Last year's Booker prize winner Anne Enright was one of the established authors to make the longlist for this year's Orange. Photograph: Eamonn McCabe

How much longer do we have to listen to that noise? That's what I asked myself yesterday morning, as Tim Lott spluttered all over the Today Programme. In case you missed it, he was in a fury about the Orange prize. Because it discriminates against men, doesn't it? Because if someone was fool enough to set up a prize just for men, well, we'd see the problem then, wouldn't we?

Or maybe not. In my view, the most significant thing about the Orange prize is not that it is only for women. The prize's great virtue is that it is for all women writing in English. Most prizes, most notably the man Booker, respect (and so enforce) national boundaries. This despite the fact that national boundaries in Anglophone fiction became less significant with every passing day.

A quick look at the 2008 Orange long list bears this out. There are seven countries represented, eight if you include both nationalities claimed by the US/Iranian first novelist Anita Amirrezvani. Dalia Sofer, listed as an American author, is also Iranian by birth. Elif Shafak, though she carries a Turkish passport, was born in France. Later in life, she spent many years in the US. Though she writes mostly in Turkish, The Bastard of Istanbul, her seventh novel, is her second novel in English. Like so many of their readers, these authors are hybrids, and they are much better served by a panel that isn't bothered by that.

Though nine of the twenty authors are British, there are, nevertheless, a few hard-to-explain omissions. AL Kennedy's Day, winner of the Costa prize, heralded by its judges as a work of genius, is glaringly missing, as is Nicola Barker's Darkmans. We see many seasoned prize winners - Anne Enright, Rose Tremain, Linda Grant, and Tessa Hadley - but where is Joan Smith's little jewel, What Will Survive?

The judges may have been asking themselves the same question. There are seven first novelists on the long list, which is excellent. But there are also authors publishing their third, seventh, eleventh, and sixteenth novels. This is tremendously encouraging, especially to those of us who know just how reluctant the publishing industry is to keep on authors who do not yield quick and steady profits. So to those who say women (having won most of this year's major prizes) no longer need an Orange prize, I say humbug!

It's not just the authors who need it, either. The Orange prize exists to serve women readers, who read 80% of all fiction. Though most belong to the bestseller brigade, the book club boom has brought LitFic back into the picture. And most people who go to them are women, too.

They do read men, mind you, but only a certain sort of man. The Sebastian Faulks type-man - if you follow my drift. Which is bad news for male authors whose books don't lend themselves to floral covers. But this is not our fault, Tim. Instead of railing against women and their prizes, you should be asking yourself why so few men read books, and what sort of prize might induce them to change their habits.

How much longer do we have to listen to that noise? That's what I asked myself yesterday morning, as Toby Litt spluttered all over the Today Programme. In case you missed it, he was in a fury about the Orange prize. Because it discriminates against men, doesn't it? Because if someone was fool enough to set up a prize just for men, well, we'd see the problem then, wouldn't we?

Or maybe not. In my view, the most significant thing about the Orange prize is not that it is only for women. The prize's great virtue is that it is for all women writing in English. Most prizes, most notably the Booker, respect (and so enforce) national boundaries. This despite the fact that national boundaries in Anglophone fiction became less significant with every passing day.

A quick look at the 2008 Orange longlist bears this out. There are seven countries represented, eight if you include both nationalities claimed by the US/Iranian first-novelist Anita Amirrezvani. Dalia Sofer, listed as an American author, is also Iranian by birth. Elif Shafak, though she carries a Turkish passport, was born in France. Later in life, she spent many years in the US. Though she writes mostly in Turkish, The Bastard of Istanbul, her seventh novel, is her second novel in English. Like so many of their readers, these authors are hybrids, and they are much better served by a panel not concerned with such matters.

Though nine of the twenty authors are British, there are, nevertheless, a few hard-to-explain omissions. AL Kennedy's Day, winner of the Costa prize, heralded by its judges as a work of genius, is glaringly missing, as is Nicola Barker's Darksons. We see many seasoned prize winners - Ann Enright, Rose Tremain, Linda Grant, and Tessa Hadley - but where is Joan Smith's little jewel, What Will Survive?

The judges may have been asking themselves the same question. There are seven first novelists on the long list, which is excellent. But there are also authors publishing their third, seventh, eleventh, and sixteenth novels. This is tremendously encouraging, especially to those of us who know just how reluctant the publishing industry is to keep on authors who do not yield quick and steady profits. So to those who say women (having won most of this year's major prizes) no longer need an Orange prize, I say humbug!

It's not just the authors who need it, either. The Orange prize exists to serve women readers, who read 80% of all fiction. Though most belong to the bestseller brigade, the book club boom has brought LitFic back into the picture. And most people who go to them are women, too.

They do read men, mind you, but only a certain sort of man. The Sebastian Faulkes type-man - if you follow my drift. Which is bad news for male authors whose books don't lend themselves to floral covers. But this is not our fault, Toby. Instead of railing against women and their prizes, you should be asking yourself why so few men read books, and what sort of prize might induce them to change their habits.