Where do our literary awards fail?

Hilary Mantel has won the Man Booker Prize. Of course you knew that. It is in all the papers today and anyway, you knew she was the bookies’ favourite. Er, no, you had not really heard of her before, but of course you know all about her now and are looking forward to reading Wolf Hall, the novel that got her the award. Read it already? Gosh.

All the shortlisted authors too? Got some from abroad, you say? Oh yes, internet shopping is such a joy. Well, you really are quite a bookworm, aren’t you?

And Kunwar Narain? Which of his works do you like the most? No, not RK Narayan, Kunwar Narain. Er, well, he writes in Hindi, but has been translated. Not a novelist, no, a poet, primarily. A remarkable poet, one of our literary masters. Oh no, he isn’t on the Booker list. And will never be on it, frankly. That’s a different ball game.

But on Tuesday evening, far away from London’s Guildhall, where the Booker ceremony was being held, in a very different literary award ceremony held in Parliament House, Delhi, Kunwar Narain received the Jnanpith Award from President Pratibha Patil. The award had been announced earlier, this was the presentation ceremony. There had been months to introduce one of India’s finest poets to those who don’t read Hindi or don’t read literature. But like with every Indian literary award, this time too we did nothing to educate the uninitiated.

The Jnanpith is India’s highest literary award. And it very often goes to a deserving candidate. This is primarily because, unlike the Sahitya Akademi awards, which celebrate India’s linguistic diversity and struggle to find an awardee from each language every year, the Jnanpith prioritises merit over linguistic representation. But of course there is petty politics — as is evident in the fact that it took so long for Kunwar Narain, 82, to win the award that has gone to far lesser writers before him.

That’s not odd. A culture of almost sarkari secrecy and ad hoc-ism dims our literary awards. We never know who are in the running, who the judges are, or the nominees; we cannot judge the verdict. So they just announce a winner and we say, oh, really? And dissolve in happiness or raise an eyebrow.

That’s it. Later, we may or may not know who the judges were, and through hushed rumours and hot gossip may or may not get to know more about the nominees and the process of selection. But we are never a part of the excitement, never engaged, we are shut out till we passively receive the final news.

There is a lot our literary awards can learn from the Booker. It stimulates interest in not just the winner but all the serious contenders for the prize. They give out information continuously, keeping the readers — the potential consumers — informed at every step.

The long list of 13 was released in July. Then in September the shortlist of six was announced a whole month before announcing the final winner. This build-up helps not just to sell the books in the running, but also creates an interest in literature and authors that is unfortunately dwindling worldwide. Remember the excitement of following Aravind Adiga every step of the way to his victory last year?

Curiously, our literary awards have no such fervour. Not even the Jnanpith, which is from The Times of India family or the Saraswati Samman and Vyas Samman which are from The Hindustan Times family can generate it. Surely they need no lessons in marketing.

And they clearly know the importance of literature in creating a more informed, perceptive and just society. If they, along with the sarkari Sahitya Akademi Awards, can only make their award processes more ‘reader-friendly’, it would go a long way in strengthening our own literatures and cultural values.

The writer is editor, The Little Magazine