Orange Prize for Fiction Shortlist Announced

The Orange Prize shortlist reminds us of the international quality of the award.

This year's Orange Prize for fiction shortlist (announced this morning) has boasts an international quality that reminds of the Orange Prize's aim of celebrating fiction from "throughout the world" -- the six shortlisted writers hold six nationalities between them: Serbian, American, Canadian, British, Sierra Leonean and Irish.

Emma Donoghue - Room; Picador

Aminatta Forna - The Memory of Love; Bloomsbury

Emma Henderson - Grace Williams Says it Loud; Sceptre

Nicole Krauss - Great House; Viking

Téa Obreht - The Tiger's Wife; Weidenfeld & Nicolson

Kathleen Winter - Annabel; Jonathan Cape

Whereas Henderson, Obreht and Winter have all been shortlisted on the strength of first novels, Emma Donoghue's Room is the 7th novel of the self-proclaimed "novice to the world of big prizes" (see her interview with Jonathan Derbyshire in an October 2010 issue of NS). Alongside a coveted place on the Man Booker shortlist, Room has already won cross-Atlantic awards in the Hughes&Hughes Irish Novel of the Year, and the Rogers Writers' Trust Fiction Prize for Best Canadian Novel.

Aminatta Forna's second novel is also proving to be worthy of international acclaim, having already won the Commonwealth Writers' Prize 2011. Forna is known as a documentary-maker as well as a novelist, having made three films about the African continent (Through African Eyes (1995), Africa Unmasked (2002) and The Lost Libraries of Timbuktu (2009).)

Nicole Krauss, whose third novel has already been decorated with 2010 National Book Award, is famously multi-national -- although being born in New York to an English mother and American father, her maternal grandparents were German and Ukrainian, and her paternal grandparents Hungarian and Belarusian (they met in Israel). Yugoslavian-born Tea Obreht, meanwhile, spent her childhood in Cyprus and Egypt, before emmigrating to America in 1997.

Kathleen Winter lives in Canada, and beginning her career as a script-writer on Sesame Street, progressed to writing short stories (for which she won prizes). Annabel has previously been shortlisted for the Scotiabank Giller Prize, the Rogers Writers' Trust Fiction Prize and the 2010 Governor General's Awards (all Canadian awards).

Emma Henderson breaks the international trend by being born in London. Despite a brief spell in France, she still lives in London. Nevertheless, her novel was shortlisted for both the Commonwealth Writers Prize in the Best First Book category and for the Wellcome Trust Book Prize 2010.

This year's winner will be announced at the Royal Festival Hall in London on 8 June.

HELEN SLOAN / THE FALL 3 LTD
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The Fall is back - and once again making me weary

Five more episodes to go, after which its “feminist” writer (his word, not mine), Allan Cubitt, should pull the plug on it at last. Plus: Damned.

It is with much weariness that I return to The Fall (Thursdays, 9pm), the creepy drama that still doesn’t know whether it wants to be a horror-fest or a love story. I’ve written in the past about what I regard as its basic misogyny – to sum up, it seems to me to make a fetish of the violence committed against women, a preoccupation it pathetically tries to disguise by dint of its main character being a female detective – and I don’t propose to return to that theme now. However, in its early days, it was at least moderately gripping. Now, though, it appears to be recovering from some kind of nervous breakdown. If in series two the plot was wobbling all over the place, series three has misplaced the idea of drama altogether. Nothing is happening. At all.

To recap: at the end of the last series, Paul Spector, aka the Belfast Strangler (Jamie Dornan), had been shot while in police custody, somewhat improbably by a man who blames him for the demise of his marriage (oh, that Spector were only responsible for breaking up a few relationships). On the plus side for his supposed nemesis, DSI Stella Gibson (Gillian Anderson), before he fell he led them to Rose Stagg, the ex-girlfriend he’d locked in the boot of a car some days previously, and she is going to live. On the minus side, Spector’s injuries are so bad, it’s touch and go whether he’ll survive, and so Gibson may never see him brought to justice. Of course, the word “justice” is something of a red herring here.

The real reason she wants Spector to live is more dubious. As she stared at his body in the ICU, all tubes and monitors, her expression was so obviously sexual – her mouth opened, and stayed that way, as her eyes ran over every part of his body – that I half expected her to reach out and stroke him. Just in time for this nocturnal visit, she’d slipped into another of her slinky silk blouses that look like poured cream. (Moments earlier – think Jackie Kennedy in 1963 – she’d still been covered in her love object’s blood.)

The entire episode took place at the hospital, police procedural having morphed suddenly into Bodies or Cardiac Arrest. Except, this was so much more boring and cliché-bound than those excellent series – and so badly in need of their verisimilitude. When I watch The Fall, I’m all questions. Why doesn’t Stella ever tie her hair back? And why does she always wear high heels, even when trying to apprehend criminals? For how much longer will the presumably cash-strapped Police Service of Northern Ireland allow her to live in a posh hotel? Above all, I find myself thinking: why has this series been so acclaimed? First it was nasty, and then it was only bad. Five more episodes to go, after which its “feminist” writer (his word, not mine), Allan Cubitt, should join Gibson in the ICU, where together they can ceremonially pull the plug on it at last.

Can Jo Brand do for social workers in her new comedy, Damned, what she did a few years ago for geriatric nurses in the brilliant Getting On? I expect she probably can, even though this Channel 4 series (Tuesdays, 10pm), co-written with Morwenna Banks and Will Smith, does have an awfully inky heart. Hungry children, drug-addict parents, a man who can go nowhere without his oxygen tank: all three were present and correct when Rose (Brand) went to visit a client who turned out to be a woman who, long ago, had nicked her (Rose’s) boyfriend. Ha ha? Boohoo, more like.

Damned is basically The Office with added family dysfunction. Al (Alan Davies) is a hen-pecked wimp, Nitin (Himesh Patel) is a snitch, and Nat (Isy Suttie) is the stupidest and most annoying temp in the Western world. This lot have two bosses: Martin (Kevin Eldon), a kindly widower, and Denise (Georgie Glen), the cost-cutting line manager from hell. And Rose has a plonker of an ex-husband, Lee (Nick Hancock). “I’ve been invited to the Cotswolds for the weekend,” he told her, trying to wriggle out of looking after the children. “Is that why you look like a knob?” she replied.

Jerky camerawork, naturalistic acting, a certain daring when it comes to jokes about, say, race: these things are pretty familiar by now, but I like it all the same.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 29 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, May’s new Tories