Something Thoughtful

Nicholas Reid reflects in essay form on general matters and ideas related to literature, history, popular culture and the arts, or just life in general. You are free to agree or disagree with him.   

                                              BOOK AWARDS

Recently I saw a sarcastic but amusing article about the Nobel Prize for Literature. Ahead of this year’s award being announced, the American wit was weighing up the odds concerning who would win this year, and who would definitely not win. It all had to do with public recognition of authors, ethnicity of authors, what causes authors had supported, other political views of authors etc. with literary skill and originality itself somehow lost in the mix. One point this wit emphasised was how often the Nobel Prize for Literature was given to a writer largely unknown by more than a handful of readers. Indeed he suggested ironically that some winners of the prize were so obscure and so little known that they might as well have been fictitious writers made up by the Nobel committee.

As it happened, a week or so after this amusing article was published, this year’s Nobel Prize-winner for Literature was announced. It was Annie Ernaux, French author of heavily-autobiographical novels. Be honest now – have you ever heard of her, let alone read her work? Having (like you) read none of her works, I’m in no position to make comment on her achievement; and doubtless there will now be a run on her books as people try to catch up with her works and then claim to be well-versed in them. [Interesting fact – in the 121 years since the Nobel Prize for Literature was inaugurated, French authors have won the prize more than any other nation: 16 French laureates to be precise. On the other hand, far more laureates have written in the English language because English is the dominant language in so many countries.]

Like many other established awards, the Nobels for Lit. have often courted controversy. In the earliest years of the award, there was a heavy preponderance of Scandinavian winners; in other words, writers little known beyond Stockholm, Oslo or Copenhagen. Again be honest - have you ever heard of, let alone read, Werner von Heldenstam or Henrik Pontoppidan? … Not that I’m ridiculing all Scandinavian winners. Selma Lagerlof (winner 1909) and Sigrid Undset (winner 1928) really were authors with an international following and they both produced enduring work. Of course over the years there have been winners who really were giants of literature (Thomas Mann, Rabindranath Tagore, T. S. Eliot, Francois Mauriac, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Gunter Grass, Nadine Gordimer  and many etcetera-s) but there have also been very questionable winners. Pearl Buck? Popular bestseller of books that now seem incredibly naïve. Winston Churchill? Obviously given the gong in the early 1950s for his wartime orations rather than for any real literary achievement. Bob Dylan? You must be freaking joking. Controversy was stirred up when Boris Pasternak won the gong in 1958 and later there were rumours (largely coming from old socialists who were annoyed by Pasternak’s jaded view of the Russian Revolution) that his winning had been jacked up by the CIA; but this overlooked the fact that Doctor Zhivago has continued to be read and appreciated by a very large audience. As well as often choosing questionable winners, over the years the Nobel committee has often overlooked authors who really deserved the award. Joseph Conrad and Thomas Hardy never won the Nobel when in the same era John (yawn) Galsworthy did. Similarly Georges Bernanos and Graham Greene were passed over, even when Greene was clearly the dominant English writer of his age.

Let’s also note another fact. The Nobel Prize for Literature is decided by the Swedish Academy, which has 18 members. The Academy sends out nomination forms to literary critics, professors of literature, former Nobel Prize winners and other worthies in many countries. The nominations come back in their hundreds. The committee of 18 examines them and then decides which five (out of very many more nominations) will be announced as the year’s contenders. And out of these publicised five they decide the winner. What this obviously means is that the committee does not necessarily read or consider all the authors who have been nominated. It would take years to do so. On the whole, they are depending on other people’s opinions (namely those who have nominated most persuasively) even if they do [probably] read some of the works of the five finalists.

Now why am I emphasising this obvious fact? Because the prestige of Nobel Prizes is such that too many people assume Nobel literary awards must be definitive and the last word in criticism. Win the Nobel gong and you must be a very great writer. But such is not always the case in any book awards, be they the Nobel, the Pulitzer, the Prix Goncourt, the Prix Femina, the Booker or for that matter our very own Ockhams and all the book awards that preceded them. Of course the people who award prizes are generally thoughtful people and I am assuming that in most cases they make their judgements in good faith. But look at lists of past winners in any of these book awards, and you quickly discover that many forgotten and/or mediocre books received awards while some outstanding books were never so honoured.

            Awards depend on the current mood and the quality of the judges as much as on the merits of the books being considered. This year, I had the privilege of convening one of the panels for the Ockham Awards, working harmoniously with two other judges. Very rarely did we differ in our opinions and the eventual winner of our category was decided by us unanimously. But we were realistic enough (I’d say modest enough, but that sounds immodest) to understand that our decision was not definitive. Other reasonable people might disagree with our choice. Knowing this, I never get too upset when awards go to books which I do not admire; or when books I regard as excellent are passed over. I certainly don’t make public statements about decisions that I do not agree with, though I might grumble in conversations with friends. There is at least one pundit who tends to throw yearly tantrums when the contenders he favours do not win a prize. This ignores the reality that all literary judges should know – all awards are provisional, they are not infallible guides to what will be seen as meritorious in six months, five years or fifty years.

         Which brings me to a cliché but a very truthful one. The only infallible critic is time. Enduring works of literature declare themselves only many years after they were first published and that is often after the author is dead. Only then do we know that a work is truly enduring. Only then do we know it is not just a “period piece” reflecting the fashions, ideas and ideologies of the time in which it was written. Here, therefore, is my suggestion. The Nobel awards for literature are supposed to be based on an author’s whole life’s work and not on a single work. Therefore, let Nobel prizes for literature be awarded only posthumously after an author’s works really have all been written. As for all the other award-giving organizations, they reward single books. Therefore let the gongs be awarded only to books ten or more years after they are published. That way judges will have gained some perspective on works in consideration, and will not be dazzled by their novelty and their concern with current events and ideas, which are often ephemeral. Of course this will annoy publishers and authors, who expect to make money out of an award-winning book. But it will certainly give judges more perspective.