—
I
—
Last
year, the Nobel Prize in Literature was awarded to the Norwegian playwright and
prose writer Jon Fosse with the prize motivation:
“For his innovative plays and prose
which give voice to the unsayable.”
Jon
Fosse had long been considered a potential and perennial candidate for the
Nobel Prize in Literature, for over a decade. By the 2010’s, Jon Fosse held the
honour of being the most performed contemporary playwright in the world.
European theatres were happy to stage his intense slow burn theatrical texts;
while American and English theatregoers tepidly responded to stagings of
Fosse’s plays.
The
Nobel Prize in Literature has a reputation of honouring some of the greatest
playwrights over the past century. From George Bernard Shaw, whose acerbic wit
retains its caustic bite; to the ever innovative and daring Italian playwright Luigi
Pirandello, who could be considered the progenitor of the monumental Theatre of
the Absurd, which became the defining theatrical form of the postwar years,
popularized by Samuel Beckett and his nihilistic comedies of existential dread,
shutting the doors on the grim everyday dramas of the American playwright
Eugene O’Neill, who in turn usurped the prevailing vaudevillian form; then
comes the inheritors of Beckett, the comedy of menace and the pregnant pause of
Harold Pinter, who uncovered the truth in everyday prattle. Of course, where
does one place the ever-uncategorizable Elfriede Jelinek, whose plays push the
limitations and boundaries of an extremely physically confined form, and exist
within the purely linguistic, embodying the pyrotechnics of language, its inherent
power both politically and economically, and its susceptibility for corruption;
all the while performing textual gymnastics, equally provoking and
enraging.
Jon
Fosse, follows in the same vein as Beckett and Pinter, by continually rejecting
the previous realistic and naturalist forms of theatre in favour of something
more ephemeral. Where Samuel Beckett, populated his bleak landscapes with
tramps and vagabond clowns, lost within an apocalyptic landscape of absurdity
and comically fumble like marionettes without agency. Fosse’s theatre in turn
is equally bleak, but comedy is replaced by an otherwise elemental force, with
the drapery of some vague sense of Catholicism, while abandoning its
characteristic pomposity. Where Beckett employed comedy, Fosse employes
mysticism. Fosse’s dramatic works in turn are renowned for their simple
scaffolding narratives and modest language, filled with long pauses and dead
space, which intensify an atmosphere that is tense with anxiety and dread. The
play “Somone Is Going to Come,” the tenseness of the plot is built on the
understanding that someone will arrive, which harkens back to both Beckett’s
absurdities and Pinter’s comedies of menace; and when they do arrive a
crescendo of turmoil is unleashed. In a more mature play, “A Summers Day,” an
atmosphere of danger is replaced with a somber lyrical austerity. “A Summers
Day,” presents the story of an old widow, who one fateful summer day looks out
her window into the foreboding fjord, whereby she reminisces the rueful day her
husband rowed out into a storm and disappeared. Fosse’s layering of time is
masterfully used within this play, as past and present waltz around each other,
commenting on the power of love and the yearning ache of loss. Here again,
however, Fosse’s language is the real masterclass in form, a rhythmic
repetitive language of back and forth and long pauses, starving off the
entrapments of sentimental gushing narrative. The shadow of subtext is the
greatest power of Fosse’s plays, which elevate these otherwise bleak and
intimate (almost purgatory) settings into nucleuses of the human condition,
commenting on the nature of memory, love, loneliness, existential alienation,
faith and hope.
Jon
Fosse’s prose continues to embody his dramatic texts austere and simple
language. Crafted with long lugubrious sentences, they are renowned for their
repetition and rhythm. Novels such as “Aliss at the Fire,” “Morning &
Evening,” and “A Shining,” are short novels, but rapture with Fosse’s signature
language, the tidal movement of slow-moving sentences swaying back and forth,
which create a hypnotic and enveloping sensation. “Aliss at the Fire,” and
“Morning & Evening,” are perfect examples of Fosse’s playfulness of time
being a layered phenomena rather than linear arrow or record. A few reviewers
have described Fosse’s prose as being psychological realism utilizing an
indirect stream of consciousness prose; while this perspective has merit, Jon
Fosse’s work is more ethereal in vision then cerebral. Memories emerge and
infuse the narrative just as the ambiguous geography (which is usually a
fjord), and there is an inclination of the divine, but it too defies
theological allegiance. Once again, it’s the language, the repetitive cursive
language swelling, sweeping, teeming, rolling and crashing ashore which is the
defining feature and style of Fosse’s work. Readers, should slow down and slip
into the tidal rhythm of Fosse’s language in order to appreciate his prose.
In
2015, Jon Fosse won the Nordic Council Literature Prize for his trilogy of
novel(las): “Wakefulness,” “Olav’s Dream,” and “Weariness.” Translated as an
omnibus edition and titled “Trilogy,” the set of novels recount the luminous
love and tragedy of Asle and Alida, who forsaken and weary, search and attempt
to fashion themselves a good enough life for themselves and their child. The
trilogy shows the depth and range of Fosse’s skill, crafting a narrative full
of historical, cultural, and theological allusions, crafting a parable of
injustice, resistance, crime, redemption, and of course the transcendent
endearing power of love. Despite their flaws and their mistakes, Asle and Alida
are beautiful characters bound by circumstance and tragedy, and yet Fosse
writes about them tenderly and provides bittersweet redemption. After the
publication of the Trilogy, I thought it was only a matter of time before Jon
Fosse would receive the award. Fosse, however, did not rest on his laurels
after publishing trilogy. He would follow up with an even bigger narrative
portrait, which is now considered his magnum opus: “Septology,” or “The Other
Name: I-II,” “I is Another: III-V,” and “A New Name: VI-VII.” A seven novel
sequence which explores the eternal questions of the human condition regarding
one’s decision to lead their life a certain way and not the other, posed
between the doppelgangers of the aged Asle and Asle. One a painter and devote
catholic, whose preparing for his annual Christmas exhibition reminiscing about
his life, in his solitary home out in the western Norwegian countryside; the
other lives in Bjørgvin (Bergen) and while also a painter, finds himself
consumed by loneliness and alcoholism. These two versions of the same man who
diverge on two different paths and lives, wrestle with the eternal questions
about life and death, faith and hopelessness, shadow and light. Jon Fosse’s
“Septology,” is a transcendental meditation on the philosophical conundrums of
existence, and rather than seeking to provide answers, hypnotically sways
within the ambiguities, delighting in the lack of certainty of the human
condition. “Septology,” is considered one of the most important novels of the
21st century.
In
awarding Jon Fosse the Nobel Prize in Literature, the Swedish Academy decided
on a laureate who has no political dimensions in either their work or
personally expressed views or opinions. Fosse is a purely literary choice,
whose work can only be assessed through a literary lens. Even critics, who find
his plays boring and droning or prose and sentences long and winding, will
reluctantly cede that there is merit to Jon Fosse’s work. For over a decade
Fosse has been considered a contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature; by
2015 it became a matter of when Jon Fosse would receive the award, not a matter
of if. Despite being a safe choice by the Swedish Academy, Jon Fosse is a welcomed
laureate, lacking in controversy, with a strong solid bibliography to support
the award, and the award recognizes not only his brilliant and singular prose,
but also his accomplishments as a dramatist, who has carved out a niche corner
of the stage for his ethereal plays.
