The significance of the Feltrinelli vs Mondadori auction in Milan and the future of bookshops. Without rhetoric

If we were to follow through on the revolutionary line of reasoning that a communications manager at Feltrinelli outlined to our newspaper (that if the Maranza people had a political conscience, ‘they would have broken into a Mondadori’), one might argue that Librerie Feltrinelli should be quite pleased about the forthcoming move: At least at the next demonstration in Piazza Duomo they will be able to smash Mondadori’s shop windows for real, rather than their own. According to this astonishing political line of reasoning, Mondadori is not a publishing house and commercial bookshop chain—just like Feltrinelli—but a political enemy. The notion was underscored by a headline in La Repubblica, on its national pages: ‘Mondadori storms the Galleria – Feltrinelli lodges an appeal’. ‘Storms’ – as if the cassueurs had arrived. In reality, it was a perfectly standard auction for the allocation of spaces owned by the City Council to be let.

And Mondadori simply put forward a better offer. But the story is particularly interesting because it also sheds light on the dire state of bookshops in Italy. There are many reasons for this, most of them economic.

First, the story of the ‘conquest’ (oh dear). The commendable policy initiated by the Sala-led councils to bring the rents on its commercial properties into line with market values has already yielded over 90 million to the local council. Now it is the turn of the premises occupied by Feltrinelli Duomo. And it turns out that: Feltrinelli’s lease, which began in 2006, expired in 2018, and the bookshop had requested an automatic renewal, as had happened in the Galleria for other historic shops. However, the City Council rejected the proposal, and Feltrinelli lodged an appeal: yet both the Regional Administrative Court and the Council of State ruled in favour of the City Council (which, incidentally, is seeking compensation for the six years of unlawful occupation of the premises). This led to an auction, organised by the Councillor responsible for the Budget and Public Property, Emmanuel Conte, who proposed a particularly favourable starting bid: 434,090 euros per year, provided that an 18-year restriction was observed, stipulating that only books may be sold on those premises. A very reasonable and fair proposal. In the end, Mondadori made the highest bid and won. However, Feltrinelli has announced a new appeal, citing alleged irregularities in the tender process.

Viewed objectively, through the shop-front lights, it would appear to be a normal market transaction, conducted transparently by the local council, which owns the premises. A dispute between two retail chains over a shop that has, essentially, only one merit: the (not too many) book-buyers in those premises fall for it. In other bookshops, where a special trip is required, footfall is far lower; buying on Amazon is simply quicker. On the other side of the square, for example, there is another Mondadori store, perhaps (though this is merely a hypothesis) less ‘on the high street’. A few months ago, the historic Hoepli bookshop in Milan closed, amidst widespread protests from the public and the cultural community. Not because of the barbarism of the times, but because people are visiting bookshops less frequently, even in the recognised capital of publishing and book consumption.

A few days ago, the first report on Italian bookshops, produced by the Italian Booksellers’ Association and the Centre for the Book, was presented. Although 4,451 outlets were surveyed and turnover showed a slight increase, the figure that made the headlines is that 83 per cent of Italian municipalities do not have a bookshop, and if municipalities with fewer than 5,000 inhabitants are included, the figure rises to 95 per cent. Setting aside the rhetoric about a nation that doesn’t read, this figure is not particularly alarming, even though the Olivetti Plan for Culture has commendably committed to supporting bookshops and libraries in small towns. Books are a special kind of commodity (in fact, the people of Maranza don’t even recognise them as such); they have a high cost per sales outlet and generate very low profit margins. It is unrealistic to expect a village of three thousand inhabitants to sustain a bookseller relying solely on paperback sales, when even city centres struggle to do so. Strengthening the library system, including school libraries, remains a culturally sound strategy. For everything else, there is Amazon.