Prizelists make me feel like I do when I watch the Olympics. Because just when I am feeling most thrilled about one person’s winning performance, I am reminded of all the other participants’ losses.
So the prizelists, for me, are as much about what is not listed as what is listed and even when part of me is cheering, another part is lamenting. And whether I am cheering or lamenting, there could be tears: such situations are fraught.
When Zoe Whittall’s The Best Kind of People was listed for this year’s Giller Prize, I actually squealed, because it’s one of my favourite reads this season.
But simultaneously I was disappointed not to see Katherena Vermette’s The Break listed for the prize to start with.
Afterwards, The Break was listed for the Rogers Writers’ Trust Fiction Prize and the Governor General’s Literary Award for Fiction in English so then I felt a little better; but that’s not uncomplicated either, because the fact that it was been listed for two of the prizes made me wish that another title had one of those opportunities for a shortlisting.
One of the reasons that I gravitate towards prizelists is that they can introduce new works into my reading stacks and I simultaneously want a good book to get recognition – and its author some accolades and cash and the incentive to continue writing – but also keep company with a bunch of other good books that I haven’t heard of yet.
That leaves me in conflict. And so does the fact that sometimes I can recognize the skill some works take, but they don’t dig into my heart; objectively I appreciate that the recognition is deserved, but subjectively I want to be dragged by the heart into a story.
I’ve either read or begun reading all of the longlisted titles for this year’s Giller. The last is Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing, which I began reading yesterday morning.
Some were by authors whose works have repeatedly appeared on my TBR stacks, like Emma Donoghue’s. She has a knack for recreating other times and places, and for introducing serious themes and ideas (like religion and mortality, injustice and power) into page-turning stories. The Wonder didn’t pull me in as strongly as Slammerkin and the prose didn’t seduce me like Kissing the Witch, but I understand why many readers have found it more affecting than I.
Others were by authors whose work was new to my TBR (like Stephen Price’s By Gaslight, which took me awhile to sink into, but now I am engrossed in the story and style, and Susan Perly’s Death Valley, which I found beautifully and unexpectedly poetic).
Another time, I’ll have more to say about Stranger and Yiddish for Pirates, which won’t necessarily make my list of favourite reads for this year, but which were memorable reads all the same. (Unsurprisingly, as I’ve got a thing about parrots, and I’ve enjoyed David Bergen’s fiction before.)
Two of the books on this year’s shortlist are now firmly ensconced on my list of favourites for this reading year: Zoe Whittall’s The Best Kind of People and Catherine LeRoux’s The Party Wall (Trans. Lazer Lederhendler), which I just finished reading last week.
When I began reading Madeleine Thien’s novel yesterday, I realized that my choice for the 2016 Giller Prize might be my most difficult choice yet; because although I am not on the Gillery Jury, I am reading quietly as a jury-of-one, deliberating my own decision as a solitary reader, and I find myself torn between good books.
Mind you, it’s a random exercise because of course I had no input towards the longlist, so selecting a winner from the shortlist is like having to make my own menu when I’ve been brought into the kitchen to stir the soup.
But, still, I remain torn, imagining how difficult it would be to be a juror in this position, to have two or three favourites and an extremely difficult choice. (And, then, of course there is the matter of other jurors not having identical opinions, which would complicate things tremendously. Fortunately, I do not need to persuade anyone.)
At the “Between the Pages” Giller Prize event in Toronto, some of the writers expressed difficulty answering a question posed to them by Albert Schultz, about whether ideas were more firmly rooted in themes or plots or characters: it can be hard to separate those elements in thinking about the creative genesis/power of a literary work. Similarly, I find myself trying to narrow my choice by saying that in one work the structure is phenomenal and in another the characterization; but, in fact, neither element alone would be so impressive if other elements weren’t also outstanding. So the conflict remains.
I have not, in my mind, awarded my own private Giller Prize for this year. Instead, I am feeling exceedingly grateful that I am a single reader, who can bestow countless prizes to my favourite reads.