Now,
on October 10 the Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy, Mats Malm, will
emerge from the famous white and gold gilded doors and announce this year’s
laureate. In years past, previous Permanent Secretaries would then mingle with
the assembled journalists and engage in interviews, providing an overview of
the laureate, any works they would recommend, and any interesting information
as to how the academy came to their conclusion. In 2007, the literary statesmen
Horace Engdahl, referenced Doris Lessing being seriously discussed for many
years, and the publication of her autobiographies represented another uptake in
her work, forcing the academy to re-examine her contributions to literature
again. In 2014, the infectiously excited Peter Englund, delighted in shocking
the world with the announcement of Patrick Modiano, and expanding on the
decision to award the prize to a canonical French writer, who remained unknown
to the world; Englund glossed over Modiano’s lack of readership in other
languages, while defending the authors playful pastiche and exploitation of the
detective novel, and his continued investigation into the nature of memory and
identity; and the psychogeography of Paris. While in 2017 the ever-graceful
Sara Danius, announced her final Nobel Laureate, the English novelist, Kazuo
Ishiguro, and provided the recipe to his literary style: a mixture of Jane
Austen and Franz Kafka, with a dash of Marcel Proust, which you stir (but not
too much). These personal touches by the Permanent Secretaries always imbued a
sense of character and charm into the Nobel Prize announcements.
In
the post-scandal years, the announcement of the Nobel Laureates in Literature
and the subsequent interviews have become an otherwise stagnant and stilted
affair. The event is now managed and staged. All the gold (even if it was
gilding) has been curated into nothing more then a dust covered shadow of its
former glory. Mats Malm currently rattles of the Nobel Laureates name and the
prize citation, in the subsequent languages he has command over, and then
relinquishes the remaining press conference to the chair of the Nobel Committee
of the Swedish Academy, Anders Olsson. While Anders Olsson is an accomplished
academic, literary historian and critic, these qualifications do not endow him
with charm offensive necessary to be a front facing and engaging public
relations representative for the Swedish Academy. Since the 2018 & 2019
prize announcements, Olsson’s approach to the announcement is one of somber sermon
than enlightening engagement. The remainder of the announcement press
conference, consists of Olsson lecturing from lectern and droning on like an
outdated clergyman. The event has become more about endurance then enjoyment.
This current itineration of the prize’s announcement is dreadfully dull and
boring. Its previous incarnation may have been more unscripted and sporadic,
but at least it was concise and entertaining. In preparation for this year’s
award, I intend to listen to the laureate’s announcement and then wait for the
press release to be published on the Nobel website. Olsson’s dry lecturing is rather
heavy for the early hours.
As
for the Swedish Academy in turn, this is the first time in over thirty years
the academy is at a full roster. In 1989 two members recused themselves
(remember before the bylaws were changed, election to the Swedish Academy was a
lifetime appointment) due to a lack of condemnation and response from the
Swedish Academy regarding the death decree that was issued against Salman
Rushdie. Both Kerstin Ekman and Lars Gyllensten symbolically resigned and
refused to participate in the Academy’s work further, citing the academy’s lack
of support and defense of a writer and freedom of speech as an appalling
derelict of duty. In 2016 the Swedish Academy, finally made an announcement of
their support of Salman Rushdie; though were silent once again after the
attempted assassination and stabbing of Rushdie in 2022. Since 1996 due to
conflicts with the then Permanent Secretary Sture Allen and his successor
Horace Engdahl, Knut Ahnlund participated minimally within the academy’s
workings; by 2005 he publicly announced his own recusal from the institution,
blaming the decision to award Elfriede Jelinek the previous year as the
ultimate decision to recuse himself. The subsequent decades saw members die,
scandal, and a flurry of resignations. Now with the induction of David
Håkansson to Chair No. 3 and Anna-Karin Palm to Chair No. 16, the Swedish
Academy is finally at a full roster. How this changes the academy’s workings,
and whether or not more members will introduce greater debate and perspectives
is unknown; but for the Swedish Academy itself, it finds itself full bodied and
complete.
—
II
—
The
Nobel Prize in Literature is never short of criticism. One of the few awards
which can be easily weighted and commented on by the public, the Nobel Prize in
Literature inevitably provokes debate and discussion. As one commentator put
it: it’s a matter of taste. One pointed criticism leveraged against the Nobel
Prize in Literature and by extension the Swedish Academy is the glaring
imbalance between male laureates (103) and female laureates (17). Previously, entire
decades have been awarded exclusively to men, such as the 1970’s and 1980’s.
This is not to say that previous laureates are not some of the greatest writers
of their time and still have resounding impact; but the notion that there never
was a female writer of equal literary merit and match does not retain water.
However, in the Swedish Academy’s defense, they can only evaluate on whose been
nominated. If no female writer has been nominated (or too few), the Swedish
Academy is cannot be held responsible, as they can only evaluate and assess
potential candidates based off those nominated. It is not a stretch to believe
that some academics or nominating institutions would overlook or willfully
neglect to nominate female writers. After a 25-year drought between Nelly Sachs
sharing the Nobel Prize in Literature with Shmuel Yosef Agnon in 1966 and
Nadine Gordimer winning the prize in 1991; there has been a concentrated effort
to award more women writers. Over the past 33 years, 11 of the 17 women
laureates have been awarded.
Over
the past six years, the Swedish Academy begun to operate on a conventional
alternating cycle, between awarding a male writer and a woman writer. Starting
retroactively in 2018 with the Polish novelist Olga Tokarczuk, the Swedish
Academy has awarded three female writers, with the last one being the French
writer Annie Ernaux in 2022. Many speculators and commentators believe (and not
wrongly) that by the rules of precedence the 2024 Nobel Prize in Literature has
a high probability of going to a woman writer. Caution should always be
exercised when framing obligations and expectations towards the Swedish
Academy. Notoriously fussy and fickle, the academy and members are convinced of
their ordained position as an authority on what constitutes great literature,
and as such do not appreciate the notion that others can dictate or influence
their decisions. The Swedish Academy may choose to award a female writer this
year; but to expect them to award a female writer on the singular understanding
that its an alternating cycle of conventional precedence, does feel
underwhelmingly boring. Almost predictable. While it can be appreciated that
the Swedish Academy is making a conscientious effort to induct more women
laureates into the Nobel Pantheon, doing so simply to round out or inflate the
numbers cheapens every female Nobel Laureate, which is an optic the Swedish
Academy weighs with equal importance, as all eleven previous female Nobel
Laureates from Nadine Gordimer in 1991 to Annie Ernaux in 2022, have all been exceptional.
Of course, not without controversy, as in the case of Elfriede Jelinek for
example; but each one is a consummate and talented writer, tackling the
weighted subjects of the human condition; no different then their male
counterparts, even handling the subjects with more subtlety and weight, completely
abandoning the panache polemics of their male colleagues. Others have become
masters of their forms, completely expanding the forms potential beyond their
preconceived limitations. Many in turn were also great innovators both in
language but also in creating new forms and literary modes of expression in
which to mull over the weighted complexities of the human experience,
specifically of the 20th century. To expect the Swedish Academy to
award a female writer simply because its 2024 and Jon Fosse was awarded last
year is a cheap perspective. If the Swedish Academy chooses to award a woman
writer this year, the expectation that they will be able to match and deliver
on the same caliber as previous laureates is pretty high, and an unenviable
situation. In that regard, there’s a hope the Swedish Academy does away with
the cycle, in order to mitigate the sense that they are fulfilling quotas, and
regain a sense of agency thereby thwarting expectations, and sparing potential
women writers from the disbarring criticism that they were only awarded based
on the nature of their sex, and not their literary qualifications. Naturally,
however, the Swedish Academy will inevitably remediate the gap between female
and male laureates, and in the near future award two female writers in a row.
