It is perhaps a cliché that our publishing industry is “incestuous”, with the same set of people regularly recycled from company to company; that literary festivals – insular and rather exclusionary in character – are occasions where celebrated writers and publishers gather to bestow awards upon one another.
Are these simply matters of perception or is there an element of truth in them?
If we were to address these questions in the context of our various indigenous awards for Indian Writing in English, perhaps we should begin with considering whom they are aimed at and what purpose they serve.
Authors? Publishers? Sponsors?
Recognising achievement? Developing new talent? Helping with book promotions? Boosting sales? Enhancing the authors’ bank balances?
To what extent do they succeed in accomplishing this? How many new names do we come across every year? How many new faces do we see? How much of what we read consequently is innovative, iconoclastic or ground-breaking?
Sales? What sales?
Barring the elusive Booker, these awards rarely push up sales appreciably. International recognition has played a crucial role in acquainting non-readers or readers of Western "pulp fiction" in India with their own reservoir of literary talent, especially as far as writing in English is concerned; for instance, turning Anita Desai or Amitav Ghosh into household names. Had it not been for the Booker, maybe Salman Rushdie would not have enjoyed such renown. Arundhati Roy or Aravind Adiga may not have been acknowledged at home at all.
The sudden explosion in IWE, indigenous writers, publishers, literary festivals and awards is a relatively recent phenomenon that owes much to technological advancement and the Internet. The Hindu Best Fiction Prize, the Crossword Book Award, the Shakti Bhatt Prize, or by extension even the DSC Prize all fall into this categroy. The hustle-bustle surrounding writing and publishing over the last two decades should be indicative of a growing, robust literary culture. Ironically, it is not. Every year senior writers – or rather serious writers – are growing disillusioned with the glitter and gloss, the ‘commercial aspects’ of these events and honours.
Of course, readers and writers alike look forward to literary award longlists and shortlists (apart from the eventual winner) to chart out their own book-buying lists for the season. The glamour factor aside, curiosity is genuine and ubiquitous. Yet there are huge blanks to be filled in.
How are the winners chosen?
Of all the different criticisms our award committees have been subjected to, perhaps the most important is the absence of transparency. Very often the jury consists of predictable names from predictable organisations or backgrounds – repeated ad nauseam. Omnipotent. Omnipresent. And, unsurprisingly, the awards are about subjectivity and personal preferences. In other words: predictable.
Some people feel there should be greater transparency regarding the selection of the jury. Even if they are well versed in literary criticism, acquainted with the mechanics literature and authors of noteworthy literary works, how about coming up with fresh sets of names and faces who might fit the bill equally well?
It is the same for sifted titles. As a well-established author points out, “The people on awards committees have not sorted out the criteria on which they judge a novel or literary piece. There ought to be justifications which should later be publicly accessible.”
It is an opinion shared by many.
Titles from small independent presses are conspicuously absent from most shortlists or even longlists. Does that mean writers publishing with small indies lack merit? Translated works, too, rarely make an appearance.
One size cannot fit all
In the west, for instance, categories of awards are better delineated, making it a more streamlined affair. Apart from the Nobel Prize for Literature, there exist the Folio Prize, the Man Booker, the Impac, the Bailey’s Women’s Prize for fiction, and the Costa (for the best novel and best first novel) amongst others. Prizes for genre fiction (crime novels, romance and sci-fi) are separate, as are those for translated books. Then there is the Encore award – for second novels. And then follows an assortment of independent publishers’ associations and self-publishing groups with a host of their own prizes and honours.
Blake Morrison says in The Guardian (January 25, 2013) about these trophies, "Enough to be going on with? Well, no. Not just because there can never be too many literary prizes […] but because the brief of all existing prizes is to seek out 'the best' or 'most promising', rather than to highlight what's innovative, ground-breaking, iconoclastic – fiction at its most novel."
Despite a proliferation of publishers and writers as well as the rise of diverse genres in recent years, we still cannot boast of awards exclusively reserved for genre fiction, translated works or self-published books amongst several other sub-categories, which very often find themselves receiving a stepchildren kind of treatment from established litterateurs. There are barely any independent publishers’ associations worth the name that might be able to raise regular sponsorship to host similar awards. Questions regarding the merit of self-published books can also be addressed only when they are considered in the first place.
Perhaps what we do need then, besides more openness and greater receptivity, are more awards under broader categories, involving a much wider range of participants and decision makers. Perhaps more people with resources (rich, generous tycoons?) need to step forward as genuine patrons of literature and art. Quite obviously there will be several other implications involved. Still, the industry as a whole must be galvanised into making this happen. It may take a long time yet.
