Arts diary
Booker bungles
John Parry
Since its creation in 1969, the Booker Prize has always been controversial, never more so than in recent times. Lovers of lit- erature, book critics (not always the same thing) and in fact almost any serious reader tend to be a hugely opinionated and impas- sioned lot. So it is hardly surprising that every autumn, when the Booker short-list is published, the arguments begin about who is on the list and who is not. And when the affair reaches its climax at the Guildhall award ceremony at the end of October, this is simply the bell for the last round — the choleric debate about who really should have won.
But the hype, the controversy, the pre- dictable squealing of the literary luwies that surround the £20,000 prize, as well as the stimulating open debate about the books, are all worth it. For among the plethora of book awards in this country, now more than 200 — and some of them with higher cash prizes — there is nothing quite like the Booker. It remains the only book prize likely to persuade the occasion- al reader to dash out and buy a copy of the winner. And the publicity flashes around the world.
But the very real problem with the Book- er is its inconsistency. Although the prize is always awarded for what is considered to be the finest literary novel of the year, which alas does not necessarily mean a good story well told, the short-list changes character along with the judges every year. And on a regular basis the Booker shoots itself in the foot by making an absurd choice for the winner and undeniably devaluing the prize's reputation. Let me take you back to 1985.
It was a vintage year for sheer humbug. The chairman of the judges was the then plain Mr Norman St John Stevas, some time before he was ennobled. The short-list included at least two first-class novels, Peter Carey's Il4whacker and Iris Murdoch's The Good Apprentice. Either would have been a creditable winner. It was not to be.
The judging panel included the actress Joanna Lumley who was not able to take part in the final judging,session but sent in a detailed list of comments on the short-list along with her choices. In a stunning dis- play of petulance, Mr St John Stevas, who appeared to have been unhappy with the inclusion of Miss Lumley on the panel from the start, refused to allow her com- ments to be read out as she was not there to discuss them. Booker's administrator Martyn Goff, who has a huge and enviable supply of patience, was having none of it. He read out her notes. For the New Zealander Keri Hulme's The Bone People, the no-nonsense Miss Lumley had written `over my dead body'. The rest is history.
Norman St John Stevas announced The Bone People as the winner to an aghast audience at the Guildhall that night. In a speech afterwards, this arch wheeler-dealer and wily politician put his tongue firmly in his cheek and described himself as a 'sim- ple and trusting being'.
With 36,000 sales The Bone People has been the poorest-selling winner to date. The best-selling has been Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha with 300,000, but, curiously, most people of my acquaintance never finished it and wondered why it had been short-listed at all. 1993 was a general- ly unexciting year for novels, though. A couple of years earlier one of the judges, the writer Nicholas Moseley, caused a furore by quitting the panel in a fit of pique because no one would support his choices. And in 1994 under the chair- manship of Professor John Bayley, the silly choice of James Kelman's How Late It Was, How Late certainly damaged the Booker's reputation. The almost unreadable novel in Glaswegian dialect won as the result of one of the messiest judging sessions. Professor Bayley insisted on three different votes and voted for a different book each time claiming he liked them all equally! A charming but hopelessly ineffectual chair- man. One of his fellow judges, Rabbi Julia Neuberger, said later that it was a disgrace to honour a novel that was so deeply inac- cessible.
Booker horror stories are rife and the problem of inconsistency is one that must be addressed. One sure way would be to have the same panel of judges every year, perhaps reducing the number of books they have to read. I realise that the people at Booker are not convinced that this would work because of the risk that writers and publishers would get to know the quirks, the likes and dislikes of the judges and produce books accordingly. I do not believe it.
I do not believe that it is beyond the wit of Martyn Goff and Booker to find a group of intelligent judges who would be both aware and flexible enough in their deliber- ating to avoid this scenario.
As for this year, watch out for fireworks on the final judging day, 29 October. I hear that the chairman Carmen Callil is already making daily telephone calls to her fellow judges and to Martyn Goff, worrying her- self into a frenzy. Anything might happen — and, being the Booker, it probably will.
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