It’s a matter of when, not if. Preferably though, when this hypersensitive environment
of identity politics have faded once more, and the laureate can be assessed on
the nature of their work and literary contributions, rather than the metrics of
their sex.
—
III
—
Nobel
Speculation is never complete without the abundance of lists formulated,
discussed, and debated around the internet. An interesting addition is a
placeholder Wikipedia article is formed, vaguely providing its own speculation,
rattling off quite a few different writers, but not issuing any allegiance or
certainty to whether or not they have a chance. Gentle Readers, if you are able
to see the article, before the announcement of the Nobel Prize in Literature,
it’s a unique list full of writer’s worth looking into, regardless of their
chances of receiving the prize. It also documents the current Swedish Academy
members who are on the Nobel Prize Committee. This year’s members are:
Anders Olsson, Committee Chair –
Chair No. 4
Mats Malm, Permanent Secretary of
the Swedish Academy – Chair No. 11
Ellen Mattson – Chair No. 9
Steve Sem-Sandberg – Chair No. 14
Anne Swärd – Chair No. No. 13
Anna-Karin Palm – Chair No. 16
Anna-Karin
Palm, is one of the newest members inducted to the Swedish Academy along with
the linguist, David Håkansson of Chair No. 3. She also replaces the previous
Nobel Committee member Per Wästberg of Chair No. 12. The induction of
Anna-Karin Palm also ensures that the Nobel Committee is split between three
men and three women. This comes as no surprise after the 2018 scandal and
subsequent fall out, as the Swedish Academy has been accused of overlooking
women members, and as part of their reconciliatory efforts the Swedish Academy
has made an increased effort in recruiting women. As for the placeholder
article on Wikipedia and subsequent list, a fascinating compilation of writers
is assembled, but it could not be considered absolute or complete. Its interesting
to note quite a few Swedish writers were included on the list. Its an unwritten
rule, but the Swedish Academy has shown great apprehension at awarding Swedish
writers. When Tomas Tranströmer won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2011, then
Permanent Secretary Peter Englund was quick to squash and dismiss any notion of
Scandinavian bias, and by and large everyone accepted Tomas Tranströmer as an
accomplished and remarkable poet, who had long been rumoured to be in
contention for the prize since the 1990’s. A few stand out names on this year’s
placeholder article include the following:
Kerstin Ekman
Tua Forsström
Katarina Frostenson
Lotta Lotass
What
binds theses writers together is the fact that they are all or were a member of
the Swedish Academy. After the 1974 boondoggle, my understanding is the Swedish
Academy revised its bylaws once more prohibiting any member of the Swedish
Academy from eligibility for the award. This nullifies the candidacy of Tua
Forsström, Steve Sem-Sandberg and Per Wästberg, who are all members of the
Swedish Academy. Kerstin Ekman, Katarina Frostenson, and Lotta Lotass, have all
formally resigned from the Swedish Academy after the 2018 Scandal. Kerstin
Ekman, as previously noted, was inactive since the 1980’s, while Lotta Lotass
had become inactive within the academy since 2016 before formally resigning
after the 2018 Scandal. As for Katarina Frostenson, while regarded as an
esoteric, opaque, and impenetrable poet, her resignation from the Swedish
Academy was contentious, due to allegations and accusations of conflict of
interest, breaking the Swedish Academy statue of secrecy, among other
allegations of ethical violations. I don’t know what the Swedish Academy
statues prohibit or allow regarding the resignation of former members and their
own candidacy for the prize, but I can’t imagine the Swedish Academy would
accept their nominations lightly, considering the lasting stain of the 1974
prize. On a minor note of clarification, Tua Forsström is a Finnish national
but Swedish language poet, she is to my knowledge the first Finnish writer to
be elected to the Swedish Academy. Another note of clarification, is Rosa Liksom
is a Finnish writer (both national and language), but is listed as Swedish in
the placeholder article. Naja Marie Aidt as well is a Danish writer who has
been mistakenly classified as a writer Dutch writer.
The
list of course includes the usual suspects and candidates, from Margaret
Atwood, Joyce Carol Oates, Don DeLillo, Thomas Pynchon, Murakami Haruki, and António
Lobo Antunes; to the more eccentric and obscure, such as the Icelandic writer Vigdís
Grímsdóttir, Finnish writer Antti Tuuri, the Spanish poet Pere Gimferrer whose
literary languages include Castilian and Catalan; and the Brazilian writer Luiz
Ruffato. In all it’s a myriad of names worth exploring and looking into. Of
course, each writer listed has as much chance of receiving the Nobel Prize in
Literature as any other, though granted some have a greater likeliness then
others. The list also presents a very limited perspective regarding the global
perspective of world literature. For example, only two writers from India are
listed: Anita Desia and Amitav Ghosh, and both of their literary languages are
English. The only South Korean writer listed is Ko Un, and while the
pre-eminent Korean poet has been internationally recognized and often
considered a perennial candidate for the award for decades, in 2018 Ko Un was
accused of using his literary status and privilege to take advantage of younger
female poets. Since then, Ko Un’s reputation with South Korean society has been
tarnished with the removal of his poetry from text books and declining sales
figures. Beyond the controversy, South Korea has made a considerable investment
in promoting their cultural exports abroad, including literature. South Korean
novelists such as Han Kang, Bae Suah, Hwang Sok-yong and Yi Mun-yol are now
recognized figures abroad, and are often speculated as being potential Nobel
Laureates (in the event of Han Kang, she is on the younger side, but will most
likely be considered a serious contender in the next seven or eight years);
while the poet Kim Hyesoon is recongized as a defining feminist voice in South
Korean poetry. The list also has extensive gaps or limited offerings from
around the world, as no Greek language writer is listed, and a small offering
from the African continent, South America, the Middle East, and Asia outside of
the major nations. This of course highlights the problem the Swedish Academy
faces within their mandate to recognize great literature from around the world.
Its vastness and linguistic variety go beyond the Swedish Academy’s ability to
properly evaluate. While Anders Olsson said in 2019 that the award has changed
in perspective:
“[ . . .] Now we are looking much more for
the global totality. I mean we have, really. It's necessary for us to widen our
perspectives more and more. Previously we had a more, let's say, Eurocentric
perspective of literature and now we are looking all over the world.”
The
task is still herculean in scope and impossible to satisfy. Even the
placeholder article has a pronounced tilt towards European and English language
writers. This of course is not a criticism; the Swedish Academy shoulders a
colossal albeit doomed task. As much as Anders Olsson would like the Nobel
Prize to take on a more global perspective, a jury of 18 Swedes is not capable
of adjudicating or fulfilling that mandate. Even with the assistance and
support of external experts, the Swedish Academy is ultimately to small to take
on the global approach that they aspire. What is important, however, is that
they do aspire for it.
