The word on Jhumpa Lahiri was that she’d moved to Italy and now, after a few years of immersing herself in the language, was going to write in Italian. Had I heard this news about one of my fellow, white American, middle-class novelists, I would have shrugged and said, “Knock yourself out.” [Read more…]
American Writers and the Booker Prize
I am one American writer who was disappointed when the Booker Prize decided to include works originally published in the U.S.A. I understand that this was a preemptive move to ensure that the Booker Prize, besides paying the most money of any major English-language prize, would hold onto its preeminence. In my humble opinion, the prize always would have been preeminent due to the fact that the ceremony itself is televised and that a large percentage of the population in the UK actually watches the winner being announced. This could never happen in the U.S. There isn’t enough interest in such things, and even if there were, a televised literary ceremony would probably be preempted by some sporting event that would certainly draw down any potential audience. Don’t get me wrong, Europeans watch sports as much as or more than we do; however, educated Europeans seem to have more time to devote to cultural awards or to the celebration of culture, itself. In France, for example, a literary television show called Apostrophe was hugely popular until it went off the air, and any American published in French and whose French was good enough to be on the show, saw book sales spike in Oprah-like fashion. Ask Paul Auster. [Read more…]
Writers and Rage
In my spare time, when I am not reading manuscripts, I am reading a wonderful memoir called H is for Hawk by the English writer Helen Macdonald. The book distinguishes itself from most memoirs of grief because it focuses on an activity — falconry — and relies on this fascinating pastime to give the reader a profound understanding of the author’s loss of her beloved father. [Read more…]