Peterman Panned Peterman: That sinking feeling J. Peterman didn’t originate the idea of writing mail order copy as if it were created by a direct marketer about items he or she personally selected for customers. But the cataloger did take the approach to new heights. Part of the copy’s charm was its assumption that people had time to sit down, read and enjoy it.

J. Peterman gave his writing a self-mocking tone, a tangential approach and a deliberately nostalgic air. He seemed to want to create a yearning for what readers and buyers thought it was like to be an American expatriate between the World Wars. In Asia, say, or South America, if Europe wouldn’t do.

It’s too soon to tell whether the well-publicized debacle of the Peterman catalog has ended literate whimsy in catalog copy. However, it’s not too soon for John Peterman to produce his memoir, “Peterman Rides Again: Adventures Continue With the Real `J. Peterman’ Through Life & the Catalog Business” (Prentice Hall Press, $25).

The book, as he explains, seems to be as much about “Who Killed J. Peterman?” as it is about how the author and his catalog came about. The narrative floats across time and space, from a business analysis of the firm (originally published in the Harvard Business Review) to reminiscences about his days with the Pittsburgh Pirates (originally presented as speeches to direct marketing conference audiences). Peterman adds some build-it-and-they-will-come/get-in-touch-with-your-inner-child advice to would-be entrepreneurs, and finishes off with home truths he seems to lift from the copy in his own catalog. The brew is not indigestible, but it lacks the sparkling sophistication of his catalog material.

For DMers, the most interesting part of the book would be its analysis of how the catalog was created, marketed, financed, and, finally, bankrupted. There are lots of hard-core facts and figures here that weren’t available when the company was in business.

Peterman insists that it was he who shut down the catalog and not Arnie Cohen – the so-called “serial killer of companies” Peterman hired to save the business. But details of the characters’ personalities remain elusive.

Peterman isn’t alone in his belief that a strong sports background is a good basis for approaching one’s life and work. But baseball is a team sport where each side takes its turn. Peterman is an entrepreneur – a solo visionary, as he calls himself. It’s difficult to grasp the connection.

Donald Staley, Peterman’s copywriter, remains a shadowy figure. Seemingly an urbane Sancho Panza to Peterman’s aw-shucks Don Quixote, Staley stuck with his boss through thick and thin – even through bankruptcy. We learn nothing about the men’s longtime friendship, although Peterman turns to Staley’s copy frequently for guidance. For example, an item about the importance of choosing a blue Italian blazer instead of a pinstripe suit reminds Peterman that working at his own company was a lot less fun than it used to be.

We actually preferred a memo Staley wrote to Peterman about certain inserts. The note begins: “Since I will be spending the entire day in New York City going from bar to bar, riding around in limousines, going to art exhibits, ordering suits, browsing through piles of cashmere, talking to Soviet attaches, it will be up to you, therefore, to solve these mundane problems.”

In the end, Peterman says the qualities that made him a solo visionary were the same characteristics that sank the business (not to mention that the catalog was perennially undercapitalized), and that he didn’t recognize that fact in time. We suppose it makes sense that the catalog’s last big success came with items from and inspired by the movie “Titanic.”

Dummy Copy Idg books worldwide’s “Direct Mail for Dummies” is too slight to support the critical questions it raises about brand extension, commercial sponsorship and truth in advertising. But we can’t fault author Richard Goldsmith for proving you can’t keep a good direct mailer down.

The “…for Dummies” series was started by IDG to explain computer hardware and software to, well, if not dummies, then people who aren’t techies. The series was a success, and the brand was extended beyond new technology to include food, fitness…just about any subject you can imagine. In some volumes it’s quite clear that the farther away from its core competency – technology – IDG gets, the less it’s able to judge the quality of an “expert.”

Of course, there’s more technology in direct marketing now, which brings us to the next issue: The volume was commissioned as a special edition by ELetter.com, a company that uses a Web site to take orders for direct mail campaigns. The book is limited to those aspects of direct mail that support or explain ELetter’s service.

The interesting thing is that Goldsmith has produced a fairly good primer despite these problems. It’s more useful for a small business about to start its first local direct mailing than for readers of DIRECT, but almost anyone could mount a reasonably successful campaign following its advice. It’s short on theory, but makes up for that with good checklists and solid how-to advice.

Goldsmith offers a 12-step program for direct mail success. The steps are utterly basic, beginning with “Choose which product or service to offer,” then “Determine your marketing or sales strategy” and ending with “Fulfill the orders.”

Goldsmith follows his own advice. Our reviewer’s copy came directly from the author with a letter explaining that while the book was not actually available for sale, he would be happy to fulfill requests for copies for free (plus $5 shipping and handling).

Bobo Bible The French claim that in France, the bourgeoisie want to be artists, while in England, the artists want to be bourgeoisie. If David Brooks’ book “Bobos in Paradise” (Simon & Schuster, $25) is to be believed, both the French bourgeoisie and the English artists have succeeded.

Brooks’ theory is that American society has become a complete meritocracy. The meritocrats who have risen to the top are able to balance both bohemian and bourgeois values in their lifestyles.

According to Brooks, this achievement is “the cultural consequence of the information age.” Meritocrats “can turn ideas and emotions into products…have one foot in the bohemian world of creativity, and another foot in the bourgeois realm of ambition and success.” He calls these meritocrats Bobos – short for bourgeois bohemians.

Direct marketers will no doubt be fascinated to learn that the desiderata for Bobodom include such catalogers as Anthropologie, Lands’ End, Williams-Sonoma and REI.

Brooks also points out that Bobos want to buy “never-before-owned hand-me-downs,” and that “roughness connotes authenticity and virtue…If your furniture is distressed, your conscience needn’t be.”

Bobos, he maintains, judge one another on the costliness of their necessities, not their luxuries. Likewise, “it is acceptable to spend hundreds of dollars on top-of-the-line hiking boots, but it would be vulgar to buy top-of-the-line patent leather shoes to go with formal wear.”

Marketers may also want to take note of this copywriting advice: Bobos dwell on anything and everything about a product except the price. Peddling a tweed jacket to them is not enough; one must discourse on the history and production of tweed before it becomes a jacket.

On the downside, Brooks has chosen the middle ground between the intellectual rigor of Digby Baltzell’s “The Protestant Establishment” and the stand-up humor of Lisa Birnbach’s “The Official Preppy Handbook.” There’s nothing wrong with that per se: Paul Fussell does the same thing in “Class.” But Brooks is no Fussell. It takes Fussell 30 pages to dispatch the breed (which he calls Class X) with more precision than Brooks does in 250. As a result, the book feels in places more like a boo-boo than a Bobo.