One
of the interesting discoveries I found from last years Nobel Speculation, was
the Swiss poet Klaus Merz, affectionally referred to as the watchmaker poet,
for his economical poetry whose virtues are brevity and concision. Merz’s
poetry is exquisite in its detailed instrumentation and understatement. While
early poems were compared to haikus for their imagistic orientation and succinctness,
Merz’s poetry was never reduced to an engineered schematic or soulless
automation, spinning on preordained and designed gears and movements. Concision
does not mean the amputation of palpability or soul; it merely means in Klaus
Merz’s hands the ostentations and ornamentation are aptly abandoned in favour
of the filigree of subtlety. Despite Klaus Merz not being listed on the
placeholder article, his countrymen and prose writer, Peter Stamm is. In a
fashion similar to Klaus Merz, Peter Stamm’s novels and stories are renowned
for their clean, plain, and icy tone, acute psychological acuity, and
meticulously crafted austerely precise prose. I always think of Peter Stamm as
that quintessential mid-century modern writer, one of streamlined minimalism,
and matter of fact detail. The terms forensic, scaled, and severe have equally
been used with regular frequency. Peter Stamm’s prose is an act of literary
accountancy, scrupulous, unadorned, and sparse. Stamm is not a writer whose
sentences are weighted in lengthy lugubrious deliberations, they have a refined
draughtsman’s touch, hard lined and exactingly measured. Every word and
sentence are measured up; there is no room for frivolity. In equal turn,
Stamm’s examination of his characters psychology is equally surgical, drilling
and boring into his characters skulls with a confident hand. While not renowned
as a great stylist or provocateur of language, Peter Stamm’s brutalist
unadorned prose gives way to detailed character studies, where the spectrum of
human fallacy, tragedy, and cruelty. In this regard, Peter Stamm is a writer
exploring the psychology of the human condition, with a psychopathological
fixation on cause and affect, specifically the Darwinian destiny for
disappointment and hardship. Peter Stamm is a difficult writer to clearly
define. Through prose that can be described as crystalline and unadorned, even
brutalist in their concrete geometric assembly. Stamm has described his writing
as being curious about describing the events as they’ve happened or the
aftermath of events, not a writer interested in action or content, but the
landscape of the events, their aftermath, one’s relationship to it, and in turn
their understanding and recollection of the events. Peter Stamm’s literary
style appears agreeable to the Swedish Academy’s current trending tastes—be it
clinical acuity or unmistakable austerity—yet, often it seems Peter Stamm’s
forensic psychological autopsies exist only in that procedural form. They
examine and dissect the events, the character, the entire purview, but stop
before probing further. Peter Stamm’s literary accountancy does not stray into
the realm of speculative or theorization. Minute craftsmanship provide the
necessary inclinations of hidden depths, for the readers to ultimately plunge
into.
Beyond
the placeholder Wikipedia article, there’s no Nobel Prize in Literature
speculation without peering into the misguided pseudo-oracular world of the
betting sites. At this time the first-tier top contenders (10/1 or lower) for
the award are two Asian writers, Can Xue followed by Murakami Haruki. The
second-tier (16/1 – 11/1) is made the usual suspects with the addition of
startling new name for the betting sites to consider at such low odds: Ersi
Sotiropoulos; followed by Gerald Murnane, Cesar Aira, Margaret Atwood, and
Thomas Pynchon. The third-tier (20/1 – 17/1) is once again made up the usual
suspects, with some suspicious names. Anne Carson finds herself in the third
tier alongside Pierre Michon, newcomers Carl Frode Tiller and Norbert Gstrein. The
fourth-tier (25/1 – 21/1) is made up entirely of perennial speculated
candidates, Adunis, Don DeLillo, László Krasznahorkai, Mircea Cărtărescu, Péter
Nádas, Ngugi Wa Thiong'o, Salman Rushdie, Lyudmila Ulitskaya, and the new
inductee Kanai Mieko. Other honourable and notable mentions included on the
betting sites are: Emmanuel Carrere, Ananda Devi, David Grossman, Hamid
Ismailov, Homero Aridjis, Karl Ove Knausgård, Andrey Kurkov, Michel Houellebecq,
Ryszard Krynicki, and Ivan Vladislavic.
The
betting sites are interesting barometers, taking the temperature and adjusting
accordingly to the publics perceived interests in the award, and candidates
they deem likely to win (or likely to win by the publics standards). For years
now, Can Xue has been considered a top contending perennial candidate. There is
no writer quite comparable to Can Xue. While critics have designated her as the
Chinese Kafka, its only an attempt providing some delineating definition to her
otherwise amorphous form, which defies categorization and classification. Can
Xue is absolutely singular in form, described as the foremost practitioner of
the avant-garde literature, as her work continually explores the limitations of
narrative and literary modes of expressions and then moves beyond them. Xue’s
novels are often structureless and formless; images are layered on top of each,
but rather than have an implied systematic approach to construct some semblance
of order, Xue continually defies this expectation. This often leads critics to
refer to Can Xue’s work as both impenetrable and performative based, lacking
the pre-conceived expectations of underlying foundation of narrative or
structure. Instead, Can Xue continue to explore surreal fever dreamscapes. Last
year, this surveyor of the surreal and strange was heavily theorized to be the
running contender for the award, which ultimately went to the transcendental
tidal oriented playwright and novelist Jon Fosse. Yet, Can Xue has returned to
the forefront of the betting sites and obviously occupies even a greater
curiosity of the reading public. It is difficult imagining the Swedish Academy
whole heartedly endorsing Can Xue however. Despite being one of the most
daring, controversial, and perhaps brilliant (depending on who you ask) writers
currently at work, Xue is often ignored or dismissed as being to cerebral,
outlandish, and incoherent. Before her international reputation expanded over
the years, Can Xue remained unappreciated and ignored in China, with some
critics arguing she was certifiably insane early on. Since the death of the
Swedish Academy member and sinologist Göran Malmqvist, its difficult to see the
Swedish Academy having the knowledge and willingness to understand contemporary
Chinese literature and cultural writers. There again lies another scenario,
before his death Göran Malmqvist may have soured on the idea of Can Xue, either
by outrightly dismissing her work or having built a strong enough case against
recognizing her with the Nobel Prize in Literature, members of the academy may
be uncomfortable with contradicting these arguments. Of course, this is pure
speculation. The last Chinese language writer to receive the award, Mo Yan was
marked by considerable controversy and political criticism, for Mo Yan’s
apparent comfort and friendliness with the Chinese government. There where then
further criticism over the appearance of ethics violations between the
relationship of Göran Malmqvist and Mo Yan, as Malmqvist was Mo Yan’s
translator, and the two were known friends. If the Swedish Academy decided to
award Can Xue, they would certainly have awarded a writer of daring, if albeit
an incomprehensible vision. If anything, the betting sites are skiing on the
coat tails of last years speculation.
There
are some writers who are included as expected, if only because they have been
speculated about for years, as in the case of Murakami Haruki, who (in my
humble opinion) no longer has the quality or the seriousness of literary
artistry to be considered a candidate for the prize. His recent output has been
described as weak and superficial, and is more concerned with building a brand
name then strong literary convicted works. To my understanding his most recent
novel published in Japan is a remix of one of his earlier novels “Hardboiled
Wonderland and the End of the World.” The inclusion of Murakami only recognizes
his hordes of fans and devoted readers who militantly advocate for the Nobel
Prize in Literature. While they have been disappointed in the past with
Murakami not being announced as the years laureate for the Nobel Prize in
Literature, hopefully they will be disappointed again this year. Despite,
Murakami being the most popular Japanese writer currently working today, there
are more and more Japanese writers’ language writers finding themselves in
translation, proving that Murakami’s stranglehold on the world stage is
diminishing. No surprise, however, as for years English language publishers
have continually sought the next Murakami cash cow. While no writer has yet to
fulfill that need, a diverse group of Japanese language writers have broken
free from Murakami’s shadow, which includes Kawakami Mieko and Ono Masatsugu.
