traditional publishers themselves have adapted by scooping up successful self-published authors and by offering digital-first imprints. It’s an irony that in an age of giant corporate publishers, an individual author in their living room can effectively become a publisher too.

Marketing and publicity

 In the seventies, book marketing was relatively low-key. Publishers relied on newspaper reviews, author tours (usually just a few signings or library talks), maybe a radio interview on the BBC, and word-of-mouth among readers. The author’s job was mostly to write; self-promotion beyond perhaps attending a launch party was not expected (indeed, a bit of British reticence meant authors doing the hard sell was “just not done”). How that has changed! Today’s authors are often expected to be active on social media, engaging with readers on Twitter (or Threads/Mastodon), posting on Instagram or TikTok, maintaining a website or newsletter – essentially building a personal brand. Publishers now ask about an author’s “platform” or online following as part of signing new writers. It’s as if writers must wear two hats: creator and marketer medium.commedium.com. This shift has been driven by the fragmented nature of media – to get attention for a book now, one must hustle across online channels, because simply relying on a Times review and a bookstore window display won’t cut it. Some authors relish the direct connection with readers that social media provides; others find it exhausting and a distraction from writing. A witty 1970s author might have sent witty postcards to friends – today they'd be expected to fire off witty tweets to thousands of followers. The jury is out on whether all this effort translates to book sales for most, but it has undoubtedly become part of the author’s life in a way utterly foreign to the 1970s.

Diversity of voices

 Another notable change is in whose voices get published. The 1970s publishing scene in the UK was often criticised for being a closed shop – largely white, male, and centered in London, with little representation from minority or regional voices. In recent decades, there’s been a conscious push for diversity and inclusion in publishing. Initiatives to publish more writers of colour, LGBTQ+ authors, and those from different class and regional backgrounds have gathered steam. Children’s publishing, for example, now actively seeks stories featuring diverse characters that simply didn’t exist in the 70s. The change is far from complete – surveys and articles still highlight the need for more inclusion – but the conversation is out in the open. Internally, publishing staff has also diversified somewhat (though again, leadership is still often homogeneous). A 1970s publisher might be shocked (or delighted!) to see today’s bestseller lists featuring authors of a wide array of backgrounds, and topics that would have been taboo or niche decades ago now being mainstream. The industry’s slow evolution on this front is a story of change driven as much by social progress as by technology or economics.

Looking Ahead: The Future of UK Publishing

The transformations since the 1970s have been immense – but change is a constant. What future developments might shape UK publishing in the coming years? Let’s explore a few key possibilities and their implications, from the continuing march of corporate consolidation to the brave new world of AI (artificial intelligence). In a sector that balances art and commerce, these emerging trends could redefine how publishers, creators, and readers interact.

Big Fish Eating Little Fish: Will Consolidation Continue?

The merger mania of the past isn’t over. Large companies like Bonnier (a Swedish media firm which has rapidly become a UK powerhouse by buying up smaller publishers) are likely to continue acquiring independent publishers. The allure of scaling up, accessing new markets and IP, and pooling resources remains strong. We may see more independent imprints absorbed into corporate families. For example, Bonnier’s acquisition of the Scottish publisher Black & White in 2021 expanded its UK footprint bonnierbooks.co.uk. It’s not hard to imagine further such deals. The question is how these acquisitions are handled. Will the bigger fish allow the smaller acquired imprints to maintain some identity and creative freedom, or will they be completely rebranded under the parent company’s logo? Recent history gives mixed answers: often the imprint name survives (at least as a sub-brand) to capitalise on its goodwill, but sometimes the parent opts to fold everything into a unified brand.

