The fourth and last of the failures is the most direct, for it does not corrupt the price or evade it but seizes it. In the families of the prices, every trader took the price as given — a fact of the market, beyond any one trader's reach. The monopolist is the trader who has escaped that condition: alone in his market, he does not take the price but makes it, and makes it to serve himself.
The distinction is the hinge of the whole volume, and it is worth drawing sharply. A seller in a crowded market is a price-taker: there are so many like him that the price is set by the market entire, and he can do nothing to move it — he may sell as much as he pleases at the going price, but a penny above it and every buyer deserts him for a rival, so he takes the price as a fact and asks only how much to produce. The monopolist faces no such discipline. Being the only seller, he confronts the whole demand of the market himself, and that demand slopes downward: the more he wishes to sell, the lower the price he must accept; the less he offers, the higher the price he can command. The price, for him, is not a fact but a choice — fix the quantity and the demand hands you the price, or fix the price and it hands you the quantity. He is a price-maker, and the question he asks is not the price-taker's, of how much to make at a given price, but his own, of what price to set.1
What price he sets follows from a calculation the price-taker never makes. Because the monopolist faces the downward demand, selling one more unit forces him to lower the price not only on that unit but on all the units he was already selling — so the extra revenue from one more sale is less than its price, by the amount he loses on the rest. He pushes sales only to where this extra revenue still covers the extra cost, and there he stops — short of where price equals cost, which is where a crowd of competitors would have been driven. The result is the signature of monopoly: output restricted, price raised. And the harm is of two kinds, which must be told apart. Part of the monopolist's gain is merely transferred from his buyers — they pay more, he receives more, a shift of wealth from purse to purse that leaves the world no poorer in sum. But part is destroyed outright: the trades that would have happened at the competitive price and do not happen at his higher one — buyers who valued the thing above its cost but below his price, and so go without — are mutually beneficial exchanges that simply fail to occur. That lost value, gained by no one, is the deadweight loss, the dead weight of market power: not wealth moved, but wealth annihilated, the price of the price set too high.2
Everything said of the seller runs in mirror for the buyer, and this mirror is the half of market power the textbooks slight and this volume means to restore. A monopsonist is a sole buyer — the one mill in a town that hires all its labor, the one cannery that buys all the district's catch, the one platform through which all the sellers must reach their market. Where the monopolist faced the downward demand and held back his selling to raise his price, the monopsonist faces the upward supply and holds back his buying to lower the price he pays: to buy one more unit, he must offer a higher price to all his suppliers, so the extra cost of one more purchase exceeds its price, and he stops short of where a crowd of competing buyers would have bid. He buys too little and pays too little, transferring to himself what should have gone to those he buys from, and destroying the trades his low price strangles. The worker underpaid by the only employer, the farmer underpaid by the only buyer, are the victims of monopsony exactly as the gouged customer is the victim of monopoly — and the single buyer of labor met in the volume on the wage was this same power, glimpsed in one market and now seen entire. Too few sellers, or too few buyers: it is one power, wearing two faces.3
If a monopolist's price stands above his cost, his profit is a standing invitation to others: enter this market, undercut him a little, and take his customers and his profit for yourself. In a market open to entry, this is exactly what happens — rivals pour in, the price is competed back down toward cost, and the monopoly evaporates. So the deep question is not why a firm would charge a monopoly price (any firm would, if it could) but why the entry that should erode it does not come — what keeps the rivals out. The answer is barriers, the subject of the next plate: the scale that lets one firm undercut any newcomer, the patents and licenses that forbid entry by law, the networks that grow more valuable the more they are used and so cannot be matched by a small rival, the brands and switching costs that bind customers in place. Market power, where it lasts, is always sheltered by some barrier; remove the barrier and the power follows it. This is why the study of market power is, in large part, the study of barriers to entry — and why the cure may be less to punish the monopolist than to tear down the wall that protects him.4
So the monopolist stands before us in his anatomy: the price-maker who, alone on his side of the market, restricts what he sells or buys to bend the price his way, transferring wealth to himself and destroying the trades his bending strangles. What is to be done about him is the matter of the plates to come, and three answers will contend — the entry that erodes him where barriers do not bar it, the antitrust law that breaks him where they do, and the innovation that, in the longer view, overthrows every monopoly with the next. But beneath all three lies the question the trapped buyer asks and the flagship will answer: what is a fair price worth, when one side has nowhere else to go? For the monopolist's power over his buyers, and the monopsonist's over his sellers, comes down in the end to a single fact — that the other side has no alternative, no rival to flee to, no exit — and a fair price, the volume will find, is only ever what the having of an alternative compels.5
The monopolist is market power in its plainest and most famous form: the single seller who makes the price he should have taken, and makes it too high, so that some of what he gains is taken from his buyers and some is destroyed for everyone. His mirror, the monopsonist, does the same in reverse, paying too little where he should have paid the market rate. Together they are the failure this last volume of the family treats — not a fault in what the price conveys, but a seizure of the price itself by those too few on one side to be disciplined by competition. The plates that follow anatomize the barriers that shelter such power, the collusion by which the merely few contrive it, and the law that would undo it, before the flagship reaches the bottom of the matter and finds market power to be, at root, the denial of an alternative — and a fair price to be the gift of competition, which is only the standing freedom to walk away. The next plate asks why the monopolist is not simply stormed by rivals: what wall it is that keeps them out.