It
is interesting to observe Kanai Meiko listed on the betting sites. Her recent
novel “Mild Vertigo,” was recently published by Fitzcarraldo Editions, who has
three pre-emptive Nobel Laureates in its catalogue: Olga Tokarczuk, Annie
Ernaux, and Jon Fosse. The novel itself has been praised by critics for its
disquieting narrative exploring the interior life of a Japanese housewife, with
all entrapments, flights of fantasy, mundanity, drudgery and lifelessness. Yet Kanai
layers the narrative with stimuli and thoughts, the entire world becomes a
cacophony of white noise channeled through the narrator: an otherwise ordinary
housewife, who is trapped within the societal expectations of motherhood,
femineity, marriage, and domesticity, to the point she is erased. Through the
continued stream of consciousness and external nodes and information, the
narrator is gradually entombed and smothered. Any semblance of her own being is
amputated or stilted or dissolved entirely. Her efforts must be towards
housekeeping, child rearing, and being a dutiful wife. In “Mild Vertigo,” Kanai
Mieko tunes to the channel of late-stage capitalism with torrential its torrent
of never-ending stimuli, and explores the erasure of an individual lost within
this world of continued monetization (and ironically enough, this was before
the era of social media and influencer culture). Little of Kanai Mieko’s work
has been translated into English, an early short story collection “The Word
Book,” showcased the authors interest in extreme postmodernism and
metafictional games. There’s very little else for readers to assess. In
Japanese Kanai is renowned as a film critic, with some of her pieces apparently
making their way into “Mild Vertigo.”
Fluid
is the term that Tawada Yōko has used to describe her writing. A talented expatriate
novelist, Tawada navigates not only differences in literary style and
historical development in it contextual structures, but also shifts between two
different literary languages depending on her mode of composition. For novels,
Tawada writes in her native Japanese, while short stories and essays, she
composes in her adopted German. Language for Tawada is clearly an artificial
construct, which she delights in dissecting and deconstructing, proving that
language as an artificial endeavour which also subjugates and captures reality
within a defined and oppressive notion of meaning. In this regard, reality does
not influence language, rather language provides the necessary infrastructure
to define and delineate reality, which ultimately changes our perception and
relationship to it. Tawada Yōko’s is a writer who traverses between boundaries
and borders be it linguistically or geographically, while Tawada has described
her work as being a state of continuous translation, sharing neither allegiance
to Japanese or German, but playfully exploring the contrariness and strangeness
of either language. In German, Tawada is more prone to engage in more
experimental experiments with language, inventing neologisms then she is in her
predominately Japanese language work. Tawada Yōko’s exploration of boundaries
and borders, from national, to linguistic, geographic, and even existential,
showcase her as one of the most innovative writers currently at work in both
Japanese and German, the fluidity of her work and its global perspective,
showcases Tawada as a groundbreaking and innovative writer, whose linguistic
examination have not been awarded since Elfriede Jelinek and Herta Müller.
At long last it seems Ogawa Yōko is
finally gaining traction within the English language publication sphere. Early
on, publishers eyed her up as a potential female Murakami and often attempted
to market her within that realm, as another eccentric and quirky Japanese
language writer whose work veers into the complex implausible dreamscapes;
little did they realize that, that is not Ogawa’s style. Her initial
publications “The Diving Pool: Three Novellas,” “Hotel Iris,” and “The
Housekeeper and the Professor,” showed the range of Ogawa’s work. “The Diving
Pool,” for example is an earlier work, showcasing an early interest in the
grotesque and the macabre of the mundane. “Hotel Iris,” was equally as dark in
its dissection of desire and its subsequent psychosexual response played out in
a relationship built on domination and submission. Then “the Housekeeper and
the Professor,” in turn was marketed as a saccharine eccentric love story
involving mathematics and memory loss. The short story collection “Revenge,”
returned to menace and disturbed realities of “The Diving Pool,” whereby the
subtlety of the grotesque in the mundane blooms and spoors like ravenous mould.
Ogawa’s really breakout came with her early novel “The Memory Police,” which
thankfully being shortlisted for the International Booker Prize in 2020, and
was considered a timely allegory for the pandemic, as it details the
phantasmagoric dystopia world, whereby manufactured and directed amnesia erases
memories and objects in a bureaucratic fashion, and enforced by the titular
memory police. Four years later and another novel “Mina’s Matchbox,” is
translated into English, and again veers into the peculiar world of “The
Housekeeper and the Professor,” with its physical claustrophobic narrative and
delight in domestic details, but also veers into the slanted off-kilter eccentricates
(there’s a pygmy hippo as a mode of transportation). Ogawa’s thematic concerns
are memory, the act of remembrance, in addition to loss and abscence,
destruction and redaction of memory, and by extension our relationship with
history and the external world. These are themes shared by many recent Nobel
Laureates in all of their variations. Then of course there is Ogawa Yōko’s
style, a blanched and bleached literary approach to writing, often described as
a ‘natural,’ language by her translators, which again fits into many recent
Nobel Laureates, whose literary sensibilities were known for their strict
pruning, austerity, clinical acuity, and otherwise plain prose. The late Ōe Kenzaburō
praised Ogawa for her subtle psychological insight into the human condition and
her clear lyrical literary language. An established figure in the French
language, Ogawa Yōko has been emancipated from the reputation and shadow of
Murakami, and made a name for herself on her own merit. Ogawa’s work is diverse
in theme, scope, and narrative; yet, her short story “Afternoon at The Bakery,”
is perhaps the greatest litmus test of her style and capacity as a writer.
Through matter-of-fact prose and the accumulation of detail, Ogawa describes a
simple errand of a mother going to a bakery to buy her son a strawberry
shortcake for his birthday. This otherwise wholesome moment is quickly
subjected to the viscerally grotesque, when the mother reveals her son is dead,
still in the same crystalline prose, deprived of emotional sensationalism. This
is Ogawa’s strength capturing the stillness and inaction of her characters as
their world teeters on the precipice of ruin, or when reality is confronted and
defaced by the gruesome or macabre, be it the ghost and tragedy of loss or a
severed tongue found in a pocket, and the quaint cellophane of normalcy is
confronted with the reality of its own decaying ruin or violent vandalism and
violation which completely alters one’s perspective and expectation of reality.
Seeing Ersi Sotiropoulos listed with such
stellar odds is a surprise and delight. Only two Greek writers have won the
Nobel Prize in Literature in the mid-century: Giorgos Seferis (1963) and
Odysseus Elytis (1979). Both of them poets. Giorgos Seferis a disciple of the
high modernism of the early 20th century utilized a Hellenic flare
to recognize history and literary tradition, employing the Homeric myths with
contemporary speech; but his poetry also explored exile, wandering, and
travels. As for Odysseus Elytis, he was the vassal of the sun, the great sun
drinking poet, whose work had a touch of the surrealism, but infused it with
the Mediterranean light and sea. As for Ersi Sotiropoulos, she’s more
postmodernist to Giorgos Seferis high modernist Hellenic modernism and Odysseus
Elytis surreal spiritual poetry. Sotiropoulos’s work is disinterested in the
normal convents of narrative, often described as circuitous in nature, in a
manner similar to a cul-de-sac. The 20th century was a contentious
century, its early decades marked with history defining wars and crippling
postwar periods. Tragedy and horror were their defining attributes, and from there,
the militia industry and technology expedited its advancement. While the world
moved on from the ashes of the Second World War, faced with the inhumane
horrors of the holocaust, the sheer depravity and indignation of all the war
crimes, and the new nightmare of the nuclear bomb, a new war formed, one that
was colder and fought with ideological posturing and diplomatic swipes. The
humanism and democratic values created and championed by the ancient Greeks had
all but been tramped and ground into the earth. Even Greece was not immune from
this authoritarian disease, as a military junta took control in the 1970’s.