A concern among authors and illustrators is that in aggressive rebranding, the original creators’ identities might get sidelined. We’ve heard anecdotes of new editions where author or illustrator biographies that once featured in the books were dropped, or where a series once clearly attributed to its creator is now marketed under a generic brand banner. Such moves can feel like erasing the very people whose work built the book’s reputation. Will this become common practice? Publishers might argue that branding a series under, say, a known franchise name helps sales – but it can breed resentment if creators feel invisible. The Society of Authors and other advocates consistently remind publishers that credit and recognition for creators isn’t just courtesy but a right. (Indeed, a recent joint statement by UK publishing bodies underscored that “compensation, credit for authors and other creators, and rightsholders’ control” are fundamental, and should not be undermined by new developments publishers.org.uk.) In the future, if consolidation continues, we may see pushback – perhaps contractual guarantees that author/illustrator credits and bios won’t be removed, or public pressure on publishers to acknowledge the creative talent behind the corporate brand. After all, readers form attachments to authors and artists, not to conglomerates. A balance will need to be struck between leveraging a big brand and honouring individual creators. A witty observer might say: if publishers get too carried away scrubbing creator identities, they risk killing the golden goose – creativity thrives on individual voices, not faceless content.

The Listening Revolution: From Clunky Cassettes to Audiobook Empires

In the 1970s, audiobooks - then more commonly referred to as listening books - were a niche proposition. Usually produced for the visually impaired or as educational tools, they were often abridged versions, delivered via cumbersome cassette box sets and sold primarily to libraries. Few publishers regarded them as a serious commercial format, and the idea of listening to a book for pleasure was seen by many as either eccentric or remedial.

By contrast, in 2025, audiobooks are a booming global industry and a cornerstone of publishing strategy. The rise of smartphones, wireless earbuds, and subscription platforms such as Audible has revolutionised how, where, and when people read. Today, a book can be “read” while commuting, walking the dog, doing the housework, or at the gym. For many readers - especially younger ones—audio is not a supplement to reading, but the format of choice.

Modern audiobooks are no longer apologetically abridged or monotone. They are high-quality productions, often narrated by actors of considerable calibre—Stephen Fry, Juliet Stevenson, David Tennant—or in some cases, the authors themselves. Some titles even feature full cast recordings, ambient sound design and bespoke music, blurring the lines between audiobook and radio drama.

Children’s publishing, once hesitant, now embraces the format wholeheartedly. Bestselling series such as Harry Potter, How to Train Your Dragon and Percy Jackson are as popular in audio as they are in print, and many new releases include simultaneous audio editions as standard. For publishers, the audio rights to a book are now a vital part of the business model, and in some cases, are sold separately or directly licensed to audio-first platforms.

It’s a remarkable shift. What once seemed a quaint sideline for libraries or the hard of sight is now a dynamic, fast-growing sector - arguably the most exciting format evolution since the paperback,

you could say that listening has become the new reading.

AI in Publishing: Rethinking Attribution and Authenticity

Of all the looming changes, artificial intelligence may be the most disruptive – and it’s already knocking on publishing’s door. The increasing use of AI-generated text and images is poised to force publishers into re-examining their practices around attribution and credit. In the past couple of years, generative AI tools (from GPT-style text generators to image creators like DALL·E) have become astonishingly good at producing content that, on the surface, resembles human-created work. What does that mean for publishing? Potentially, everything from editing to cover design to writing itself could be assisted by AI. Some publishers have begun tentative experiments – for example, using AI to generate brief marketing copy or to suggest title ideas. There have even been murmurings of AI-written novels (though the jury is out on their quality!).

If an AI writes a chunk of text or creates an illustration, the big question is: who gets the credit? Traditionally, every book clearly credits its human author, and usually any illustrator, photographer, or translator involved. But if a cover image was produced by an AI algorithm, does the cover designer take credit for “prompting” the AI? Do you credit the tool (and would anyone want to see “Cover image by Midjourney” on the jacket)? What if a novelist uses AI to help draft some passages – should that be disclosed? These scenarios were purely theoretical just a few years ago; now they are real. Publishers are already being forced to consider attribution policies. Some academic journals have declared AI cannot be listed as an author because it can’t take responsibility. Book publishers similarly will likely insist that a human author is accountable for the content, even if AI was involved. Yet, transparency is key to trust. We may see publishers including notes like “This book used AI assistance in its production” in the credits, or alternatively, strict rules that forbid AI-generated content in books they publish (at least without disclosure). Neither path is straightforward – too much AI and readers may feel cheated; too little, and publishers may not reap potential efficiency gains.

