John Sutherland on why we couldn't care less about US book prizes

It's the season of London literary parties. Next time you're at one, and conversation flags, try kick-starting it with the following questions: "What do you make of the National Book Award for fiction a couple of weeks ago? Did you enjoy the book? How do you think it compares with the Quill Award - that was a bizarre choice, wasn't it? But not as naff as that thing they chose for the Pulitzer last April." Chances are, eyes will glaze over. It's one of the anomalies of our special (literary) relationship that, whereas America takes intense interest in our premier fiction prizes, we wholly ignore theirs.

The New York Times and Los Angeles Times (to name but two) comment at length on the Man Booker circus before, during and after the event. By contrast, the three major American prizes for fiction typically pass without notice in the British press. Barely a reference to them can be found in the 2006 archives of our major broadsheets. Nor, alas, has mention of them been made in these pages. They might as well happen on Planet Nowhere, as far as the London literary world is concerned.

So what were the American winners? The NBA, founded in 1950, is the body closest in spirit to our Man Booker. The very first award went to Nelson Algren for The Man With the Golden Arm; the 2006 winner, announced with huge (American) razzmatazz on 15 November, was Richard Powers for The Echo Maker. A dense meditation on epistemology and identity, the book won't even be available here until early next year. Nor is there any great impatience for its arrival. On previous form, The Echo Maker will get scant or no review attention in the UK.

Partly it's the nature of Powers's fearsomely demanding fiction. A professor of English and the winner of a MacArthur "genius" award, he makes life harder for the averagely intelligent reader than even Pynchon - but without the other writer's Scarlet Pimpernel fun and games. Powers despises publicity. But mainly it's the fact that, over here, we care less about the National Book Awards than the National Basketball Association. Powers wins an NBA, the Lakers win the NBA - who cares?

The Quill Awards were set up in 2005 specifically to oppose the NBA's high-literary snootiness. As the website fearlessly puts it: "Quill Awards pair a populist sensibility with Hollywood-style glitz and have become the first literary prizes to reflect the tastes of the group that matters most in publishing - readers."

And what, on 10 October, was the glitzy name in the "best novel of the year" envelope? A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore (selling secondhand clothing, San Francisco style). Read it? I thought not. And the Pulitzer? March by Geraldine Brooks - a civil war story based on a character from Little Women.

What these three prize-winners have in common is that none of them has provoked a ripple of interest in this country. Meanwhile, America is agog with curiosity about the Man Booker. It makes one feel like a superpower - if only in the world of books.

Post your comment

Please note: you will need to login or register before you can comment on the website