First Officer's Log No 22: "Yes, But Is It Good?", or, Why Ali Has Mixed Feelings On Book Awards

So this past weekend, I watched quite an amusing little video clip from Slate.com's "Outside the Box" Book Reviews, wherein the reviewer goes after the NBA. No, not the National Basketball Association, the National Book Awards, and proceeds to explain, in a very hyperbolic and amusing fashion, why he doesn't necessarily agree with the choices for finalists, and also makes the, in my opinion, accurate observation that regardless of what the finalists for book awards are, there are always bound to be people who complain that their favorite book was overlooked and why that simply isn't fair.

I recall a conversation I had once upon a time with friends who were all quite well read and liked reading authors who tended to get short listed for prestigious literary prizes. Being in a sarcastic mood, I asked if the books that won were actually any good. The discussion quickly shifted to what defines a truly good book from the rest of the herd, but the question still lingers in my mind today: does a prize attached to a book's name actually make it better, or more deserving than any other book released in that same year?

I'd like to point out that I long ago learned to be skeptical of whatever books were award winners, despite the fact that some books that win awards truly do deserve it. That said, I can't say that somebody who won the Nobel ever made me want to rush out and read their book. Perhaps I read it later, when I stumbled upon it, but the Nobel doesn't make that much of an impression on me. I probably need to work on this.

Since I went through and made a long list for the shop's reference on who won what in what year and why, I gained a newer appreciation for the absolutely levels of frustration that book critics and prize committees must face when deciding on and awarding marks (high, low, in between) to literature, science fiction, mystery, non fiction, what have you. It's got to be the most baffling and unappreciated job in the publishing world, because no matter what you do or say, you can't please everyone.

The Nobel Committee appears to choose literary figures based upon their contributions to writing, but judging from the fascinating article at Wikipedia, I'd recommend jumping straight to this bit, about the controversies in the history of the prize. Perhaps it's because I have an odd affinity for reading about gossip in the literary world (and who doesn't, truly?), but I found the who's-who of authors who never won the prize more compelling than those who have won it. It boggles the mind, comprehending the political nature of the Nobel Prize in Literature, especially when it is, in theory, supposed to be about the art of writing.

There are a few awards that I follow, the Hugo and Nebula, the Edgar Awards; otherwise, I decide on books to read based upon word of mouth or various articles I read. A prize means very little to me as a reader. However, I've discovered, in my almost ten years of working in bookstores, that people respond to half-dollar sized stickers on the front covers of books that announce what prize the book has won. The nature of the prize isn't as important as the fact that a book has won a prize of some kind, therefore elevating it to something other than Just Another Books.

Hundreds of books come out every year, but only a few get to be truly worthy of prizes, and the things that do get chosen for awards inevitably make some book reader, somewhere, miffed that their favorite book of the year wasn't chosen for this award or that. The books that seem to win awards, the last decade or so, for fiction, seem to be long, drawn out accounts of what I like to call Families In Distress, and Drama Drama Drama, With Some Angsty Humor On The Side. These are the kinds of books that sell very well in the past decade, and I think it shows that the publishing industry reflects the country's state of mind. Post-9/11 America is distraught, still, almost ten years later, nervous, scared, worried about every thing. People want to read about things the way that they wish they were, or perhaps they wish to read about lives that seem worse than theirs. That's probably why the misery memoir was so popular in the mid-2000s.

Admittedly, these aren't the kinds of things I usually read. Granted, when I was in college, I didn't really read for fun all that much, and if I did read for fun, it was a trashy urban fantasy novel or a copy of Rolling Stone, something I could stuff in my backpack next to my school notebooks and texts. If a book won a prize, that meant it was Serious Literature, and up until this year I have had a very hard time taking Serious Literature, well, Seriously.

The nonfiction I read nowadays might win notice as one of the Best Books of (Insert Year Here) from The Economist, The New York Times, or some other nationally known magazine or newspaper, and maybe, like Lawrence Wright's The Looming Tower, the book might win the Pulitzer. The books that I did enjoy the most, for their writing style, story and characters, those weren't the kinds of books that prize committees looked at. Even when the Quill Award (2005 - 2007, discontinued in 2008) was awarded to Patrick Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind in 2007, while I was excited that more people knew it was a good novel, I'd read the book at the insistence of a friend, not because it was winning prizes or recognition from committees.

Literary prizes seem to reflect current temperaments, much like any artistic prize, from the Academy Awards for movies, to the Grammys for music. As such, it's no surprise that whatever is chosen for the current year is what reflects culture the best, but that doesn't mean that genuinely good books have to be pushed out of the way. There is truly great literature out there, strongly written stories that don't get notice or attention until book sellers start noticing them, and even then, no matter how hard you push, you can't convince a committee that the truly great novel is right below their noses.

It's a shame. They must have the most frustrating job. I suppose when you're forced to narrow a field of books down to five or six with true merit, you have to sacrifice really good stuff for the stuff that will sell, that will bring in money. It's trendy, it reflects the times. Hopefully it will change. In the mean time, I'll try to keep my eyes open for good books, but not necessarily stuff that wins prizes.