Cold Open

It’s early 1934 at Exeter train station, in southwest England.

31-year-old Allen Lane ambles onto the quiet platform, waiting for his train to arrive. A four-hour journey to London stretches ahead of him, and looking for something to pass the time, he wanders over to the station kiosk and surveys its small selection of paperback books.

Allen reads often—but not just for pleasure. He’s the managing director of The Bodley Head, a London-based publishing company he inherited from his uncle. But business has been slow lately, and Allen is feeling the pressure.

He picks up a battered-looking book, and a page slips loose and flutters to the floor. Allen picks it up and sheepishly tucks it back inside the cover as the kiosk owner glares at him.

He holds on to his hat as an express train races through the station without stopping. Dust and ash billow into the air, then slowly drift back down, settling on every surface, including the books. Their covers are all tacky and grimy to the touch. And even if they weren't, none appeal to him. They’re mostly reprints of titles published decades ago—books that Allen has either read or has no interest in.

Disappointed with the selection, he turns away from the kiosk and slumps onto a bench, resigning himself to a tedious trip. Surely, he thinks, readers deserve something better than this.

Allen Lane will soon put this disappointment to good use. By the time he reaches London, he’ll have decided on a radical new strategy for his struggling business. He’s realized that there’s a gap in the market for high-quality paperback books, sold at a reasonable price. The idea won’t be enough to save his publishing house—but Allen will still redefine the industry when his new company Penguin publishes its first paperbacks on July 30th, 1935.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham, and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is July 30th, 1935: Penguin’s First Paperbacks.

Act One

It’s the summer of 1934, at the offices of publisher The Bodley Head in London, several months after Allen Lane’s surprisingly productive train journey.

In a wood-paneled conference room, Allen lays a stack of books on the polished table. They’re not Bodley Head titles, but cheap paperbacks collected from train station kiosks across London. And they all share the same unmistakable, mass-produced look—scratchy pages, scuffed edges, and curling spines.

Within the publishing industry, paperbacks like these have a poor reputation. They use thin paper. The covers are cheap, and the binding is flimsy. The writing inside is often little better—usually trashy romances, formulaic detective stories, or sensational adventures, all designed for quick consumption before they’re thrown away. What they are doing here in the Bodley Head office is no one knows. Across the table, Allen’s fellow directors study the book in silence. One man hesitates before picking a paperback up, as though just touching it might pollute his fingers. Another flips through the pages with visible reluctance, clearly expecting the paper to disintegrate. Allen watches them closely before finally explaining the reason he’s brought them here.

He wants The Bodley Head to move into the paperback business.

Like most British publishing houses in the 1930s, The Bodley Head makes its money publishing expensive hardcover books. A typical title is printed in small batches, sometimes only 500 copies at a time—only major releases by established authors command larger print runs. The business is based on prestige and exclusivity. But after years of falling sales, Allen wants to turn around the company’s fortunes by taking it in a new direction.

In his view, the paperback has the potential to turn reading into a mainstream activity. Unlike the books on the table, Allen wants to release paperbacks of works by established authors. But he knows it won’t be easy. At his suggested price of just sixpence, Allen will have to sell 17,000 copies of every title to make a profit—a monumental increase from The Bodley Head’s normal sales figures.

And he can tell from the stony reaction of his fellow directors that they’re not convinced Allen can do it. But he’s certain that paperbacks are the future of the publishing industry and he urges them to support this bold new strategy.

When he finishes his pitch, a vote is called. The board rejects Allen’s idea. They’re not prepared to gamble The Bodley Head on such a high-risk departure from the norm. Instead, they’re going to stick with their usual hardcover business and hope that the firm’s sales pick up.

Allen is left disappointed, but he refuses to take no for an answer. Even if his fellow directors won’t support the idea, there’s nothing stopping him from pursuing it alone. He’ll just have to find the money for the new paperbacks himself.

