Booker Bickering

Bookish feathers are flying as learned souls recover from a perceived downgrading of the Booker as an accolade for high brow, if impenetrable literature. Indeed the chair of judges is a mere writer of spy thrillers. Dumbing down must come naturally to her. Never mind that Stella Rimington is also the former director general of MI5. She has been subject to vilification for prioritising readability as a vital determinant of a book's worth. Rimington wants people to read and enjoy Julian Barnes's novella The Sense of an Ending, rather than simply admire it. Committee member MP Chris Mullin was also pilloried for commenting that books had to "zip along" to be worthy of consideration.


Of the prize winning book, Rimington also said "it is one of the most masterful things I've ever read… (it is) the total distillation of ideas (Barnes) has been rehearsing for almost all his working life."

Barnes has been shortlisted three times previously, losing to Anita Brookner, Ian McEwan and John Banville. This time he was up against first-time authors and Booker virgins. One of his competitors was a Canadian who wrote a western. There was so much to turn literary stomachs this year. The fact that Barnes is 65 years old, British and has written 11 novels clearly meant nothing to this year's detractors.

Perhaps reputation weighed in his favour, though Rimington denied it affected the flash decision apparently made by the committee in 31 minutes, after reading 138 books in the lead up to the announcement.

Declaring prizes to be rubbish is normal procedure until the accuser lands a win, and Barnes is no different from many. Despite labelling the Booker "posh bingo" in the past, in winning this time, Barnes has rethought the prize and now feels grateful and humbled. He also praised other nominees, saying that every shortlisted book he read was intensely readable. He appears to be more concerned about the potential loss of books off the library shelves; "…if the physical book, as we've come to call it, is to resist the challenge of the eBook, it has to look like something worth buying, worth keeping."

I am rushing out to buy this book. I discovered Julian Barnes in 2008 when he wrote "Nothing to Be Frightened Of," around the time his wife died of a brain tumour. That book was many things; a family memoir, an exchange with his philosopher brother, a meditation on mortality and an argument with and about God. I thought it was pure genius.

I love the idea of a small book. A beautifully written undersized story has a mysterious restraint which is difficult to master. I also love rereading stories and smaller tomes make possible loving a book even more the second time around. As much as I enjoyed Elliot Perlman's Three Dollars, when I heard his most recent novel The Street Sweeper was a whopping 500 pages, I shuddered. Perhaps I have fallen victim to this new impatient age, but I am also too tired to prop up a door stopper in bed at night.

It was refreshing to hear Booker winner DBC Pierre at the Ubud Readers and Writers Festival two weeks ago. While he described writing as an obsession bordering on illness, he was gracious about his award, saying the Booker had given him a life he could only have dreamed about. At least he could pay his bills.

In contrast, at the Brisbane Writers festival last August, Ann Patchett winner of both the PEN/Faulkner Award and the Orange Prize was asked what meant more to her, her prizes or selling books. She rolled her eyes and said all she cared about was that people read her books.

I wasn't sure whether it was the gale force winds on the library terrace that day, or perhaps she was jet lagged, but her response stunned me. Writing school clearly forgot to teach Ms Patchett to connect the dots. As she checks her bank balance, surely she must realise prizes and sales belong together.

DBC Pierre is not alone when it comes to suffering literary maladies. Julian Barnes has acknowledged the side effects of the Booker process, which "usually produces…a throbbing boil, a burning wire of neuralgia, the prod of gout" in writers.

Perhaps the angst-ridden boffins who are planning to establish a rival prize should see their doctor before they go ahead and reward excellence above readability via a new Literary Prize. Medication might help them understand that excellence and readability are not mutually exclusive.

Besides the winner, there are others who are pleased with this year's result. A spokesperson for Waterstone's bookshops, Jon Howell called the reaction "ungracious sniping" and acknowledged the odds-on favourite Barnes as a commendable winner. Book sales have sky rocketed and booksellers are ecstatic.

I wonder what the purists would think about reader delight as a credible determinant of a book's worth.