The first time I paid any real attention to the Booker Prize was in 1994, when James Kelman won for How Late It Was, How Late Prior to that I had pretty much slept through all the annual brouhaha, assuming that the tastes of posh metropolitan media types were of little interest to the likes of me, rotting away in Fife, which at the time was the unemployment and teenage pregnancy capital of Scotland.
The reason I woke up in 1994 was not because Kelman was Scottish or that his theme was "working class life". I thought that if he won it would be because the judges had decided it would be a supah idea, eh what to give the prize to a representative of the lower orders that year- good for credibility/controversy, or to demonstrate how "brave" they were. No, I was interested because a friend of mine had once interviewed Kelman for a dissertation and it had been a singularly traumatic experience. This particular Working Class Author ™ had not thought much of her feeble fumblings with Marxism and had let her know it in no uncertain terms. And so when I tuned in to the awards ceremony on TV it was in the hope of seeing an entertaining display of truculence, as he struck me as the kind of guy who might manage to take umbrage even if he won.
In the event, nothing very exciting happened. I remember he made some comment about "dickie bows" and that was it. Immediately afterwards however a pseudo- controversy about his novel broke out in the press as various idle journos and columnists had to fill their quota of words for the day. All in all, it was a triumph of strategy for the Booker judges- their choice was getting talked about, which was what they wanted, of course.
Maybe How Late It Was, etc is a very good book. I don't know, I've never read it. In fact, the first novel I ever read whose author had received a pile of cash from a biscuit company was the Booker of Bookers itself, Midnight's Children, which I ploughed through under orders of a tutor at university. I didn't enjoy it much, but I'm aware I read it under duress, never the best conditions for experiencing any book. When I'm reincarnated sometime in the next century I'll read it again (if it's still in print).
The first Booker I read by choice was Ben Okri's The Famished Road, which had won a few years before Kelman. I was consciously making an effort to overcome my prejudice against the prize. To my surprise I found it quite enjoyable, lots of good stories, and I learned something about Africa. I didn't feel enthused enough to read any more of Mr. Okri's books afterwards however and his star faded somewhat in subsequent years, a fate not entirely uncommon for Booker laureates.
The Famished Road set the template for all my future Booker/Man Booker experiences: since then a couple more of the prizewinning books have fallen into my hands (as presents, I've never paid for one) and by and large they have been well- written, thoughtful, slightly dull reads that have never compelled me to read any more of the author's work. Only one, which it would be churlish to name, has been offensively bad. I have on the other hand read at least one book, nominated but passed over (Empire of the Sun), that was better than any of the winners, and lots of other novels that got nowhere near the award but which I have enjoyed much more than any of those that did. The only Booker author I have read repeatedly has been VS Naipaul, but I don't think anyone considers the specific novel (In a Free State) that won the prize for him his best work, and I haven't read it anyway, so I can't comment. As for the judges, I have no idea who selects them or on what grounds, but I still don't see why I (or anyone else) should care what this liberal rabbi, or that former Tory MP, or the less funny half of those two guys who used to do Fantasy Football League thinks about any given book.
This year's wheeze is to mostly exclude established authors in favour of new ones that not many people have heard of. It must be the year for "fresh blood", "shaking things up" or some other stunningly original formulation along those lines, eh what. As usual, I might scan the headlines but otherwise I won't be paying any attention. The Booker serves three categories of people - those who benefit from the increased sales a nomination brings, namely booksellers, publishers and writers; literary journalists who get something to write about; and readers who like to keep abreast of fashion. Add these three groups together and you have hardly anyone. For the rest of us it's a matter of cosmic indifference, like a table tennis tournament in North Korea, or a sandstorm on Mars.
