Literary Nobel-ity

The Nobel Prize for literature has, to put it mildly, a rather awful track record — as this piece in The Record by Marie Arana, the former editor of The Washington Post Book World, makes pretty clear. While I disagree with some of her judgments — I like Steinbeck and think the downgrading of his contribution in recent years is unfortunate — her larger point is well taken.

How could judges who profess to know literature shun Tolstoy, James Joyce, Proust, Kafka, Nabokov or Henry James? If the goal, as the original mandate proclaimed, was to identify those who have “conferred the greatest benefit on mankind,” why extol the muddled pornography of Elfriede Jelinek? Or the unremarkable output of Eyvind Johnson and Harry Martinson, former judges themselves?

Author: hankkalet

Hank Kalet is a poet and freelance journalist. He is the economic needs reporter for NJ Spotlight, teaches journalism at Rutgers University and writing at Middlesex County College and Brookdale Community College. He writes a semi-monthly column for the Progressive Populist. He is a lifelong fan of the New York Mets and New York Knicks, drinks too much coffee and attends as many Bruce Springsteen concerts as his meager finances will allow. He lives in South Brunswick with his wife Annie. View all posts by hankkalet