More than thirty years ago Macmillan instituted a scheme to attract the very best people from universities to the publishing industry. Today former graduate recruits hold some of the most senior positions in the company and dozens are working their way up. Some leave immediately when they decide publishing is not for them. Others use the scheme as a way of launching a career - e.g. Nigel Newton and Tim Hely Hutchinson - and going on to great things in the industry.
Kristin Annexstad joined us three weeks ago as one of the first of the 2006 intake. Here are her thoughts:
'After being frightened during my undergraduate days with bedtime stories of psychometric testing, in-tray exercises, and absurd scenarios during interviews, and even sitting through interviews designed to make me cry at some of the big boys in the city, the Macmillan applications process was unnervingly easy. During my Christmas holidays I decided that, despite my lack of an English literature background, I would investigate jobs in publishing, something I had considered for some time. I wasn't sure whether my social science background would be appropriate but decided my love of books must count for something. Trawling the internet I discovered Macmillan ran a graduate scheme. Could it be? Was there really an obvious entry into the industry? With five days to go before the deadline I gave it my best but wasn't wildly optimistic, although it was the most sunny and sincere cover letter I had ever written. About a month later I got a phone call asking me to come in for an interview. Fully expecting a battery of proofreading and intense grilling, I instead had a pleasant chat about publishing and books, and the obligatory "give us an example of a time when you..." I left feeling confident - too confident? Had I been too relaxed? Biting my nails, I convinced myself I had seemed arrogant and informal. I didn't hear from them for ages and assumed I was out, but about a month later I was asked to come and see the CEO. Preparing myself for a brutal interrogation I was kept standing in Richard Charkin's office for about ten minutes while he conducted an urgent phone call about a recent golf championship. Finally allowed to sit I was asked why in God's name I wanted to go into publishing, whether I had ever been to the Vietnamese restaurant in my neighbourhood, and abruptly was told I had the job. I wasn't really sure what had just happened but I was pleased. Of course I accepted the job, and turned up in September fresh-faced and bright-eyed, knowing only that I would be working with the Strategy Director, whatever that was. Apparently I was a Research Associate, which sounds very grand, but occasionally means someone who uses Google a lot and counts the number of books in a catalogue. It also means someone who writes reports which get sent to the CEO, which was not a little exciting. Unlike many of my classmates who started graduate schemes in the City I was given real tasks to begin with, and not busywork, which had been my fear. I wasn't quite wined and dined but lunch dates were set up for me with my predecessors and I am promised meetings with division bigwigs to help me figure out my next step, which is apparently decided not just by the powers that be but also based on my own interests and talents. I have even been promised a tour of the warehouse in Basingstoke, which has me feeling very much like Charlie before his trip to the Chocolate Factory. So what do I do all day, my friends ask. I can't talk about it, I say, after having had the fear of God put into me about confidentiality. I try to assure them that I have no delusions of grandeur but that since I work on The Top Floor it's all very hush-hush, don't you know. Finally I look around suspiciously, before tapping my nose and lowering my voice conspiratorially: "I write competitor reports and research the market. Sometimes I count books." But I am very smug that I have been given my own responsibilities, and despite this have never stayed much later than required. Perhaps I should be? I did stay later than the boss once evening last week, which had me feeling very superior. I made sure to email him what I had been working on so that he would know I had been there at 19:30. Unfortunately, in my excitement, I sent the wrong attachment. He was very nice about it though, so no tears shed by me yet. That may, of course, change, should I incur the wrath of RC, who occasionally comes out of his office wtih the sole purpose, seemingly, of intimidating me, or stumping me with obscure facts about the industry. But I am watching and learning, and planning my takeover bid.'