PHONES throbbed, texts pinged, and tweets chirped like starlings at dusk when news of the Glasgow publisher Freight’s imminent collapse circulated last week. With the sudden exit of Adrian Searle, one of its two directors, it was feared that a youthful fixture on the literary scene was going the way of the Titanic. If it nose-dived it would take with it not just the staff but a slew of writers, some well known, some mid-list, and others at the foothills of their careers. Authors with works already on sale were horrified by rumours of entire print runs being pulped. Those whose books were still in the pipeline were deeply shaken. One novelist to whom I broke the news had to ring off and make himself a strong cup of tea. Had it not been the middle of the morning, I suspect he’d have headed to a bar.

One week on, however, and there are reasons to be cautiously optimistic. A replacement editor has already stepped into Mr Searle’s shoes, and behind the scenes negotiations have begun in the hope of keeping Freight from ruin. The situation is still far from certain or secure, but everyone in what Muriel Spark liked to call “the world of books” is wishing them well. Not least, in some cases, because as the recipient of considerable funding over the years from Creative Scotland (CS), Freight’s fortunes are a matter of public concern.

In other ways, too, those eager to see it survive are not wholly altruistic. All of them will have shuddered at Freight’s predicament. I doubt there is a publisher within these borders who does not live in dread of tipping irrevocably into the red, or has never woken up lathered from nightmares of attending Frankfurt Book Fair and coming away with nothing but a hangover to show for it.

Like swans on a river, Scottish publishers glide onwards with every appearance of serenity and confidence. A camera below the waterline, however, would show the frantic paddling that keeps them afloat. And when darkness falls, there is the ever-present danger of predators – in the form of unearned advances, poor sales and broken contracts – poised to snatch the weak.

Recent figures showing the renewed popularity of printed books might suggest a business in glowing health, as does our plethora of book festivals – more per head of population, apparently, than anywhere in the world. A glance at Publishing Scotland, the trade association, would further this impression. Boasting around 90 members, from well-known names like Canongate and HarperCollins to those aimed at niche markets such as the Forestry Commission, it reaches into all corners of the book business. The focus of this column, however, is with those whose list includes fiction, poetry and mainstream non-fiction. Looked at from that end of the telescope, the number of heavy-weight outfits dramatically declines.

Publishing has always been a precarious business. The first company I worked for went into liquidation in under a year, pitching all of us on to the dole. There was far less public support available back then, but even now, despite help from CS, unless a firm strikes gold with a bestseller, it is fortunate to make a good profit. Most count their blessings if a book simply washes its face. Who can forget the financial impact of Canongate’s disastrous outlay on Julian Assange’s abortive memoir? And it was relatively lucky. A less financially robust concern would have been bankrupted.

Already, there are those querying the funds Freight received. I, however, would take a different tack. In books, as across all the arts, there are triumphs and failures. Authors who have won countless grants, or festivals and ventures that are generously subsidised, do not always repay this tangibly, in literary prizes or sales of books or tickets. Yet even though its impact might be incalculable, who is to say such money was not well spent, and the outcome valueless?

More striking, to my mind, and increasingly irksome is how small CS’s literature allocation is compared to the other arts. At around £4 million, literature represents six per cent of its overall budget. (For those interested in the arithmetic, CS’s total budget is 0.2 per cent of the overall Scottish Government’s annual budget, and Holyrood’s total spend on culture represents 0.5 per cent.)

Yet books are people’s first choice when it comes to the arts, consistently outstripping film, dance, theatre or crafts for popularity. The latest figures from the Scottish Household Survey show – for the fourth year in a row – that “reading for pleasure was by far the most common cultural activity”. Libraries, meanwhile, were “the most frequently attended cultural place or event”.

Against that backdrop, what is spent on literature seems pitiful. CS’s many and inventive schemes for new and established writers, or for original projects or annual events, are to be applauded. As a body, it feels much more aware and responsive than it was just a few years ago. But as Freight’s difficulties have highlighted, such businesses – including those who appear to be doing fine – are living on a knife-edge.

Even the most reputable are unable to compete with the deals London rivals can offer. As a result, the Scottish end of the trade has become a greenhouse for seedlings. Taking the financial risk with first and second books, they often must watch helplessly as their best writers are lured away to blossom and bring lustre elsewhere. Regularly the likes of Birlinn, Sandstone or Luath lose budding authors to bigger houses. Thus they are condemned to work at base camp, rarely – if ever – reaching the summit, where lies profit.

It is a risky and wearying working environment. In order to move up a literary gear, such unsustainably precarious economics must be addressed.

If our publishers could begin to match the deals offered elsewhere, it would signal the start of a virtuous stairway to success. Nor would just the best-sellers and the critically lauded benefit. Their rewards would in turn help to feed those lower down the table, and in so doing sustain a hive of staff as well as writers.

Freight’s situation has shown that it is all too easy to fail. This is not to ask for limitless aid, but for targeted, strategic help. In so doing, we could one day have a sustainable and resilient industry that can offer a good home to authors at every level of talent and fortune.