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LE CLEZIO -- WHO'S HE?
By David L. Ulin, [email protected]
Los Angeles Times
October 10, 2008
CA
This year's Nobel laureate for literature is little-known in the
States. Perhaps this is evidence of our bias. Or maybe it's a product
of the Swedish Academy's willful dismissal of U.S. writers.
If the selection of French writer Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio as
the 2008 Nobel literature laureate has anything to tell us, it's that
Horace Engdahl means what he says.
Last week, Engdahl, the Swedish Academy's permanent secretary, called
American literary culture "too isolated, too insular. They don't
translate enough and don't really participate in the big dialogue of
literature" -- comments widely seen in the United States as evidence
of the insularity of the Nobel itself and proof that American writers
would be shut out again.
The last American to win the prize was Toni Morrison in 1993;
since then, recipients have included Poland's Wislawa Szymborska,
Italy's Dario Fo, Chinese-born Gao Xingjian and Austria's Elfriede
Jelinek. That such authors are not household names has led to charges
that the Nobel committee is willfully obscure, or worse, motivated
by political considerations.
Certainly, the last three winners -- Britain's Harold Pinter,
whose acceptance speech excoriated the Bush administration's Iraq
policy; Orhan Pamuk, who faced criminal prosecution (later dropped)
in his native Turkey for speaking out about the Armenian genocide;
and British citizen Doris Lessing, an early and committed feminist
who campaigned against apartheid and for nuclear disarmament -- are
political as well as literary figures, although there's no question
about the quality and engagement of their work.
It's hard to say where Le Clezio fits into all this; I've never read
his books. In fact, until Thursday morning, I'd never heard of him
-- and I'm not alone. Harold Augenbraum, executive director of the
National Book Foundation, which administers the National Book Awards,
said the same thing, as did David Kipen, literature director of the
National Endowment for the Arts.
On the one hand, that might seem to support Engdahl's claims
of American isolationism and insularity, but I'd suggest this
unfamiliarity cuts both ways. How do we make the case for Le Clezio
as representative of the best that literature has to offer when so
many are unacquainted with his work?
I don't mean to equate popularity with quality; some of the best-known
Nobel winners (Pearl S. Buck, Rudyard Kipling) are not the most
exemplary on the page.
And, to be fair, Le Clezio does seem intriguing; an "irregular"
resident of Albuquerque -- he has taught, on and off, at the University
of New Mexico -- he is fascinated by the notion of borders, both
real and metaphorical, and has written nonfiction about the American
Southwest and Mexico.
But if this makes him very much a writer of the moment, reflective,
as Augenbraum suggests, "of important themes in immigrant literature
that may really resonate with American readers," his selection brings
us back to an elusive question: What is the purpose of the Nobel Prize?
The same could be asked of all awards, which have a veneer of authority
when, in fact, they're as subjective as their judges. Just look at
Engdahl, whose statement that "Europe still is the center of the
literary world" reveals a cultural blindness as pervasive as anything
he accuses American writers of.
"I'd be more inclined to take Engdahl at his word," Kipen writes in
an e-mail, "if his championing of European literature didn't also
ignore all the great writing coming from the rest of the planet just
now. Africa, India and China, to name just three not inconsiderable
land masses, are producing wonderful stuff."
Augenbraum takes a more nuanced position: "I think the uproar is
unfortunate because it diminishes the award. Without the Nobel
committee, would we be reading [Hungary's] Imre Kertesz or Elfriede
Jelinek? Kudos to them for introducing these writers to us."
He's got a point; awards juries pluck books and authors from obscurity
all the time. That's part of the idea: to bring deserving writers to
new readers. To say: You ought to pay attention to this.
The Nobel, though -- or so the argument goes -- is different;
it carries a weight, an authority, that most awards don't have. In
Slate last week, critic Adam Kirsch wrote: "Unless and until [Philip]
Roth gets the Nobel Prize, there's no reason for Americans to pay
attention to any insults from the Swedes."
By such a standard, the choice of Le Clezio can't help but be read
through a political filter, as payback for our insensitivity. But if
that's true, then so is the opposite: that the expectation by readers
and critics in the U.S. that the award must go to an American is more
than a little arrogant, our own form of cultural hegemony.
I agree with Kirsch about Roth's significance, but that doesn't mean
the Swedish Academy owes him anything. There are plenty of significant
authors (Nigeria's Chinua Achebe, for instance, or Mexico's Carlos
Fuentes) who have never received the award, for reasons that have
nothing to do with national identity.
In fact, the two most prominent American Nobel candidates this year
-- Roth and Joyce Carol Oates -- both seem unlikely laureates; Roth
because he has actively lobbied for the award (which the committee
is known to resist) and Oates because, to be frank, she's just not
good enough.
There's more to the Nobel Prize, in other words, than filling out a
resume, which is exactly as it ought to be.
Of course, the danger of giving this kind of prize to a writer few
have heard of is that, like the uproar that preceded it, this too can
diminish the award. It's what we might call the Sarah Palin effect:
Does the out-of-nowhere candidate open up the playing field or simply
reveal the process as inherently flawed?
This is not the first time such an issue has come up in regard to
the Nobel. In 2005, Knut Ahnlund, a prize juror, resigned in protest
over Jelinek's selection the year before, calling her work "whining,
unenjoyable public pornography" that "has not only done irreparable
damage to all progressive forces, it has also confused the general
view of literature as an art."
Strong stuff, but at least it stirred up a reaction. The real question
about Le Clezio's Nobel Prize is whether anyone will care.
