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 Veiclass="underline" “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 journaclass="underline" “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.
In September 1996 the case was pleaded before the Cour de Cassation. Now we had to wait for them to pronounce their judgement. French justice is slow but inexorable.
26 March 1997. My journaclass="underline" “Fax from Anne Veil saying that we had won the final appeal against Balland-Copagest. MOMENTOUS DAY! Eleven years of litigation. I reckon I’ve spent £20,000 on legal fees and as far as I can tell I will receive an immediate payment of £23,000 from the escrow account. I wonder if it’s over. But surely they haven’t got a leg to stand on after all this?”
Well, they hadn’t. And it is a measure of my exhaustion that I had to resort to upper case and an exclamation mark to register my relief that it was all done and dusted. In March 1997 I was on the final stages of my seventh novel, Armadillo: when the whole business had begun in 1986 (“Hello, Will? Bad news, I’m afraid …”) I was halfway through my fourth, The New Confessions. Then, I was thirty-four years old; now I was forty-five. Had it all been worth it?
L’Affaire William Boyd v Balland-Copagest hadn’t dominated my life over the decade of its comings and goings to the various French courts that dealt with it (Le Tribunal de Grande Instance, La Cour d’Appel de Paris, La Cour de Cassation). It had rumbled away in the background, sometimes naggingly, sometimes quite unobtrusively. Totting up the figures now, I reckon that I was paid some 75 percent of what I was originally due after the great success of An Ice-Cream War—I was £15–16,000 short, in terms of unpaid royalties and I calculate that I had probably spent on the various lawyers — Heald Nickinson, Anne Veil and Maitre Piwnica — some £22,000 plus VAT. Let’s say the whole adventure of fighting the case cost me close to £40,000. Editions André Balland paid me approximately £40,000 of the £57,000 they owed me (before they declared themselves in financial difficulties) and eventually, eleven years later, I retrieved £23,000 from the escrow account. So I was more or less £23,000 ahead. If I hadn’t sued, if I hadn’t gone to law — it’s quite clear to me now — I would have received a small fraction of the money I was owed. I have absolutely no regrets about the course of action I took.
I am glad I decided to fight the Affaire William Boyd v Balland-Copagest as long as I did, even though my ardour, my zeal for the battle, waxed and waned (particularly when I had to sign cheques). But now that it’s over I look back on the decade it lasted with some satisfaction. For me it exemplifies a strange truth about the novelist’s life — indeed, a truth about any writer or artist’s life: namely, that however much we love what we do, however driven or obsessed we are with our calling, our vocation, we are wise never to forget the fundamental link between art and commerce. I was thrilled to have my first book published, and my second; I was hugely pleased to have it published in French and I was exhilarated when it became a bestseller. But novels are also commodities that are designed to be bought and sold and are not just objects of delight for the author. Dickens and Balzac knew that, Joyce and Chekhov knew that — but I don’t need to enlist eminent names to make the point: every author knows that. And every author knows, all too shrewdly, that if their novels sell many copies, then many people will make a great deal of money. Thus, for me, the Balland Affair is fundamentally about that commercial, money-driven, profit-motivated, commodity side of the writing life. In this particular case it went wrong, turned sour and was corrupted. But if I hadn’t contested the non-payment of my royalties, if I had, instead, walked away, deciding to cut my losses, I think I would have let myself down — not just as an individual but also as a writer. In the world of commerce we, the artists, must not easily yield our ground and I see my fight (with my stalwart allies) against Editions André Balland and then against Balland-Copagest as a small symbol of that tenacity. We are not just schmucks with Underwoods, as Sam Goldwyn described us. Well, not all the time.