Crucially, the rise of AI content generation has already sparked legal and ethical debates about copyright and consent. Generative AIs are trained on masses of existing works (books, art, articles) – often without permission from or compensation to the original creators. The publishing industry has taken a stand on this: major publishers and author organisations have protested the unlicensed use of copyrighted books to train AI publishingperspectives.com.

They argue that using authors’ work to fuel AI, with no credit or payment, undermines creative livelihoods. This debate will likely intensify. It ties back to attribution: one way to “rethink credit” is that if an AI is trained on, say, J.K. Rowling’s novels and then spits out similar prose, there’s an argument that Rowling (and others) deserve some form of acknowledgment or reward. While that’s an extreme case, it highlights how murky the question of credit becomes when AI blurs the lines of authorship.

On the flip side, AI might also pressure publishers into giving more credit to the human contributions that can’t be replicated. For instance, unique authorial voice and original illustrations might be marketed as a selling point (“100% human-created!” could become a badge of honour). It’s a bit of a Black Mirror scenario, but not impossible – readers might soon consciously seek out books that promise no AI meddling, much as some seek “handmade” goods. Publishers will have to navigate these waters carefully, to harness AI’s benefits (in speed, cost, or capability) without alienating both creators and consumers.

Author as Meta Data

The Curious Case of AI Agatha: Will Publishing Raise the Dead to Teach the Living?

One of the most interesting recent developments in AI and publishing comes from the BBC Maestro platform, where - brace yourself - Agatha Christie has returned from the dead to teach a masterclass in crime writing. The course, priced at £79, presents a digitally animated version of Christie, voiced and portrayed by an actor whose appearance and tone have been modified using AI. It was created in collaboration with the Christie estate and scripted using her own archive of interviews, letters, and writings.

While some have hailed it as “uncannily like her,” others found it “a bit Frankenstein.” The industry response has been cautiously intrigued, if occasionally queasy.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t an audiobook reading or a dramatisation of her novels.

This is an AI-reconstructed author teaching a new generation of writers as if she were alive today, dispensing creative advice through the illusion of presence. Her great-grandson supports it. Fans are intrigued. And publishing estates everywhere are watching closely.

From one angle, it’s a tribute. From another, it’s posthumous ventriloquism.

The wider implications are staggering:

• Will literary estates now seek to monetise “AI lectures” by their most bankable ghosts?

• Will writing advice from simulacra dilute the very mystique these authors once embodied?

• What happens when an AI Jane Austen teaches modern romance writing, or a Shakespeare chatbot starts giving sonnet feedback?

There’s something uncomfortably close to techno-necromancy here - polished, legalised, but not quite free of moral fog.

As someone who’s spent a lifetime in bookmaking, I can’t help but feel we’re entering a zone where authorship is performed, rather than embodied. If you can license a dead writer’s likeness to teach writing tips - possibly even composed or refined by AI - then what part of the human spark remains?

This is the logical extension of what’s already happening in some publishing corners: creator bios dropped from reprints, illustrators’ names scrubbed in favour of franchise branding, and now, potentially, estates authorising simulacra that can outlive, outproduce, and outmarket the original authors themselves.

Even if done with care, there’s a creeping risk that the industry forgets how to distinguish legacy from likeness. If we aren't vigilant, the publishing world could become less about nurturing the living and more about licensing the dead.

To paraphrase one commentator: just because we can reanimate a dead author doesn’t mean we should. And even if we do - let's at least keep their name on the cover, their voice unfiltered by algorithms, and their legacy grounded in something more than code.

https://www.bbcmaestro.com/courses/agatha-christie/writing

Publishers’ Stance on AI: Policies and Promises

Given the above, are major UK publishers doing anything right now? Yes  - several have already gone on record about AI. In fact, the big publishing houses are well aware of the stakes and are writing policies to guide AI use in their workflows. Penguin Random House UK, for example, published a statement in 2024 outlining its principles on generative AI. They struck a careful balance, expressing enthusiasm for new tech but emphasising that Penguin “champions human creativity” and does not see any technology as a substitute for human imagination 

penguin.co.uk.

PRH’s stance includes a commitment to use AI selectively and responsibly - and a vow that every book will always be nurtured by human editors and creative staff. In short, they’re saying: we might use AI as a tool, but human talent remains at the core of what we do.