So with help from his two brothers, Allen raises the capital needed to launch the project. He calculates carefully and commits to printing 20,000 copies of ten different paperback books. But since they won’t be published by The Bodley Head, they will have to have their own identity.

Allen considers “Dolphin” or “Woodpecker” as names for the new publishing company. But after a suggestion from one of his brothers, Allen eventually settles on Penguin. It’s a good fit, and the word includes “pen,” giving it literary connotations. Plus, a newly opened penguin enclosure at the London Zoo has captured public attention, giving penguin new cultural resonance. And practically speaking, a penguin logo can be easily and cheaply replicated using only black ink.

Allen plans to keep costs down in other ways too. The covers are stripped down to a simple but striking design. All ten titles will have three horizontal bands across the front, with the top and bottom bands color-coded according to genre—orange for novels, green for crime, and blue for biography. The white middle band will contain the book’s title and author, in a simple typeface.

Allen keeps author payments low as well. He offers writers a modest advance of just £25 in exchange for allowing one of their old titles to be reissued in paperback. He works his contacts from The Bodley Head and, slowly, the list comes together. Eventually, he has all ten titles confirmed, including works by famous authors like Agatha Christie and Ernest Hemingway.

By the spring of 1935, the first batch of Penguin paperbacks is beginning to take shape. But when the first proof copies arrive, Allen will have to face the daunting reality.

He has risked his reputation and his life savings on a radical idea, and now he will have to persuade booksellers to believe in it too.

Act Two

It’s May 1935 in Edinburgh, Scotland, a year after Allen Lane’s decision to move into paperback publishing.

Allen emerges from a bookstore on Princes Street and steps onto the busy sidewalk. He crosses the road, weaving between pedestrians. A passing streetcar clangs its bell as it narrowly misses him. But Allen barely notices—his mind is elsewhere.

After a few more steps, he drops heavily onto the wooden slats. A sample copy of one of his Penguin paperbacks slips out of his bag and lands at his feet. He doesn’t bother to pick it up.

Allen has just pitched his new paperbacks to Edinburgh’s biggest book retailer, but the meeting lasted less than ten minutes. The bookseller was completely uninterested—and unfortunately, the rejection is a painfully familiar one for Allen.

Over the past few weeks, he's traveled all across Britain, visiting bookstores and urging them to stock his Penguins. But most retailers insist that there’s not a market for sixpence paperbacks. They believe good literature belongs in hardcover. And even if Allen’s paperbacks do sell, retailers argue that profit margins will be so thin that they’ll be put out of business.

So on his bench, Allen takes a few moments to compose himself. Then, he picks up the discarded paperback and brushes the dirt from its cover. He slides it back into his bag and gets to his feet. Across the street from him, rugged cliffs rise into the sky. Castle Rock and the fortress perched on top have loomed over Edinburgh for centuries. And it makes Allen think. Building Penguin into a profitable business feels like laying siege, a long, hard battle fought against an ancient and well-guarded enemy. But now that Allen has staked his own money on it, he can’t afford to fail.

But when Allen returns to London, the financial picture is even more discouraging than the sales meetings were. His national tour may have raised awareness, but it’s resulted in very few actual orders. After accounting for Allen’s train fares, hotels, and other expenses, the trip has actually cost him money. And as publication day nears, retailers have agreed to take on only a third of the books that Allen has committed to printing. He’s set to make a large and humiliating loss.

So with time running short, Allen changes tactics. He decides to approach retailers who don’t normally sell books. That brings him into the offices of the Woolworths department store in central London. Woolworths is better known for selling clothes, bedding, and beauty products, and even the buyer Allen meets with seems slightly confused by his pitch. The man listens politely and flips through the samples Allen has brought, but voices familiar concerns about profit margins and sales expectations. Allen feels his optimism slipping away. But then, he gets a lucky break.