This century has equally been punitively punishing on Greece. After the 2004
summer Olympics, five years later the country would dive into an economic
crisis, which not only destroyed their financial institutions, but drained
their charitable accounts, and eroded their political infrastructure. Greece
was discussed as a poor sickly creature. While endowed with ancient and proud
history, its contemporary circumstances not only reduced it, but diminished it
to a state of poverty and bankruptcy. Ersi Sotiropoulos is a surveyor of this
world; and while she celebrates good principles and the philosophies of ancient
Greece, they are not absolute or absolved of scrutiny. In her yet untranslated
novel “Eva,” Ersi Sotiropoulos surveys the destitution of the financial crisis
and gives it a very human face, an all too familiar visage. Her masterful novel
“Zigzag Through the Bitter-Orange Trees,” employees the upcoming Olympics as it
floats through the lives of the four characters and their disenfranchised lost
youth. “Landscape with Dog,” showcased Sotiropoulos as a natural talented
practitioner of the short story, as each story is a dark glistening shard of
glass, capturing through precise language the faults, failures, and silent ambiguities
of human relationships, these otherwise simple scenes of daily life are
punctuated with the power politics of relationships. With Ersi Sotiropoulos
being listed so high on the betting sites list, I wondered to myself: what do
they know that I don’t? Truth be told, they know nothing more then myself, but
as a reader who enjoys her Ersi Sotiropoulos, it would be an absolute pleasure
if Sotiropoulos won the prize.
The recent death of Ismail Kadare, proves
the Swedish Academy can be misguided or petulant in their deliberations and
decisions. Kadare inevitably joins a long list of writers, who in spite of
their perceived and speculated candidacy, would never receive the award.
Despite the Swedish Academy’s oversight Ismail Kadare will continue to be read and
appreciated. Sadly, the Swedish Academy have painted themselves into another
corner regarding awarding the poet Adunis, who is considered one of the
defining and revolutionary forces of contemporary Arabic poetry. Despite this,
the Swedish Academy be it their own insularity or eccentricities has routinely
refused to award Adunis the Nobel Prize in Literature. Perhaps they are under
the misguided notion that to award Adunis the Nobel would be considered a trite
event, to obvious for their taste; akin to pining a medal on Mount Everest
declaring it the tallest mountain in the world. Regardless, the Swedish Academy
and its members continually propagate and pontificate the notion that they are
merely connoisseurs of great literature, which they refuse to define, instead
abstracting an ephemeral enigma that incites further indignation and questions,
as in the case of a recent decision where the notion of what constitutes poetry
was up for debate. In any matter if the Swedish Academy wants to adjudicate
literature and doll out medals to writers of great literature, surely it comes
to reason that they inevitably would have to concede the medal to an obvious
choice, such as Ismail Kadare or Adunis.
László Krasznahorkai, Mircea Cărtărescu,
Péter Nádas are three titans of global literature. László Krasznahorkai has
long been favoured and appreciated by literary hipsters, for his dense
labyrinthine novels of oozing lava-oriented text. His early complex novels “War
and War,” “The Melancholy of Resistance,” and “Satantango,” have rightfully
earned Krasznahorkai the moniker “master of the apocalypse,” as these novels in
their own manic and deranged way suffer beneath the deluge of the intolerable
squander of the human condition and its most primordial fallacies; in “The
Melancholy of Resistance,” it is entrapment of ideologies and push of
resistance; in “Satantango,” it’s the misrepresentation and belief of false
idols, who are only so keen to take advantage of desperation; while “War and
War,” burrows into the mania of a suicidal obsessive clerk, whose obsession with
some obscure text, not only tortures him but is his only tether to the world.
Throughout it all László Krasznahorkai has risen as one of the most original
and complex writers of contemporary Hungarian and world literature. Fellow countrymen,
Péter Nádas is of equal renown, large doorstop novels of equal complexity,
wrestling with the eternal themes of the human condition; yet, László
Krasznahorkai turned his attention towards novels which became more
concentrated and allegorical on manufacturing of creative processes and the act
of creation, Nádas is more historian, investigator, and archivist. In
“Shimmering Details, Volume I & II,” Péter Nádas traces his and his
family’s history throughout the 19th century and 20th
century, dredging up, polishing, and curating the shimmering details which
season their lives, and connecting these details and other random facts amongst
the backdrop of history to create constellations of lives. In turn Péter Nádas
novel “The Book of Memory,” is a postmodern Proustian feat, a multilayered
novel narrating three parallel stories of infatuation and heartache. It’s a
complex read and immediately conferred that Nádas a writer of merit and weight,
who inherits the modernist mantel and continues to the explore the complexities
of memory, consciousness, and language. Few writers are writers of ideas
anymore, Péter Nádas is a bastion defense to preserve literature as a medium in
which to wrestle and explore ideas in their fullness. There’s no writer quite
like Mircea Cărtărescu whose dense novels are not burdened with detail but are
saturated with it. For Cărtărescu the void is not an inky black hole or gaping
maw of nothingness, it is a psychedelic kaleidoscope. While few of Mircea
Cărtărescu’s novels have been translated into English, what has become
available proves that Cărtărescu is of a singular vision, his novels are
flooded with bombastic barque language and vivid explosive imagery, which
continually layer onto each other to create a bewildering, dazzling, and
disorienting experience for readers. A recent translation of Mircea Cărtărescu’s
novel “Solenoid,” is a freewheeling narrative which sprouts beyond the grounded
seed work of a diarists account and voyages into the discussion of philosophy,
psychology, mathematics, physics, all the while being intercepted and pelted
with the absurdities of daily life, be it authoritarian bureaucracies which
have obviously taken Kafka as instructional material; to the outlandish and
strange. As a testament to the appreciation for such refreshing complexity, Mircea
Cărtărescu received the International Dublin Literary Award this year for
“Solenoid.” All three writers are titans, and yet each one is renowned for
their dense prose, their complexity of their novels, and their uncompromising
and unapologetic vision and force. Recent laureates have exercised greater
restraint with their literary work, rendering their novels in prose that is
bleached, blanched, and scalped clean. They do not revere the ostentatious, the
burdensome baroque, or vividly chart the cosmos and interior as these three
writers do. Hopefully their sense of flourish and celebration of the complexity
plays to their favour, rather then being a detriment.
Three other writers have taken home some
significant international literary awards this year as well, which may
highlight their chances of receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature. Not
appearing on any betting site or the placeholder Wikipedia article, is the
Brazilian poet Adélia Prado who received the Camões Prize this year. Adélia
Prado is a late blooming poet, having not started to have her work published
until she was in her forties (now in her late eighties), Prado has garnered
much attention for her sensual and ripened poetry, paradoxically combining the
rigidity and sanctimonious prudishness of devote Catholicism with imagery that
is carnal and corporeal. Adélia Prado merely dismisses this contrariness as
eroticism of the soul, and not veering into the depravity of sexual discourse.