Hachette UK has similarly released an AI position statement. Hachette encourages responsible experimentation for operational efficiency, but draws a sharp line against using AI to replace the creative work of authors or artists

hachette.co.ukhachette.co.uk. 

They explicitly oppose “machine creativity” – a strong phrase that essentially pledges that Hachette will not publish AI-generated novels or illustrations in lieu of a human. This is framed as protecting the creative ecosystem. One can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from writers and illustrators on their roster. Other big publishers are likely formulating comparable policies. HarperCollins, meanwhile, made news in a slightly different way: rather than using AI to generate content, they struck a deal to allow an AI company to train on a selection of their books – but only with authors’ permission and for a fee.

theguardian.com.

 In 2024 it emerged that HarperCollins was offering authors the choice to opt-in to such schemes, paying a few thousand pounds for the right to feed an author’s text into AI models. This shows another aspect of policy: if AI is going to use our content, we’ll do it on our terms and ensure authors are (at least minimally) compensated.

Moreover, across the industry, we’ve seen joint statements and lobbying on AI. The Publishers Association, Society of Authors, and others have jointly called on the government to strengthen protections around AI, essentially demanding that AI developers seek licences and give credit/compensation when using copyrighted works 

publishers.org.uk. 

So the public stance of UK publishing is clear: they are not anti-AI per se (they recognise its potential in marketing, data analysis, etc.), but they are drawing ethical boundaries. Expect to see “AI Policies” on publishers’ websites much like you see environmental or diversity policies today.

What does this mean looking forward? Likely a period of careful experimentation. Publishers might use AI internally (for example, AI tools to help editors scout for new talent by analysing self-published books, or to generate metadata, write AI’s and blurbs). But they will tread cautiously when it comes to content creation. If AI is used to, say, create an illustration or significantly assist in writing, publishers may institute guidelines on disclosing that. There’s even talk of watermarking AI-generated text to identify it. The very definition of authorship may need revisiting in contracts – some publishing contracts now explicitly state the author will not use generative AI without informing the publisher, to avoid legal uncertainties.

In summary, major UK publishers are publicly affirming the primacy of human creativity while exploring AI’s utility in less visible ways. The next few years will test those principles. If an AI-authored bestseller emerges and makes a splash, will publishers hold the line or jump on the bandwagon? Given their statements, one expects caution. But economic temptation can be strong. It will be a space to watch, with authors’ organisations ready to pounce if any publisher seems to be exploiting AI at the expense of creatives.

Implications for Writers, Illustrators, and Readers

In this evolving landscape, what are the implications for the people at the heart of publishing – the writers, designers, content creators and illustrators – and for those on the receiving end – the readers?

For writers: The future holds both promise and anxiety. On one hand, continued consolidation might mean fewer big publishers to submit to, but those that remain have global reach – a book deal today can mean international editions and multimedia spinoffs in a way a 1970s deal rarely did. Authors might benefit from the marketing muscle of large firms, but they might also feel lost in a giant corporate machine if they’re not a lead title. If publishers do continue snapping up smaller presses, authors may find that the indie press that first took a chance on them is now part of a conglomerate – hopefully bringing bigger budgets, but possibly a change in culture. Authors will need to be vigilant about their contracts, ensuring clauses about attribution, bio inclusion, and perhaps even limits on AI usage of their work. The AI question is huge: writers are already concerned about their works being used to train models without consent. If publishers negotiate deals with AI firms (like HarperCollins did), authors will have to decide whether to opt in. There’s also the spectre (however remote it seems now) of AI-generated books competing with human-written books. Most authors comfort themselves that readers value the human touch and unique perspective that only a person can provide. But it may be that writers in the future highlight their human credentials – kind of a reverse Turing test, proudly declaring the creativity and empathy poured into their story that no algorithm could match.

On a more positive note, new technology could also empower writers. AI tools might help authors brainstorm or get past writer’s block (as long as it remains their voice guiding the final product). And the plethora of publishing avenues – from Big Five to indies to self-pub – means authors have choices and can find the path that suits them best. The successful author of the future might be part entrepreneur, part artist: managing their brand, perhaps alternating between traditional and self-publishing, using new tools but also asserting the value of their individual creativity. The era of just sitting in a garret and handing your masterpiece to an attentive publisher is over (if it ever truly existed), but the new era could be one of greater creative control – if authors seize it.