The office door opens, and a woman enters. The buyer smiles and introduces her as his wife. Glancing at his watch, he apologizes and explains that he’s already late for a lunch date with her. The conversation continues for a few minutes more, but Allen can sense the buyer’s impatience. Trying not to show his disappointment, he thanks the man for his time and begins to gather his books.

But then, he realizes one title is missing. Looking around, he sees that the buyer’s wife has picked it up. She’s settled into a chair in the corner of the room and is already totally absorbed in reading. Allen notices—and, more importantly, so does her husband.

Sensing an opportunity, Allen stops packing. He places his paperbacks back on the desk and resumes his presentation. This time, instead of talking about sales and margins, he talks about readers—the millions of people in Britain who rarely buy books because hardcovers are too expensive. There are the commuters who want something to read on their way home from work. The secretaries and office workers who must watch every penny. Or the housewives, who want something that can entertain them while they wait for their busy husbands.

The buyer leans back and nods, understanding it now. He then agrees to carry Penguin paperbacks, and Allen feels a surge of relief. He still expects only a modest test order, perhaps a few hundred copies at most. Instead, the buyer announces that he’ll stock Penguin in every branch, meaning the company will need more than 60,000 copies.

For a moment, Allen thinks he must have misheard. That’s almost as much as he’s sold to all traditional bookstores put together. But before the man can change his mind, Allen extends his arm and shakes the buyer’s hand.

With this single order, Allen’s enormous sales target begins to look achievable. The breakeven point no longer seems distant, and Penguin paperbacks have suddenly become a viable business.

But uncertainty will remain. Allen may have got his Penguin paperbacks on store shelves—but if his new company is to succeed, people will have to buy them too. There are just a few weeks left until publication day. And only then will Allen discover whether the gamble of a lifetime has paid off.

Act Three

It’s July 30th, 1935, at a Woolworths store in London, a few weeks after Allen Lane secured the company’s order for Penguin paperbacks.

A secretary in her early twenties walks through the store, scanning the shelves with growing confusion. She’s heard from friends that Woolworths has begun stocking a new range of cheap but high-quality paperback books; she’s come out on her lunch break to pick one up. But after searching the store end to end, she can’t find them.

Stopping a passing clerk, the woman asks where she might find the new “Penguin” books. The clerk smiles knowingly—she’s not the first to ask, and he directs her to an almost empty shelf. There’s just one book left—The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club by Dorothy L. Sayers. The secretary grabs it quickly and, taking a sixpence from her purse, marches in the direction of the cash register.

Similar scenes are unfolding across the country. Because demand for Allen Lane’s Penguin paperbacks far exceeds expectations. Within four days of the launch, more than 150,000 copies have been sold. And soon, Allen receives urgent calls from booksellers who turned him down only a few months earlier—they don’t want to miss out on the booming sales. So, Allen orders more books, calling in favors from several different printers because no single business can keep up with the sudden demand.

And while the first batch of titles is flying off the shelves, Allen quickly gets to work on the second. Just two and a half months later, another ten titles are released—and they prove just as popular. By the end of the year, more than one million Penguin paperbacks have been sold, more than five times the original target.

For Allen, the results of his experiment are clear. Paperbacks are the future of the publishing industry. But in May 1936, only a few days before the release of the fourth batch of Penguins, The Bodley Head files for bankruptcy. Allen doesn’t really mind, though. From now on, he’s putting all his energy and faith into Penguin.

And it’s a good decision. Over the next few decades, Penguin will grow from a risky side venture into one of the most successful publishing companies in the world. Now part of Penguin Random House, it’s a media empire worth billions of dollars that continues to publish thousands of paperbacks every year. And it all began with the release of just ten books selling for sixpence each on July 30th, 1935.

Outro

Next on History Daily. July 31st, 1910. After one of the most famous manhunts of the 20th century, Dr. Crippen is arrested for the murder of his wife.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Mollie Baack.

Music by Thrumm.

This episode is written and researched by Scott Reeves.

Edited by William Simpson.

Managing producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are William Simpson for Airship and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.