In 2014, Adélia Prado won the Griffin Lifetime Recognition Award, which only
affirms the renown of her poetry. What is enjoyable about Adélia Prado’s poetry
is the quotidian and the divine crossing the stage in turn. Recently, Ananda
Devi was announced as this year’s winner of the Neustadt International Prize
for Literature, cementing Devi’s as one of the most important literary voices
of Mauritius. While J.M.G. Le Clézio hailed from Mauritius, the French writer’s
work was more ethnological and ecological in its concerns, wandering and
traversing a variety cultures and ways of life across the world, which were
written about in poetically adventurous prose (this is of course, after Le Clézio
abandoned the literary tricks of the Nouveau roman). Ananda Devi remains
rooted in Mauritius, rather than flying from it, and uses the small island
nation as a petri dish to examine with a social anthropologist’s acute eye the
intertwining of identities and diverse cultures within a small multicultural
nation in a postcolonial landscape. Devi was nominated for the Neustadt
International Prize for Literature with her novel “Eve Out of Her Ruins,” which
is considered her most important novel. Through brutal poetic honesty and
urgency, Ananda Devi details the lives of four young Mauritians who seek to
create a life for themselves and a sense of identity, freed from the customary
precedence of violence and fear which runs rampant through the small island
nation. “Eve Out of Her Ruins,” is a polyphonic novel, with each character and
monologue provide their own rhythm and cadence. The Neustadt International
Prize for Literature has only elevated Ananda Devi’s literary reputation abroad
and on the international stage. Mia Couto in turn has added another feather to his
cap, the FIL Literary Award in Romance Languages. Previous recipients include
Ida Vitale, Emmanuel Carrère, Enrique Vila-Matas, and Claudio Magris. Mia Couto
has long been considered one of the most important literary voices of
Mozambique. Couto’s novels are known for blending and blurring the line between
realism and mythical interference, which often leads critics to quickly
establish and process Couto as a magical realist writer. Yet, the defining
feature of Couto’s work is language. Mia Couto’s magpie eye for language and
appropriating words, slogans, and sayings from other languages and
reconfiguring them into Portuguese; this linguistic scavenging was highlighted
by the Neustadt International Prize for Literature jury when awarding Mia Couto
the prize in 2014. Recently, Couto has finished his “Sands of the Emperor
Trilogy,” which has gradually been translated and published into English.
Defining features for some recent Nobel Laureates to be awarded the prize is
the recent publication of what is considered their crowning achievement. For
Jon Fosse it was his Septology and Olga Tokarczuk it was “The Book of Jacob,” perhaps
with the completion of the “Sands of the Emperor Trilogy,” Mia Couto is being
assessed anew. Even without the trilogy, Couto is one of the most innovative
and inventive writers coming from the African continent. When the young writer
joined the revolutionary freedom movement, Frelimo in Mozambique’s fight for
independence, Couto was not chosen because of his suffering or denied because
of his privileged background, but was chosen because the revolution needed its
poets, and Mia Couto has indeed been Mozambique’s greatest literary cultivator
and celebrator.
Of course, the greatest disappointment
with Nobel Speculation and reviewing other lists is all the writers missing.
Where’s Doris Kareva or Magdalena Tulli? How can someone overlook Agi Mishol?
How disappointing not to see Gyrðir Elíasson included in speculative
conversations. Yet, it has come to my attention that Jon Fosse is a fan, which hopefully
guarantees Elíasson’s nomination. It’s a sad reminder to see Eeva Tikka not
mentioned, which is realistic all things considered, but it would be nice to have
her work published in English, the few samples available are certainly
intriguing enough to leave one wanting something more substantial. It comes as
no surprise to see that Fleur Jaeggy is looked over, she is a dry ice
precisionist, and her cool detached prose with its clinical examining tone may
dazzle readers, while leaving them frost bitten. The greatest fun though of
Nobel Prize in Literature speculation is of course learning about new writers
and their work, its enough to fill the shelves for the coming years and
certainly keep any reader entertained with new writers to explore. Why is Bae
Suah dismissed as a potential laureate? While its true that Han Kang has
received more recognition in translation with awards and appreciation for her
polished and emotionally searing prose; Bae Suah is more cerebral, complex, and
daring, with her novels described as antinovels, as they deconstruct and
autopsy conventional narrative forms. If the Swedish Academy is looking for a
dark horse, Bae Suah is more then qualifying. Esther Kinsky’s profile is rising
in English translation as well. Again, published by Fitzcarraldo Editions,
Kinsky’s prose is beautiful and dense, occupying that Sebaldian space between
history, essay, travelogue, and fiction. While Jenny Erpenbeck is seen as one
of the leading frontrunning German language writers, Esther Kinsky should not
be easily dismissed.
—
IV
—
October is on the horizon as September
winds down. In two weeks, we will finally learn who this years Nobel Laurate in
Literature will be. At this point, there’s no writer which jumps out as being
the frontrunner or expectant laureate. While Can Xue is considered the bookies
favourite, there is a current of hesitation which undercuts any certainty. For
awhile now Can Xue has been considered a top tier contender for the prize, but
her work is singular and strange and to quote many readers and reviewers: an
acquired taste. Starting in 2020 with Louise Glück, the Swedish Academy’s began
to express a certain appreciation for a style that is austere as it was
measured, with a proclivity for polished refinement. Abdulrazak Gurnah’s prose
in turn is known for its casual and loose form, refuting ostentatious
showmanship. Annie Ernaux turned the pen into the scalpel and scaled back and
bleached her prose to the point of it was clinical unburdened with the poetics
of niceties, and engaged in a personal examination in contrast with the social.
While Jon Fosse’s language is imbued with a tidal rhythm the back and forth,
akin to a boat adrift on a moonless night, rocking in the wave’s eternal
currents, but the language eschews pyrotechnic poetics. Can Xue does not fit
into this precedence. Of course, this precedence is only commented on via an
external matter, it is not necessarily a metric that is being applied at all,
but it does show a certain preference by members of the Swedish Academy. For
the sake of argument though, the Swedish Academy has also shown an interest in
writers who have expanded or revolted against the traditional literary forms. Svetlana
Alexievich remains a complex laureate to classify. Are her works considered
journalism or historical cartography? Alexievich has described her work as
“documentary novels,” or “novels of voices,” whereby Alexievich collates the
testimonies of the lived personal human history of some of the most defining
and catastrophic events of the past century, which included the role of women
soldiers in the Red Army during the Second World War; the scarring trauma of
the Chernobyl Nuclear Disaster; and the plight of the Soviet and post-Soviet
individual in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable democratic landscape. Peter
Handke’s literary career began as an iconoclast, revolting against the
apologist, morally concerned, penance-oriented positions of writers of the
previous generation, who sought to repent and atone for the moral failings of
and depravity which spewed from the Second World War; this generation included
fellow laureates Heinrich Böll and Günter Grass. Handke turned his attention
away from social reparations and atonements, and sought to explore the
limitations and periphery of language, battling with it and revitalizing it
away from the stain and political stench of the Nazis corrosive touch. The
later Handke moves language into state which both reflects and rediscovers
reality, while Handke’s characters and narratives often veer into the cerebral,
absurd, or nightmarishly incoherent. Either way Can Xue has as much chance as
any other writer.
Of course, it is ill advised to speak with
any sense of confidence regarding speculation of who will be the winner of the
Nobel Prize in Literature. There’s no crystal ball or tea leaves or stick
formation or any astrological charting, which will provide the necessary
insight to predict and navigate the predilections and deliberations of the
Swedish Academy. Some writers, we inherently believe have more chance and
opportunity then others. In turn (and perhaps illogically) those who are
deserving often find themselves casually dismissed; but even then, the Swedish
Academy has a reputation of thwarting all expectations, by awarding laureates
who are best described coming completely left field, with one laureateship
still causing a stir and debate of whether or not their work can be described
as literature.