By David L. Ulin, [email protected]
Los Angeles Times
October 10, 2008
CA
This year's Nobel laureate for literature is little-known in the
States. Perhaps this is evidence of our bias. Or maybe it's a product
of the Swedish Academy's willful dismissal of U.S. writers.
If the selection of French writer Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio as
the 2008 Nobel literature laureate has anything to tell us, it's that
Horace Engdahl means what he says.
Last week, Engdahl, the Swedish Academy's permanent secretary, called
American literary culture "too isolated, too insular. They don't
translate enough and don't really participate in the big dialogue of
literature" -- comments widely seen in the United States as evidence
of the insularity of the Nobel itself and proof that American writers
would be shut out again.
The last American to win the prize was Toni Morrison in 1993;
since then, recipients have included Poland's Wislawa Szymborska,
Italy's Dario Fo, Chinese-born Gao Xingjian and Austria's Elfriede
Jelinek. That such authors are not household names has led to charges
that the Nobel committee is willfully obscure, or worse, motivated
by political considerations.
Certainly, the last three winners -- Britain's Harold Pinter,
whose acceptance speech excoriated the Bush administration's Iraq
policy; Orhan Pamuk, who faced criminal prosecution (later dropped)
in his native Turkey for speaking out about the Armenian genocide;
and British citizen Doris Lessing, an early and committed feminist
who campaigned against apartheid and for nuclear disarmament -- are
political as well as literary figures, although there's no question
about the quality and engagement of their work.
It's hard to say where Le Clezio fits into all this; I've never read
his books. In fact, until Thursday morning, I'd never heard of him
-- and I'm not alone. Harold Augenbraum, executive director of the
National Book Foundation, which administers the National Book Awards,
said the same thing, as did David Kipen, literature director of the
National Endowment for the Arts.
On the one hand, that might seem to support Engdahl's claims
of American isolationism and insularity, but I'd suggest this
unfamiliarity cuts both ways. How do we make the case for Le Clezio
as representative of the best that literature has to offer when so
many are unacquainted with his work?
I don't mean to equate popularity with quality; some of the best-known
Nobel winners (Pearl S. Buck, Rudyard Kipling) are not the most
exemplary on the page.
And, to be fair, Le Clezio does seem intriguing; an "irregular"
resident of Albuquerque -- he has taught, on and off, at the University
of New Mexico -- he is fascinated by the notion of borders, both
real and metaphorical, and has written nonfiction about the American
Southwest and Mexico.
But if this makes him very much a writer of the moment, reflective,
as Augenbraum suggests, "of important themes in immigrant literature
that may really resonate with American readers," his selection brings
us back to an elusive question: What is the purpose of the Nobel Prize?
The same could be asked of all awards, which have a veneer of authority
when, in fact, they're as subjective as their judges. Just look at
Engdahl, whose statement that "Europe still is the center of the
literary world" reveals a cultural blindness as pervasive as anything
he accuses American writers of.
"I'd be more inclined to take Engdahl at his word," Kipen writes in
an e-mail, "if his championing of European literature didn't also
ignore all the great writing coming from the rest of the planet just
now. Africa, India and China, to name just three not inconsiderable
land masses, are producing wonderful stuff."
Augenbraum takes a more nuanced position: "I think the uproar is
unfortunate because it diminishes the award. Without the Nobel
committee, would we be reading [Hungary's] Imre Kertesz or Elfriede
Jelinek? Kudos to them for introducing these writers to us."
He's got a point; awards juries pluck books and authors from obscurity
all the time. That's part of the idea: to bring deserving writers to
new readers. To say: You ought to pay attention to this.
The Nobel, though -- or so the argument goes -- is different;
it carries a weight, an authority, that most awards don't have. In
Slate last week, critic Adam Kirsch wrote: "Unless and until [Philip]
Roth gets the Nobel Prize, there's no reason for Americans to pay
attention to any insults from the Swedes."
By such a standard, the choice of Le Clezio can't help but be read
through a political filter, as payback for our insensitivity. But if
that's true, then so is the opposite: that the expectation by readers
and critics in the U.S. that the award must go to an American is more
than a little arrogant, our own form of cultural hegemony.
I agree with Kirsch about Roth's significance, but that doesn't mean
the Swedish Academy owes him anything. There are plenty of significant
authors (Nigeria's Chinua Achebe, for instance, or Mexico's Carlos
Fuentes) who have never received the award, for reasons that have
nothing to do with national identity.
In fact, the two most prominent American Nobel candidates this year
-- Roth and Joyce Carol Oates -- both seem unlikely laureates; Roth
because he has actively lobbied for the award (which the committee
is known to resist) and Oates because, to be frank, she's just not
good enough.
There's more to the Nobel Prize, in other words, than filling out a
resume, which is exactly as it ought to be.
Of course, the danger of giving this kind of prize to a writer few
have heard of is that, like the uproar that preceded it, this too can
diminish the award. It's what we might call the Sarah Palin effect:
Does the out-of-nowhere candidate open up the playing field or simply
reveal the process as inherently flawed?
This is not the first time such an issue has come up in regard to
the Nobel. In 2005, Knut Ahnlund, a prize juror, resigned in protest
over Jelinek's selection the year before, calling her work "whining,
unenjoyable public pornography" that "has not only done irreparable
damage to all progressive forces, it has also confused the general
view of literature as an art."
Strong stuff, but at least it stirred up a reaction. The real question
about Le Clezio's Nobel Prize is whether anyone will care.