Folio Society to sponsor new £40,000 literary prize

Books will be nominated by a one-hundred strong Academy of "ideal" readers.

On Wednesday evening it was announced that the Folio Society will take responsibility for funding a new £40,000 fiction prize. Previously referred to as the "Literature Prize", the Folio Prize aims to "recognise and celebrate the best English-language fiction from around the world," distinguishing itself from the Booker and Costa Book Awards by accepting nominations from countries outside the UK and Ireland.

Nominations for the prize will not come from publishers and agents, as is traditional with literary prizes, but from a one-hundred strong academy of "ideal first readers": the first attached to a major book prize. The Folio Prize Academy will be a fluid collective of writers and critics, out of which six judges - three from the UK, two from outside, with no more than three members of the same gender - will be chosen each year to carve out a shortlist of eight books.

The novelists Nicole Krauss, J M Coetzee and Salman Rushdie will join essayists Geoff Dyer and Pankaj Mishra, alongside critics such as New Yorker fiction editor Deborah Treisman and Granta editor John Freeman, as members of the Academy chosen for their "commitment to excellence in fiction".

The impetus for a new literary prize emerged amid the controversy surrounding the 2011 Booker Prize, when the judges suggested "readability" and a novel’s capacity to "zip along" as deciding factors in their selection process. "When we first announced our intentions a year and a half ago, we were surprised by the coverage and noise generated by our single speculative press release," Andrew Kidd, Managing Director of Aitken Alexander Associates and Folio Prize founded told those gathered at the British Library for the announcement. "What it suggests is that storytelling still matters, and so we find ourselves here."

He stressed they would not be searching for "difficult or obscure" books. "Many, if not most great books go down easily," he added. "That said, the Prize will not apologise for getting excited about books that might appear daunting at first, but that go on to reward dedicated readers by reflecting the world back at them in an entirely unexpected way."

The Folio Society was founded in 1947 with the intention of creating "editions of the world’s greatest literature in a format worthy of the contents". The publisher, which produces illustrated and hard-bound editions of classic texts, markets itself as a celebrant of the books as objets d’art. Philip Pullman, a member of the Academy, said: "I think their sponsorship of this new prize is a recognition that while literature can become manifest in many different forms, the book - the codex - is at the heart of what we understand literature to be." The Folio Society will produce a deluxe, reimagined edition of the winning book each year, in collaboration with its existing publisher.

The six academicians chosen to be judges will be announced in July this year. The shortlist will be announced next February, with the first winner being declared in March 2014.

Nicole Krauss, one of the Folio Prize academicians. Photo: Patric Shaw.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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On the trail of Keith Jarrett's melodies

Lose focus for a second and you can quickly drop the thread of Jarrett's complex improvisational techniques.

“So, this is a piano,” said Keith Jarrett, sitting down at the one that had been placed centre stage for him in the Royal Festival Hall on 20 November. Blowing on his hands to warm them, he acted as if he had never encountered such an instrument before, raising a chuckle from the hundreds of fans who had turned out to see the man in the flesh. For 40 years, Jarrett has been giving concerts like this – alone with the piano, playing his improvised music to a room full of rapt devotees. Notoriously grumpy – and now as well known for his tirades against cameras and coughing audience members as for his early days playing with Miles Davis – he has an almost eerie focus onstage, relieving the tension only very occasionally with his barbed observations about the excellence of the instrument, or the shuffling in the auditorium.

Jarrett gave us a series of short pieces, each rendering separate and distinctive musical ideas. He began with an intricately woven flash of notes in both hands, criss-crossing the melodies that were by turns dark and haunting, or light and dancing. At particularly complex moments, when his arms were crossed over and the notes were flowing from his fingers faster than anyone could imagine them into existence, he leaned his ear down towards the keys, as if physical closeness could help his ideas more swiftly become sound.

A couple of folk-inflected ballads followed; heart-achingly sweet melodies picked out above rumbling, sour arpeggios. Like Glenn Gould, the Canadian pianist best known for his recordings of Bach’s Goldberg Variations, Jarrett can’t help adding vocalisations as he plays, which are all the more evident in his quieter compositions. He rose and fell from his stool; we heard his guiding hum along with the melody, as well as the odd strangled shout, yelp and grunt. He might insist on absolute silence from the audience but his own noises seem completely uninhibited as the music spins around him.

Although notorious for his curmudgeonly attitude to his fans, Jarrett was mostly restrained in this outing, allowing himself just one short, sweary outburst about killing a “f***ing camera”. At the age of 70 and with the power to sell out his concerts in just a few hours, you do wonder how much of the persona is genuine and how much of it is just giving the audience what it expects. A case in point came near the end, when he yielded to clamouring and gave a surprisingly simple and straightforward rendition of “Danny Boy”, an encore that long-time fans know well.

Given that this recital was under the auspices of the London Jazz Festival, there was surprisingly little in Jarrett’s programme that could easily be identified as jazz. One piece, full of brisk rhythms and chunky chords, gradually revealed itself to be based on a modified 12-bar blues structure and another had haunting overtones surely pulled from the classic American songs of the first half of the 20th century. Indeed, this musical ghosting becomes a major preoccupation when you see Jarrett live. It is too easy to distract yourself in trying to follow the auditory trail he has laid for you – was that a bit of Debussy, or Bach, or Glass just then? – and lose the thread of what he plays next. The improvisational technique might have more in common with jazz but now, 40 years on from his bestselling live recording The Köln Concert, it’s difficult to characterise Jarrett’s output as anything other than contemporary classical music.

If it needs a classification, that is. At one point, I became convinced that a particular piece was a Jarrett riff on Beethoven’s Bagatelle No 25 in A Minor – or Für Elise, as it is more commonly known. I was sure it was all there: the extended opening trill, the rising arpeggios in the left hand, the melody cascading from treble to bass and back again. Except, by the time I surfaced from my musing, there was no trace of Beethoven to be heard. A clashing, almost violent melody was dangling over a long drone in the bass. If you try too hard to pin down Jarrett’s music, it moves on without you.

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State