Opinion
Luke Bateman shared his love of books online. Then social media turned on him
Clare Stephens
Digital content creatorLess than two months ago, in his first-ever TikTok video, Luke Bateman spoke to the camera from a truck in on a property north-west of Injune. The former NRL player, who also appeared on the 2023 season of The Bachelor, and who now works as a tree-logger, smiled and greeted the “BookTok” community, saying that he’s loved reading his entire life.
“I’ve never really had anywhere to talk about it or share those things,” he says, “... cause obviously being a male in a lot of blue-collar work.” Bateman said he hoped to speak to like-minded people about the stories he loves – fantasy, in particular – and find recommendations.
For the unfamiliar, the BookTok community first boomed during the COVID-19 pandemic, when readers started to use TikTok to discuss their favourite books and authors. Colleen Hoover, for example, found herself on The New York Times bestseller list after her novel, It Ends With Us, gained traction via BookTok.
To date, the BookTok hashtag has hundreds of billions of views and tens of millions of posts. It has also reshaped the publishing industry. Naturally, brands, publishers and authors have pivoted to focus on infiltrating the space as part of their marketing campaigns in the hope of going viral and seeing sales skyrocket.
Bateman’s first post quickly racked up 2 million views and within weeks, the former footy star had become a poster child for BookTok, amassing 150,000 followers and launching a book club with close to 6000 members.
Then in late May, Bateman posted something a little different. Trading in the front seat of his truck for a cosy room in front of a bookcase, he announced that he’d signed a two-book deal with Atria Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Australia. “It’s a childhood dream come true,” he said. “I’ve wanted to be an author my entire life.” He became emotional, thanking the community for giving him the opportunity “to put my heart on the page for all of you”.
But as is often the way with social media, it didn’t take long for the tide to turn.
“This is literally enraging. Absolutely unbelievable,” wrote one critic.
Another: “Just know that you did nothing out of the ordinary to deserve this. There are so many wonderful unpublished authors out there that deserve this 1000% more than you. We live in the worst kind of society that always props a [white] man up.”
And another: “Well good to see that publishing is still a colossal joke.”
Within days, there were YouTube videos, opinion pieces, podcast discussions, TikToks and Instagram posts debating the legitimacy of Bateman’s book deal. Was this a prime example of a racist, broken publishing industry, or just an emerging author being given their big break?
Some of the loudest complaints included Bateman getting his deal without having written a word and without a book proposal. Except Bateman had done both, a fact that he and his publisher confirmed. To the people disappointed, though, this information seemed to mean little.
Critics are right in the sense that publishing isn’t fair, in the same way every creative industry isn’t fair. The most technically skilled actors don’t always get the role. The most original, groundbreaking artists don’t always get the record deal. These industries exist in the context of capitalism, and for publishers to survive, they need books to sell. It’s a sad reality, but if you’re going to publish an author, and a chunk of your marketing resources will be focused on BookTok, why not sign a BookTokker? It’s a strategy worth trying if the goal is revenue.
And long before social media, anyone with an audience or a following has always been given priority. When you add in the fact that algorithms appear to favour some ethnicities and genders over others, many say it’s hardly surprising that Bateman, a white male, went viral in the first place.
But the problem with prosecuting messy moral questions within the limited confines of social media is that you can’t untangle the threads of capitalism, unchecked algorithm power or the genuine talent of a person in a single comment, or a one-minute video. (You can’t even do it in an op-ed.)
It could be argued that at a time when we talk a lot about a crisis of unhealthy masculinity and its pervasiveness online, a former footy player turned tree-logger reading and writing fantasy books is actually quite refreshing.
For as long as we’re using Bateman as a scapegoat for a litany of problems that he, as an individual, cannot possibly solve, we’re also avoiding the question of our own complicity. Because ultimately, the outrage towards Bateman isn’t going to change the publishing industry.
And the irony is that the real anger is wasted on Bateman and his publisher. Instead, it should be aimed at TikTok, which has benefited the most from the spectacle of it all.
Clare Stephens is a writer, an editor and a podcaster.
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