Skip to content

Vote for the National American Idol Book Award!

September 23, 2009
William Faulkner

William Faulkner

The folks over at the National Book Award, America’s most prestigious literary prize, are inviting readers to help pick the best fiction book in the award’s 60-year history. All prizes for art and entertainment are bogus, of course, but this could be fun anyhow.

A slate of six finalists was determined by a polling of 140 writers “from across the country:” The Stories of John Cheever (1981 winner), Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man (1953), William Faulkner’s Collected Stories (1951), The Complete Stories of Flannery O’Connor (1972), Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity Rainbow (1974) and The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty (1983).

Cast your vote at the National Book Award website.

The temptation of mock this project as a sign of the further dumbification of American high culture –which great book gets voted off the island?! — is very great, indeed, but apart from a snarky headline I will resist. A popular vote is not unprecedented, and could result in neat surprises. When British bookstore customers were asked to name the best Brit novel of the 20th century, for example, they came up with The Lord of the Ringsa perfectly defensible selection on terms of literary quality, though one that surely irked the daylights out of the Brit lit establishment.

On the other hand, when a public vote determined the the “Booker of Bookers” –the best novel in the first 40 years of the Man Booker Prize, Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children won. No offense to Rushdie, but Midnight’s Children had already won not only a regular Man Booker (1981) but had also previously been anointed best book at the prize’s silver anniversary, making it a three-time winner, which is faintly ridiculous.

I don’t care how great Midnight’s Children may be, is it demonstrably better than John Berger’s G (1972), J.M. Coetzee’s Life and Times of Michael K (1983), A.S. Byatt’s Possession (1990), Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things (1997) or Peter Carey’s True History of the Kelly Gang (2001)?

Really, competitive arts prizes are, to be mean, a joke. Or to be charitable, a useful fiction. After a certain degree of craftsmanship and artistic accomplishment is reached, no meaningful distinctions can be made. In a perfect world, outfits like the National Book Award or the Man Booker Prize or the Academy Awards would stop at the short list of five or six outstanding works produced in a given year.

But human beings like lists, and we like competition, and we like prizes, and we like false distinctions. I suppose it’s a harmless game. Plus I’m willing to concede the publicity value. If the National Book Award helps keep books and reading afloat on the media whirlpool, than I’m willing to go along with the farcical notion that Faulkner is better than Eillison, or Welty is better than Cheever.

The National Book Awards people have put up a list of finalists that grows stronger the more you look at it. All books of excellent literary quality by writers of indisputable greatness, and what’s more, social significance. If we go strictly by this last consideration, then the winner has to be Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man (1953), a great novel about race published right as the country found itself on the cusp of the Civil Rights era.

My own heart belongs to John Cheever, one of the greatest short story writers of all time, or Flannery O’Connor, another. Cheever chronicled suburban hubris in mid-century New England, while O’Connor revealed the God-haunted grotesques of the Old South’s last gasp.

On sheer literary stature and influence, though, the nod must go to Faulkner’s Collected Stories. The greatest American modernist, and probably the most important fiction writer of the 20th century (without him, Latin American magical realism would not exist), Faulkner is at his very best in the short story.

Actually, the most interesting thing about the National Book Award’s list of finalists is the dominance of the short story. Ironic, because for much of the time in question — the National Book Award started in 1950 — the short story labored as a minor form, much in the shadow of the novel.

If I had been consulted, here are a few novels that might have made my list: The Fixer, by Bernard Malamud (1967); Them, by Joyce Carol Oates (1970); JR, by William Gaddis (1976); Rabbit is Rich, by John Updike (1982); Shadow Country, by Peter Matthiessen (2008).

But really, I cannot argue with confidence that any of these novels should supplant any of the short story collections on the actual list. It’s kind of hilarious that the American novel, the dominant literary form in the 20th Century, is being shouldered aside, as we look back, by the short story.

In any event, how often will regular readers be invited to vote for the National Book Award? Be sure and make your voice known. Here I go, casting my ballot for Faulkner, which will be offset, I am certain, by at least one enraged Cheever fanatic of my acquaintance.

5 Comments leave one →
  1. rachel permalink
    September 23, 2009 3:14 pm

    Better than Cheever? ha.ha.ha.ha.ha. Very amusing. Like there is such a thing you silly silly man. Unfortunately, not everyone has such good taste considering that I voted and current standings place Cheever with 8% and Flannery O’Connor with 32%. Poor Cheever.

    I agree with you though, Chauncey Mabe. At a certain point it seems kind of pointless to place one masterpiece against another, but human beings like to do it anyway. However, I would like it to be known that while in a lot of ways Rushdie writes beautifully he is also way too proud of himself which is evident in his writing and overly symbolic and there’s just too much, why did Midnight’s Children have to be so long?

    Additionally, I have always liked the short story but I preferred to read novels and would read a book of short stories here and there. But ever since my Cheever extravaganza in the spring it seems that I have been reading mostly nothing but short stories. And I like them. And I appreciate them more than I ever have.

    • Chauncey Mabe permalink*
      September 23, 2009 3:20 pm

      Don’t forget Carver. And why did he never win a National Book Award?

      • rachel permalink
        September 24, 2009 9:17 am

        Don’t forget Carver. There you go being silly again. And you know, I don’t know. He certainly deserved one I think.

  2. September 23, 2009 6:12 pm


  3. September 24, 2009 8:15 am

    I am getting sick of these types of awards. Why does every thing have to be number one. This theory is not working in America any more. How about just being darn good. How about not worrying about a best seller. Just sell to the best.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: