What Are Literary Prizes For?
Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash.
Literary prizes have flourished over the last few decades, with Wikipedia listing nearly fifty British book awards for fiction alone. In his academic study of cultural prizes The Economy of Prestige, James English describes a ‘feverish proliferation’ of new awards at the turn of the millennium. Prizes have become one of the dominant mechanisms for arbitrating cultural and aesthetic value. Concurrently, awards are sources of endless debate, with judges’ decisions sparking controversy after controversy while columnists deliberate over the effect of prizes on literary culture.
As English observes, one of the key issues underlying anxieties about book prizes is the way they establish a kind of convertibility between aesthetic and economic value: prizes are, in English’s words, mechanisms of ‘capital intraconversion’. Naturally, this makes them lightening rods when it comes to anxieties about the aesthetic autonomy of contemporary fiction. There is also a widespread feeling that prizes tend to distribute cultural and economic capital unevenly, favouring big, established publishers that have access to the resources it requires to submit and market their books. The publishing industry at large is also increasingly aware that longlists and shortlists could be more diverse. In short, it’s possible that in certain circumstances book awards can reproduce – or even magnify – existing inequalities.
In the UK, a number of new literary awards have emerged with the aim of addressing these challenges. The Republic of Consciousness, founded in 2016, is specifically designed to support small presses with fewer than five full-time employees, distributing the winnings between authors and publishers. The Jhalak Prize, which has been running since 2017 and announced a 2021 shortlist last week, celebrates writing of any genre by British or British-resident writers of colour. Among the new awards founded in 2020 is the Barbellion Prize, celebrates writing which represents the experience of illness and disability. Also founded in 2020 was The Novel Prize – a joint venture by the independent publishers Fitzcarraldo Editions, Giramondo and New Directions – which awards the winner a book deal with a $10,000 advance against royalties. This innovative structure disrupts the normal role of a prize in consecrating already-published work, and allows the award to directly champion unpublished writing.
Here at the Republic of Consciousness, we recently announced a radical change to our prize structure. This year, each of the ten longlisted presses received £1,000. A further £10,000 in prize money was shared between the shortlisted presses, with the author and publisher of each title on this list receiving a 50-50 split of the money. As Republic of Consciousness founder Neil Griffiths explained in a recent piece for The Bookseller, this structure makes it clear that ‘the most important aspect of a prize is its depth and breadth’. The prize is designed to support the small press sphere as a whole – not just one publisher and author per year.
This example shows how an inventive prize structure can be an effective way for an award to achieve its aims. We recently spoke to a wide range of publishers and prize administrators to better understand the role of book awards, the problems they might give rise to, and how these can be addressed. While we know that there are issues with prize culture, we discovered a real enthusiasm for book awards, as well as a great deal of hope and conviction that they can be forces for good in the publishing industry.
The Role of Prizes in Literary Culture
As the Publishing Studies expert Claire Squires observes, ‘[o]ne of the most important roles of prizes – ostensibly the most important role – is to recognise and reward quality’. They also have an effect on marketing, sales and distribution; when a novel appears on the Booker shortlist, for example, the publisher can expect a sales bump (though the effect may be more modest today than it was twenty years ago). Consecration by a prize is also ‘one of the first steps in the canonisation of books’. But prizes don’t only affect the fortunes of books once they’ve been published – they also ‘have a particularly direct link to production’, influencing what gets written and published in the first place.
Indeed, one of the most popular functions of a contemporary literary prize is to promote a particular genre. The Arthur C. Clarke Award for science fiction, established in 1987, was one of the UK’s first genre-specific prizes; we now have a whole host of genre awards including the Crime Writer’s Association Gold Dagger Awards, the Walter Scott Prize for historical fiction and the Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse Prize for comic literature (the winner receives a jeroboam of Bollinger and the full works of Wodehouse; a pig is also named after the book). These genre prizes exemplify the book award’s ability to incentivise the production of certain kinds of literature.
Similarly, many prizes now exist to support writing from communities which have traditionally been left out of the prize conversation. In addition to the Jhalak and Barbellion, there is also the Polari Prize for LGBTQ+ literature, the Caine Prize for African Writing and the Women’s Prize for Fiction. Sunny Singh, a co-founder of the Jhalak, describes how the very existence of such awards has the potential to help more diverse writers get published: ‘[We were] listening to editors going, “is there a prize it can be submitted to?” If you can send it to a prize […] that might get it through the commissioning meeting.’
With the average author netting around £10,500 each year from their writerly pursuits, prizes are also an important form of modern-day patronage. In addition, prizes increase publicity and boost sales. One publisher explains: ‘The most prestigious book awards obviously result in a huge payday for authors and publishers but even smaller ones are a useful tool in marketing. I think readers and buyers will always notice “winner” on a cover or in the copy of a press release.’
Setting up a prize also allows other literary institutions to interact with the book market in new and different ways. Over the past few decades, British universities have become highly active in establishing or affiliating themselves with book awards. Edge Hill University has run its Short Story Prize since 2006 ‘to recognise the acceleration of what was once an overlooked art form’. In 2013, Goldsmiths College established an eponymous prize ‘to reward fiction that breaks the mould or extends the possibilities of the novel form’ – literary values which reflect the college’s longstanding reputation for avant garde art and writing. The Republic of Consciousness, while independently established, is now partially funded by the University of East Anglia, giving students the opportunity to learn about – and help to transform – prize culture.
The Economy of Prestige
However, there are also various issues with prize culture. One which came up again and again in our conversations with presses was a feeling that prizes are a Catch-22: you have to have prestige to get prestige. It costs publishers money to enter books to prizes, and many awards limit each publisher to one submission each. This means, firstly, that the Penguin Random Houses of the world are overrepresented in the more prestigious awards, and secondly that publishers are incentivised to put forward their sure-fire authors – in other words, their established big names.
As a result, many publishers we spoke to felt that prizes tend to reinforce existing narratives about certain authors and publishers. One publicist observed: ‘the fact that a publisher has an advantage if they’ve been previously nominated is a huge issue […] It just means that established and wealthier publishers and imprints will do better year after year.’ Similarly, Lauren Burlinson of Myriad Editions laments that awards tend to ‘boost authors who don’t need the support, who are receiving the award’s attention because of their notoriety’. Once a book has been consecrated by one prize, it enters a virtuous cycle, Burlinson explains: ‘[Prizes] pick up on books which have already won awards or have the backing of a large publisher with funds at the ready to promote it across billboards and in magazines.’ This can make it difficult for small presses and non-established authors to gain traction.
Tim Parnell, the Literary Director of the Goldsmiths Prize, is sympathetic to these concerns: ‘I understand the sense of frustration that this sometimes produces and the desire to see different books rewarded, but strikingly excellent books will inevitably attract attention and awards. To avoid this by, say, asking judges not to consider already-feted books would be perverse. It would also require the introduction of a tacit judging criterion, which no prize could meaningfully or fairly justify.’ He believes that a varied and diverse prize culture can mitigate the issue: ‘The “problem” is much less likely to occur if the prize landscape is inhabited by distinctive awards which seek to reward different things.’
This debate demonstrates the way in which the traditional prize structure depends on the unequal distribution of cultural – not to mention economic – capital. Prestige is, in its very nature, something of a zero-sum game. In celebrating one novel, you necessarily pay less attention to others. This is one problem which the Republic of Consciousness’ new prize structure is designed to combat. Small presses, self-published titles and writers from marginalised groups naturally find it more challenging to win prizes under the conditions outlined by our interviewees. Fortunately, numerous prizes are keenly aware of these issues, and are already starting to address them. Many organisations have identified material changes – to entry criteria, submission processes, judging panels, and so on – which have the potential to make prizegiving fairer and more open.
Submission Should Be Cheaper and Easier
One of the most important changes we heard about concerned entry and marketing fees. Various small presses we spoke to highlighted the onerous cost of entering prizes. Many awards charge an entry fee, and big prizes such as the Booker and Costa have typically required publishers of shortlisted titles to make a hefty contribution towards marketing (typically £5,000). After years of controversy, the Booker has now abolished this fee, which is a major step towards widening access to the prize.
However, even without marketing fees, the cost of providing paperback copies to prize administrators and judges can be prohibitive for smaller presses. Sara-Jayne Slack of Inspired Quill told us: ‘I cringe when I see 20 shortlisted books at £5,000 each and wonder what these awards are wasting this “marketing spend” on. (Canapes at the awards dinner, maybe? Ugh).’ Barbican Press’s Martin Goodman, meanwhile, suggested a way to reduce the financial burden on publishers with scarcer financial resources: ‘Obviously some means testing could come in with the big prizes.’ Singh is right behind them, describing the Jhalak’s complete lack of fees as a ‘crucial’ part of its approach.
Slack also called out book awards for clinging to hard copy submission in the digital age: ‘Tiny presses do not have the funds to send out ten paperback copies and then earmark 25 more should they be shortlisted.’ For some publishers, the sheer cost of entering can be prohibitive, even without entry fees. However, many prizes are already implementing some element of electronic submission, including the Jhalak and the Republic of Consciousness; Parnell says that the Goldsmiths is likewise willing to consider requests for PDF submissions.
Entry Criteria Should Be Fairer
Many interviewees also highlighted the importance of carefully-designed entry criteria. It’s tempting to think that the more open the criteria, the more radical the prize. However, sometimes prize administrators find that targeted solutions to particular problems actually require limitations on entry. The aim for many prizes, then, is to admit the most diverse field of entrants possible without diluting the award’s mission.
The Jhalak Prize’s criteria respond to various structural inequalities in British society and literary culture. For example, publishers are the first gatekeepers when it comes to who can access book awards, says Singh: ‘The publishing industry shuts people out. So we accept self-published books.’ Agents and authors, as well as publishers, are also encouraged to submit. The Jhalak’s unusual structure, in which books of all genres are eligible for the same award (except Children’s and YA, which received their own category this year), stems from an unhappy reality about BAME representation in the UK: ‘There aren’t actually enough books in each category.’ Many of the Jhalak’s criteria, then, are designed to be as open as possible in order to maximise the prize’s benefit to writers of colour.
The Jhalak’s rules regarding author nationality are designed to pressurise assumptions about what kinds of writers and texts might ‘belong’ to Britain’s national literature: ‘[The UK] has some of the world’s most horrific, racialised, imperial structures around citizenship and residency status,’ Sing explains. ‘So we made it very clear that [the prize is open to] somebody who is either a citizen or a resident. And we don’t demand that they are here for whatever [length of] time.’ The Goldsmiths Prize has also paid careful attention to this question, extending eligibility to anyone resident in the UK or Ireland in 2019: ‘without wanting to internationalise the prize, we wanted to avoid narrow ideas of what constitutes a nation’s literature’, Parnell explains. Entry criteria, then, play a key role in how the Jhalak and Goldsmiths prizes help to reshape the notion of a ‘national literature’.
While both awards have decided that they need more inclusive criteria surrounding nationality, Singh and Parnell both argue that certain limitations on eligibility can actually help to focus a prize’s intervention in the British publishing industry. Singh explains: ‘Because the prize is intended to push change in Britain, the book must have originated here. So it cannot have been published in the States and then brought over. That is a battle we agreed we could not fight all fronts.’ The Goldsmiths Prize’s mission is similarly concentrated on a set of local issues within British and Irish culture: ‘part of the prize’s purpose is to shine a light on mould-breaking fiction being written in the UK and Ireland,’ Parnell explains. The reason this is so important, he goes on, is ‘because British fiction, in particular, has often been seen as conservative’. These examples show that, while certain radical or progressive agendas are best served by having the most open entry criteria possible, others require more targeted approaches.
There will always be advantages and disadvantages to a given rule; that’s unavoidable. What’s important here is that prize administrators are highly sensitive to the consequences of entry criteria. Moreover, they are continually reassessing how to use eligibility rules strategically in order to balance their prize’s unique identity or mission with the values of diversity and inclusivity.
Prizes Can Do More Than Give Out Money
Cognisant of the various limitations of a traditional prize structure, many literary awards have also begun to broaden their activities beyond selecting a longlist, shortlist and winner once per year. While one criticism of prizes is that they only celebrate and support a small number of authors and publishers each cycle, there is a growing number of organisations which do much more than this.
Various awards are now exploring ways to work with writers and publishers beyond the annual prize cycle. Singh explains: ‘The prize is one side of what the Jhalak Prize – or the Jhalak “Project” eventually – is trying to do. It’s one way of intervening and disrupting and challenging the status quo.’ Distributing books to a wider range of readers and communities has become a central part of the mission, with Jhalak-nominated books making their way to refugees through the Meena Centre in Birmingham, the Islington Centre, and even an organisation in Thessaloniki. During lockdown, the Jhalak’s distribution network extended to include under-resourced community libraries in the UK.
The Jhalak has also introduced an artist’s residency, the recipient of which creates the trophy for that year’s prize. Singh recounts having numerous discussions with artists and writers about BAME representation: ‘From those conversations came the fact that artists of colour weren’t being recognised. The same processes of exclusion from narratives and stories and our public discourse were happening in another field.’ The Jhalak Children’s and YA Prize trophy, which will be awarded for the first time in 2021, will be designed by an illustrator of colour. By commissioning artworks and bringing writers and artists from different disciplines together, the Jhalak helps to build new creative communities.
The Republic of Consciousness’s new prize structure, which distributes money to a wide range of publishers and authors, has also been envisaged as a move towards more of a bursary structure. The aim is to support the overall health of the small press sphere and British and Irish literary culture in general.
These projects testify to a growing feeling among prize administrators that their organisations can provide longer-term, more widespread funding and support in addition to the excitement and prestige of an annual award. In Singh’s view, having a diverse range of prizes offering numerous types of projects and support can only be a good thing: ‘The more we push from different sides, the better it is for all of us.’
We Need More Prizes
The presses we spoke to were also unanimous on this issue. With fresh new awards coming onto the British literary scene each year, you might expect a little scepticism, a little prize fatigue, to be creeping in. Yet despite English’s description of a ‘feverish proliferation’ of cultural prizes, the publishers we spoke to made the case that we actually need more prizes.
Several publishers said they would like to see a new book award to support a specific type of writer or writing. Lynn Michell, who runs Linen Press, said: ‘I would love to see awards for older first-time writers. We live in an age dominated by youth and celebrity and it’s increasingly hard to find a place where age is valued.’ Burlinson, meanwhile, touted the virtues of prizes for works in progress: they ‘give authors a reason to finish their project, to aim for a half way point and submitting that’.
Meanwhile, Goodman argued: ‘An “English Book Prize” could help redefine what English means, in all its 21st-century expressions. The Booker, open to Commonwealth writers, used to do that.’ Indeed, as discussed in Luke Strongman’s The Booker Prize and the Legacy of Empire and Graham Huggan’s The Postcolonial Exotic, the Booker once provided a key site for the negotiation and contestation of cultural relations between Britain and its former colonies (Huggan is less convinced of the Booker’s virtues in this regard). With the Booker now open to all novels in English, a Britain-and-Commonwealth-only prize could play an important role in working through questions about race, empire and identity.
Consistently advocating for more prizes rather than fewer, the small presses we spoke to clearly believe that literary awards can help to challenge and transform the book market. Rather than one or two dominant awards with massive cash payouts, publishers favour a more diverse array of prizes, with power, influence and money dispersed among them.
While the literary prize’s function as an agent of ‘capital intraconversion’ may make some of us a little queasy, the book award can be a powerful lever of intervention in the market. As such, these institutions are capable of what the author Amit Chaudhuri describes as literary activism: challenging – even changing – the traditional ways in which books are sold, marketed, evaluated or canonised. If the organisations we interviewed are anything to go by, prizes are seizing the lever, and pulling on it hard.