In an era where inclusivity and diverse voices reign supreme, Conduit Books, a new UK publisher, has made waves by pledging to publish only male authors—a mission statement sure to delight men’s rights activists and confuse the rest of us.
Founded by British novelist and critic Jude Cook, Conduit Books is determined to fill what it perceives as a glaring void in the literary world: the overlooked plight of male writers. According to Cook, the literary renaissance led by female authors has left male voices “perceived as problematic” and pushed to the margins. His solution? A publishing house exclusively for men (though, in a small nod to inclusivity, queer, non-binary, neurodivergent men and men of color are welcome—just no women, thank you very much).
If this sounds like a joke from an old men’s club, it’s not. Conduit Books plans to showcase literary fiction and memoirs by men under 35—yes, ageism is alive and well here too. Older male writers can pack away their manuscripts and candles for birthday cake number 36; Conduit Books is seeking only the young, fresh, and preferably disenfranchised male voice.
A Man’s World, Again
Cook’s lamentation about female authors dominating the scene seems nostalgic for the days when John Grisham and Stephen King monopolized every street stall from Karachi to Kansas. He’s not entirely wrong: the current fiction charts do indeed brim with female names—Emily Henry, Freida McFadden, Danielle L Jensen. But Cook’s suggestion that male readers would rather skip reading altogether than pick up a woman’s book is a pretty damning (and self-fulfilling) prophecy.
The sad irony is that while Cook’s mission is to reclaim the lost glories of male literature, his exclusionary policy—no women, no older men—feels more like a backward step. He claims that male stories about fatherhood, masculinity, and navigating the 21st century have been overshadowed, but does the solution really lie in slamming the door shut on half the population?
A Mixed Bag of Reactions
Cook’s arguments may resonate with those who see the literary world as a zero-sum game, where more women on bestseller lists mean fewer men. But his stance—like the decision to keep men’s issues front and center in an era already obsessed with gender divides—feels stuck in an outdated paradigm. Rather than championing men’s voices in a balanced way, Conduit Books risks turning male authorship into a reactionary brand.
Still, the idea of platforming new, ambitious young male writers isn’t inherently bad. If Conduit Books can truly uplift fresh voices and help diversify the kinds of male stories being told—without simply replicating the tired tropes of yesteryear—it might offer some genuine value to the literary landscape.
Final Thoughts
Ultimately, Cook’s nostalgia-soaked mission raises more questions than it answers: Are male readers truly so fragile that only a male author can entice them to read? Can literature thrive when it’s so aggressively exclusionary? And is there really no room for gender parity in a world that has been so long dominated by male voices?
Cook’s dream of a male-only publishing house may resonate with a certain corner of the literary world, but for everyone else, it’s hard to see how this isn’t just another boys’ club, complete with its own velvet rope and “No Girls Allowed” sign.
One thing’s for sure: Cook’s Conduit Books has tapped into a potent mix of nostalgia, privilege, and male angst—an echo of the world’s Tate-fueled corners. Whether it’s a breath of fresh air for neglected male voices or a regressive step backwards is up for debate. For now, all we can do is watch—and read—on.