For illustrators and artists

 Illustrators in publishing (especially in children’s books and cover design) have similar mixed fortunes ahead. Consolidation could mean fewer commissions as companies reuse assets or keep things in-house. There’s already a trend of publishers re-issuing backlist books with new covers to create a consistent “brand look” – great for marketing, but it might mean less work for original cover artists when a series gets a homogeneous rebrand. In the worst-case scenario mentioned earlier, if new editions drop illustrator credits or bios, that’s demoralising – illustrators have often had to fight for equal recognition. The creative industries will likely push back hard on any erosion of credit. Illustrators may also need to adapt by learning new digital skills; many already have, moving from traditional mediums to digital painting and 3D modelling as the industry demands.

AI looms particularly large for visual artists: AI image generators can produce artwork in a given style in seconds, which could tempt publishers to replace some human-drawn art – especially for things like concept sketches or even final illustrations – to save time/money. The implication is that illustrators must highlight what makes their work special. We may see illustrators incorporating AI as part of their process (e.g. using it to generate ideas or backgrounds, then hand-finishing with their unique touch), essentially becoming art directors of AI, rather than being replaced by it. However, the ethical debate is intense: many illustrators object to AI models that were trained on human artworks without permission. They will demand publishers avoid such tools or at least not use them to undercut artist jobs. If publishers rethink credit policies, we might see something like “Artwork generated with AI under the direction of [Illustrator Name]” – which at least keeps the illustrator in the loop, if not ideal. Ultimately, illustrators who can adapt while championing their personal creativity will find opportunities, but they might need to be ready to defend their rights and worth.

For readers: What does all this industry upheaval mean for the book lovers? In some ways, readers have never had it better – a huge variety of books at their fingertips, often at lower relative prices than in the 1970s (when books were a luxury purchase for many). Thanks to consolidation, readers can get beautiful editions and worldwide availability; thanks to technology, they can choose print, e-book, or audiobook at will. If they like a niche genre, odds are someone is publishing it, if not a big publisher then an indie or self-publisher. The future could bring even more personalised reading experiences – imagine AI-curated story recommendations tailored to your exact taste, or even interactive books enhanced by AI (though purists may shudder).

However, readers should also be mindful of what could be lost. The quirks of a diverse publishing landscape might give way to more homogenised offerings if a few conglomerates dictate the market – we don’t want all books feeling the same. If AI-written books do start to proliferate, discerning readers might face the new task of figuring out if a work is human or machine-made (some might not care, but many will). Publishers rethinking attribution might affect readers in subtler ways: for instance, if a well known children’s book is reprinted without the original illustrator’s bio, readers miss out on that connection and context. In a more extreme sense, if creators aren’t properly credited or rewarded, they may leave the field – which ultimately deprives readers of talent. So while readers can look forward to plenty of convenience and choice, they have a stake in these ethical issues too. A future where authors and artists are fairly treated and credited is one where readers get the best, most authentic stories and art.

On the issue of AI, readers may become champions of human creativity, forming a kind of “organic books” movement (akin to organic food or craft beer) – preferring transparently human-crafted narratives. Or perhaps readers will happily consume AI-assisted works as long as they entertain. The key will be trust: publishers will need to maintain trust with readers about what they’re consuming.

The journey of UK publishing from the 1970s to now has been one of remarkable change – and the journey onward promises to be just as eventful. The business of publishing has proven resilient and adaptable, whether dealing with corporate shake-ups or technological revolutions. A knowledgeable observer today carries a bit of wit and wariness about it all: as one might quip, “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose” – the more things change, the more we care about good stories, engaging books, and the human spark behind them. Writers will write, artists will draw, and readers will read, as they always have. The formats and business models may evolve, but the creativity at the heart of publishing is its most important constant. In the coming years, UK publishing will continue to balance innovation with tradition, hopefully ensuring that even amid AI algorithms and mega-mergers, the essential magic of author, illustrator, and reader connecting through a book remains as alive as ever.