23/145 is the magic number (mea culpa)
Yes, that's 23 hours asleep out of the 145 hours I spent at Frankfurt Book Fair which, even for this decidedly non-narcoleptic publisher, meant the best-laid plans of neophyte bloggers got lost in a sea of meetings, dinners, and midnight to 4 or 5am chats with French sub-agents, American scouts, Dutch editors, Spanish publishers, and a great Italian editor with a John Waters moustache who introduced Avant-Pop to Italy.
However, over the course of the coming days and weeks, I will give a few accounts as I do have all my notes and such. It will not be particularly newsworthy (the big news, covered elsewhere already by GalleyCat on the business side and the Complete Review on the literary one: Buffet went for $7 million but the Europeans were unimpressed; the Courtney Love memoir is hot the world over; and a novel about Pablo Cassals, once the Spanish bought it, started getting mega-offers left, right, and center) but I do hope it will give a sense of the different publishing cultures around the world—how the Italians seem to know more about contemporary American fiction than we do, how the Tiawanese have no interest in American non-fiction right now because they've their own political situation to worry about, and how the UK publishers are so much more fucked by chain retailing than we are.
So sorry to any of you who were hoping for the daily dispatch with breaking news and such—my eyes were bigger than my stomach.