In the lush literary landscape of Sri Lanka, a curious misconception has taken root and flourished. Many publishers operate under the pretence that they are the sustaining force behind authors, the benevolent patrons without whom literary creation would wither. This presumption, however, inverts the fundamental reality of the publishing ecosystem: publishers are, in fact, the by-products of writers’ work, not their progenitors. This critical examination aims to untangle this misconception and reassess the power dynamics within Sri Lanka’s publishing industry.

Sri Lanka’s publishing landscape presents a paradox. Despite the country’s rich literary heritage, stretching back to ancient palm-leaf manuscripts and colonial-era printing presses, the contemporary publishing industry often positions itself as the life-giving force behind literary creation. Publishers frequently adopt postures suggesting they bestow opportunity upon authors, rather than acknowledging their role as intermediaries whose existence depends entirely upon authors’ creative labour.

This distorted perspective represents a curious inversion of reality. Publishers frequently act as gatekeepers whilst forgetting they guard gates that lead to buildings constructed by writers. Without manuscripts, without stories, publishers would have nothing to publish—their entire enterprise would cease to exist.

This distorted perspective manifests in multiple ways: paltry royalty rates, contractual terms weighted heavily in publishers’ favour, and an often patronising attitude towards authors, particularly those new to the industry. Many publishers speak of “taking a chance” on writers, when in truth, every book represents a chance taken by the author—often after years of uncompensated labour—on the publisher’s ability to effectively market and distribute their work.

The financial structures of Sri Lankan publishing illuminate this power imbalance starkly. Whilst exact figures vary across publishers, royalty rates typically hover between 8-15% of retail price—significantly lower than those in more mature publishing markets. These diminutive percentages become even more troubling when considering the high production costs and small print runs characteristic of the Sri Lankan market.

Many authors receive merely a few thousand rupees in royalties for their work, while publishers earn substantially more from the same publications. Yet in their interactions, publishers consistently position themselves as having done authors a favour by publishing their work.

Most Sri Lankan authors supplement their income through teaching, journalism, or entirely unrelated professions. Few can sustain themselves through writing alone, creating a situation where literature becomes the province of those privileged enough to have financial security through other means. This further distorts the publisher-author relationship, as economic necessity sometimes forces authors to accept unfavourable terms.

Sri Lanka’s post-colonial literary landscape carries complex historical baggage. The transition from colonial publishing structures to indigenous enterprises has not fully resolved issues of cultural authority and legitimacy. Many publishers position themselves as cultural gatekeepers, determining which voices merit amplification—often privileging certain linguistic, ethnic, or class backgrounds over others.

A persistent colonial hangover exists in the publishing industry. Publishers often adopt the role formerly played by colonial authorities, deciding which aspects of the literary tradition are marketable or ‘authentic’ enough for publication.

This cultural gatekeeping creates a situation where publishers believe they are not merely distributing literature but defining it—conferring legitimacy rather than serving existing literary communities and creators. This attitude reinforces the mistaken notion that publishers generate literary culture rather than respond to and facilitate it.

The digital revolution has begun to challenge these entrenched power structures. Self-publishing platforms, online literary magazines, and social media have created alternative avenues for Sri Lankan authors to reach audiences without traditional publishing intermediaries. These developments have sent tremors through the established publishing houses, many of which have responded defensively rather than adaptively.

When authors bypass traditional publishers and release their work online, they often reach more readers more quickly than through conventional publishing channels. Yet some publishers dismiss such work as ‘not properly published’—revealing how deeply they believe in their own indispensability.

These digital alternatives expose the fundamental truth: publishers exist to capitalise on authors’ creative labour. When authors find alternative routes to audience engagement, the supposed necessity of traditional publishers becomes questionable. This realisation has sparked newfound confidence among Sri Lankan writers, many of whom now approach publishers as service providers rather than benefactors.

Reimagining the author-publisher relationship in Sri Lanka requires acknowledgment of its fundamental nature: publishers exist because authors create, not vice versa. This recognition would ideally lead to more equitable arrangements, with publishers positioning themselves as partners in creative dissemination rather than gatekeepers or patrons.

Several emerging publishers are pioneering more balanced approaches. New presses in cities like Negombo and Galle have implemented transparent royalty structures and collaborative marketing strategies. These forward-thinking publishers see themselves as facilitators rather than authorities, recognising that their success depends entirely on authors’ creative work.

The Sri Lankan publishing industry operates under a persistent illusion: that publishers sustain authors, rather than authors sustaining publishers. This misconception has fostered unbalanced power dynamics, inequitable economic arrangements, and cultural gatekeeping that limits rather than expands literary expression.

Recognising publishers as by-products of writers’ work—as vessels for creative distribution rather than sources of creative legitimacy—would transform Sri Lanka’s literary landscape for the better. It would foster more equitable partnerships, diversify published voices, and ultimately enrich the country’s literary culture.

The most vibrant literary cultures emerge when publishers acknowledge their true role: not as kingmakers or patrons, but as facilitators serving the writers whose creative labour forms the bedrock of literary expression. When Sri Lankan publishers embrace this reality, both they and the authors they serve will flourish in newfound symbiosis—one based on mutual respect rather than misattributed authority.

As the digital age continues to evolve, this recalibration becomes not merely desirable but essential. The publishers who will thrive are those who recognise and respect the true source of their existence: the writers whose words fill their pages and whose creativity makes their enterprise possible in the first place.

Vinnita Sundram