This is the first year in which I’ve been
forced to step back from more engaged speculation, and while its apparent, I
have nothing to offer in regards to insight, I do maintain that the Swedish
Academy is in an unenviable position, burdened with a herculean task and
shackled further by their self-imposed mandate to evaluate and adjudicate world
literature; to honour and recognize literary greatness. Its impossible,
certainly for an academy made up of 18 members, who despite their professional
and academic backgrounds and linguistic talents, still could not possibly be
called upon to evaluate the whole of world literature with any true holistic
approach. Inevitably the work must be done in piecemeal, and with an ever
changing—and at times incomplete—roster, the Swedish Academy’s evaluations are
noted for tipping heavily in certain directions. Yet, they make the effort, and
while they are not always successful, their efforts are insightful and
interesting. Here’s hoping on October 10 we get a surprise Nobel Laureate, in
the matter of an interesting writer to discover and delve into. One of those
more obscure writers, whose work is begging for a greater audience.
Until then Gentle Reader.
Thank you For Reading Gentle
Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
M. Mary
Great article, as always!
ReplyDeleteYour comment about a possible Adonis win being seen as pinning a medal on mount Everest for being the highest mountain remind me of the exact same remark Leonard Cohen made about Dylan's win.
If the Academy ever thinks about sharing the prize again, after exactly 50 years, I wish they give a joint prize to Krasznahorkai and Nádas, for if one wins, I see it hard for the other to win in many years to come, and possibly they would never get the prize.
Now, who I have a feeling will take the prize is Rachel Cusk. She seems to fit the bill as an austere, precise, unsparing writer, like Glück and Ernaux before her.
Hello Gabriel,
DeleteHow wonderful it is to see you again!
Yes, you are right that quote is from Leonard Cohen when referencing Dylan’s win. I couldn’t place my finger on it earlier, but I do recall it now. It was a quote referenced by a lot of Canadian media outlets in 2016, as Cohen and Dylan were contemporaries of each other, and I suspect it was a certain Canadian form of patriotism to say they would have preferred Cohen to Dylan. Personally, I wouldn’t have been comfortable with Cohen either; but what’s done is done. I did find that metaphor suitable for Adonis though, as he has been a monumental and revolutionary force in modern Arabic traditions. Why the Swedish Academy persists in overlooking him is beyond me. I think at this point it’s an obstinate perspective of: I’ve made my bed, now I’ll lie in it.
Sharing the prize between Krasznahorkai and Nádas would be justified, as I think it really comes down to picking one over the other. If for example Nádas wins the prize Krasznahorkai will know his chances are no longer possible, and vice versa. Yet, it seems to me after 1974, the Swedish Academy has really pushed against splitting the award. Even in 2019 when the 2018 Nobel Prize in Literature was announced retroactively, the Swedish Academy made great efforts to differentiate that the awards were independent of each other and not shared. I thought I read somewhere after the 1974 award the Swedish Academy then amended their bylaws where only one writer would receive the award going forward, but I’m unable to confirm if that’s true or not. Splitting the award has the benefits of presenting the front of being fair, but it’s dogged by the shadow of unintentional compromise. In a manner similar to the 2019 Booker Prize when it was split between Margaret Atwood and Bernardine Evaristo, it can create an awkward affair.
Its interesting you mention Rachel Cusk. I sometimes feel bad for her, as she’s a lightning rod for criticism it seems in the U.K. literary scene, with the criticism becoming quite torrential at times; but in turn, I fail to appreciate her work, which might mean I’m not the intended audience. Though it is interesting she’s been speculated so fiercely this year, in a manner similar to Jamaica Kincaid a few years ago. I wonder if Cusk is too similar to Annie Ernaux in some of her preoccupations, though I think Cusk moves towards a more solipsistic direction then Ernaux (that’s just the impression I get personally). I’m really not sure about Cusk, if she wins bravo to her, but I’d find it slightly disappointing on a few grounds. The first another English writer, which would be 5 English language writers since 2016. The second would be that it continues to perpetrate this alternating cycle of awarding a male writer then a female writer. Since the 1990’s the Swedish Academy has made a conscious effort to award more women writers. Yet, each of these female writers were (and are) impressive laureates, whose work and merit outshined the concerns of their sex. Doris Lessing for example has a very complex body of work which can be read as testament and barometer of the tumultuous change and expedited advancements that took place over the course of the 20th century. Svetlana Alexievich and Annie Ernaux, created and explored new literary forms for themselves. Olga Tokarczuk in turn was a great innovator of the novel – I quite enjoy her ‘constellation,’ novels, where they feel like a Beauchene skull, fragmented and disjointed with the complete form emerging through reading. Even Louise Glück, her poetry collections really were singular, they were whole and complete held together either by a common narrative or a single vision. What I really appreciate about Glück is her work was never just a few poems shoveled together, they were intricately designed and complete. These are big shoes to fill though and I worry to award another woman writer on the basis of sex really diminishes their work.
Its good to hear from you!
Canxue is very good. But Canxue's readers have been waiting for too many years. It's either this year or never.
ReplyDeleteHello Anonymous,
DeleteNever say never with the Nobel. In 2007 Doris Lessing was a surprise, as many wrote her off as being to old and to tired out for the academy to bother with, and yet she won. That being said Can Xue is very different in both style and imaginative terms, but I still wouldn't count her out just yet.
I don’t think a writer should win a Nobel Prize to be considered successful in his writing career. But Nobel clearly wants writers to do so. A writer’s value will never be diminished by the lack of an award, so I don’t feel sorry for Adonis, Kadare, Atwood, Can Xue, etc.
ReplyDeleteHello Anonymous,
DeleteI do agree, a writer success should not be considered on whether or not they've been pinned with the title Nobel Laureate or not, though as you say the Nobel certainly would enjoy that distinction. You are right though, Adonis, Kadare, Atwood, Can Xue, and Philip Roth, A.S. Byatt, they will be read with or without the honour, their talents easily surpassing the Nobel's glow. However, I do think the Nobel Prize is a nice way for many writers to have a certain recognition for the lifetimes work.
Although Can Xue has been a top candidate for several years, the Chinese literary community has remained collectively silent about her work. This has been going on for 20 years. So I hope she wins
ReplyDeleteHello Anonymous,
DeleteI was going to question why the Chinese literary community remains so indifferent (if not outright hostile) to Can Xue, but then its important to remember, writers in such politically absolute nations are expected to be in service to the state and government and continue the proliferation of the states objectives, and legitimize their authority. I've only read a handful of Can Xue's stories, they're very allegorical. Western critics and readers seem to enforce a notion of political dissidence. Whereas I think the Chinese literary community disagrees with her complexity (which promotes free thought) and gripe about her lack of political allegiance.
If Can Xue were to win the award, it would be interesting to see how Chinese officials would react; though I suspect it would be indifference.
Because Can Xue publicly criticized the decline in writing quality of mainstream writers such as Wang Meng, Yu Hua, Wang Anyi, and Ge Fei many years ago. These literary criticism giants and mainstream writers have a symbiotic relationship. Here, praising Can Xue should be warned as it will offend many people.
DeleteSecondly, Can Xue still insists on her avant-garde creation, which is incompatible with the popular trend. The avant-garde movement here ended in the 1990s, and Can Xue is a person who survived the corpses.
Thank you for that insights regarding why Can Xue finds herself increasingly on the outs within the broader Chinese literary ecosystem.
DeleteThank you for mentioning Adélia Prado. She's currently our best poet.
ReplyDeleteI really hope she wins next year.