Divya Dubey is Publisher, Earthen Lamp Journal
Are these simply matters of perception or is there an element of truth in them?
If we were to address these questions in the context of our various indigenous awards for Indian Writing in English, perhaps we should begin with considering whom they are aimed at and what purpose they serve.
Authors? Publishers? Sponsors?
Recognising achievement? Developing new talent? Helping with book promotions? Boosting sales? Enhancing the authors’ bank balances?
To what extent do they succeed in accomplishing this? How many new names do we come across every year? How many new faces do we see? How much of what we read consequently is innovative, iconoclastic or ground-breaking?
Sales? What sales?
Barring the elusive Booker, these awards rarely push up sales appreciably. International recognition has played a crucial role in acquainting non-readers or readers of Western "pulp fiction" in India with their own reservoir of literary talent, especially as far as writing in English is concerned; for instance, turning Anita Desai or Amitav Ghosh into household names. Had it not been for the Booker, maybe Salman Rushdie would not have enjoyed such renown. Arundhati Roy or Aravind Adiga may not have been acknowledged at home at all.
The sudden explosion in IWE, indigenous writers, publishers, literary festivals and awards is a relatively recent phenomenon that owes much to technological advancement and the Internet. The Hindu Best Fiction Prize, the Crossword Book Award, the Shakti Bhatt Prize, or by extension even the DSC Prize all fall into this categroy. The hustle-bustle surrounding writing and publishing over the last two decades should be indicative of a growing, robust literary culture. Ironically, it is not. Every year senior writers – or rather serious writers – are growing disillusioned with the glitter and gloss, the ‘commercial aspects’ of these events and honours.
Of course, readers and writers alike look forward to literary award longlists and shortlists (apart from the eventual winner) to chart out their own book-buying lists for the season. The glamour factor aside, curiosity is genuine and ubiquitous. Yet there are huge blanks to be filled in.
How are the winners chosen?
Of all the different criticisms our award committees have been subjected to, perhaps the most important is the absence of transparency. Very often the jury consists of predictable names from predictable organisations or backgrounds – repeated ad nauseam. Omnipotent. Omnipresent. And, unsurprisingly, the awards are about subjectivity and personal preferences. In other words: predictable.
Some people feel there should be greater transparency regarding the selection of the jury. Even if they are well versed in literary criticism, acquainted with the mechanics literature and authors of noteworthy literary works, how about coming up with fresh sets of names and faces who might fit the bill equally well?
It is the same for sifted titles. As a well-established author points out, “The people on awards committees have not sorted out the criteria on which they judge a novel or literary piece. There ought to be justifications which should later be publicly accessible.”
It is an opinion shared by many.
Titles from small independent presses are conspicuously absent from most shortlists or even longlists. Does that mean writers publishing with small indies lack merit? Translated works, too, rarely make an appearance.
One size cannot fit all
In the west, for instance, categories of awards are better delineated, making it a more streamlined affair. Apart from the Nobel Prize for Literature, there exist the Folio Prize, the Man Booker, the Impac, the Bailey’s Women’s Prize for fiction, and the Costa (for the best novel and best first novel) amongst others. Prizes for genre fiction (crime novels, romance and sci-fi) are separate, as are those for translated books. Then there is the Encore award – for second novels. And then follows an assortment of independent publishers’ associations and self-publishing groups with a host of their own prizes and honours.
Blake Morrison says in The Guardian (January 25, 2013) about these trophies, "Enough to be going on with? Well, no. Not just because there can never be too many literary prizes […] but because the brief of all existing prizes is to seek out 'the best' or 'most promising', rather than to highlight what's innovative, ground-breaking, iconoclastic – fiction at its most novel."
Despite a proliferation of publishers and writers as well as the rise of diverse genres in recent years, we still cannot boast of awards exclusively reserved for genre fiction, translated works or self-published books amongst several other sub-categories, which very often find themselves receiving a stepchildren kind of treatment from established litterateurs. There are barely any independent publishers’ associations worth the name that might be able to raise regular sponsorship to host similar awards. Questions regarding the merit of self-published books can also be addressed only when they are considered in the first place.
Perhaps what we do need then, besides more openness and greater receptivity, are more awards under broader categories, involving a much wider range of participants and decision makers. Perhaps more people with resources (rich, generous tycoons?) need to step forward as genuine patrons of literature and art. Quite obviously there will be several other implications involved. Still, the industry as a whole must be galvanised into making this happen. It may take a long time yet.
Divya Dubey is Publisher, Earthen Lamp Journal
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