Darnton's book on the "grub street" or in another pejorative, the "Rousseaus de ruisseaux" of the French ancien regime covers a period leading right up to the revolution. He enters his study at a moment when the renown philosophes are crown pensioners in opulent semi retirement, shocked by the libels and pornography of the young writers who toil in their wake fed by their example.
These writers are often obscure, debt ridden and forced into relationship with a police apparatus which alternately suppresses their writing, confiscates it for resale, or forces them to work as informants under the threat of prison, a very corrupting environment.
There is of course nothing historically specific about these conditions. The cold war era swarms with the same predicaments.
Either for the sake of the story, or perhaps due to his own class sympathies, Darnton heaped derision pretty high and deep on these men who who were just emerging from semi feudal class conditions, drawn by the magic and possibilities of the written word, living , at least initially, for ideas. Darnton was surely tenured, and they weren't.
The relationship of "pornography" to literature has taken on nuance since the 1700's. Henry Miller and Terry Southern come to mind. Darnton seems predisposed to respect the genteel lives and reputations of the "grands ecrivains" and their patrons, and I personally felt, which i hope is unfair, that he took a discreet sadistic pleasure in the travails of grub sreet.
I will only comment that as rash as it may have been for an eighteenth century petit bourgeois to stake his small patrimony on literature, or for a member of the (not yet invented) proletariat to presume to write or handle ideas, it is just as smug , sniffy and timid for a salaried academic, writing in the golden age of middle class opportunity, to side temperamentally with his masters and rulers, as i feel this gifted scholar has done.
Darnton really knows his way around the industry of 18th century publishing and writing, but he might need to grow a pair.
Just for the record , there is no pamphlet, libel, or tract, pornographic or otherwise which can compete with the squalor and filth of the post revolutionary literary careers built on reaction and conformity, whether the careerism of Chateaubriand, or the sinister psychosis of Joseph de Maistre, who proved that even a draper's son can get on in literature if he licks and sucks and kisses the throne and altar..