Have you been reading from any of the Canadian literary prizelists this season? Here are some of the recent ones, if you’re curious:
Giller Prize 2016: Mona Awad’s 13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl, Gary Barwin’s Yiddish for Pirates, Andrew Battershill’s Pillow, David Bergen’s Stranger, Emma Donoghue’s The Wonder, Catherine LeRoux’s The Party Wall (Trans. Lazer Lederhendler), Kathy Page’s The Two of Us, Susan Perly’s Death Valley, Kerry Lee Powell’s Willem de Kooning’s Paintbrush, Steven Price’s By Gaslight, Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing, Zoe Whittall’s The Best Kind of People. (The award will be presented this evening.)
Writers’ Trust Award 2016: Michael Helm’s After James, Anosh Irani’s The Parcel, Kerry Lee Powell’s Willem de Kooning’s Paintbrush, Yasuko Thanh’s Mysterious Frangrance of the Yellow Mountains and Katherena Vermette’s The Break. (Yasuko Thanh’s Mysterious Frangrance of the Yellow Mountains won the Fiction Prize. I’ve read her collection of stories, so I’m keen to read her novel.)
Governor General’s Literary Award 2016: Gary Barwin’s Yiddish for Pirates, Anosh Irani’s The Parcel, Kerry Lee Powell’s Willem de Kooning’s Paintbrush, Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing, Katherena Vermette’s The Break. (Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing won the English Fiction Award.)
Do you value prizelists or abhor them, or fall somewhere between? Do you enjoying watching/following particular ones?
If you are following this year’s Giller Prize, are you planning to watch/attend? Do you have your own winner in mind?
I followed Naomi’s reading of Giller Prize nominees and there were some fantastic books on there! I’ve never read an aentire prizelist short/long list but it’s a project I may do when I am older perhaps. From Naomi’s review, I was happy to see that Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing won and I will be reading it myself in 2017.
Because it’s the kind of project that one takes on when they’re older? I would think it’s the kind of thing that seems more possible/sensible/enjoyable when you’re younger and still have the idea of limitless reading months and years ahead? *giggles* I’m teasing, Naz, but I was definitely more ambitious about my reading plans even just ten years ago; now I think long and hard about creating a page (online or in a notebook) for a new reading project, because there are still so many that I haven’t finished (and several only barely begun, years later). Madeleine Thien’s book turned out to be as stunning as the first hundred pages led me to believe it would be when I wrote this post. I think you will be very impressed!
We share many of the same thoughts about prizelists – the excitement of following them yet the sorrow for all the good books not chosen. I like them especially for introducing me to books unknown to me before.
Neither can I imagine the pressure the juries must be under. To pick the one book that will win out of so many other arguably equally good ones, just depending on the individuals on the jury that year. But, I guess that’s how it works… and I’m certainly not complaining. For as flawed as they may be, I still love them. If nothing else, it gets people talking about books and supporting the industry.
I’m so glad that the camera doesn’t land on the other nominees’ faces when the Giller Prize is broadcast, like it does on acting award shows (well, they’re actors, right? they can pretend to feel things while people are watching)!
It’s actually really fun to have something bookish to talk about even with the not-so-bookish people in your everyday life, isn’t it? Everyone knows about the Giller Prize and the Booker Prize it seems.
That’s what I love about Canada Reads – I can get my family all riled up about it even if they haven’t actually read the books. I love it!
They were pretty into the Giller this year, because of me being on the shadow jury. They actually wanted to know stuff about the books and the process. I’ll take anything to get other people talking about books. My idea of small talk is, so do you like to read? And if the answer is no I feel like all the possibilities have just flown out the window.
I had never thought about having to see the faces of all the un-winners (sounds better than losers) – I am so glad they don’t do that!!
That’s true: Canada Reads does seem that much more accessible. When you see someone reading one of the books around the event, you can start a conversation with a stranger about books, and how often does that (comfortably) happen? And, yes, corrall family members into participating too! Agreed.
I enjoy perusing the prize lists, but my reading only occasionally reflects it.
You’ve had your fill of list-making for awhile, I’m guessing. 🙂