In Defense of Ambivalence

In which I consider my feelings about literary awards, art, and the ways we engage with it...

Hi, Y’all! Glad You’re Here—

This morning, as I finished the last book on this year’s National Book Award longlist for Fiction, I felt a swelling of ambivalence—ambivalence towards the award itself, towards this longlist, towards the very idea of art and how we engage with it. When I say I’m ambivalent about the National Book Award, what I mean is that the more I know about literary awards in general, the clearer I can see their limitations. On the one hand, I love that these awards introduce us to books and writers who might not have otherwise been on our radar. This year alone, I discovered half a dozen writers who I hadn’t heard of before, and I cannot wait to see what other work they produce. It’s also the books featured on these awards that have helped shape my own ideas about what good literature is and can be. But on the other hand, the selections of these books sometimes feels arbitrary, and I wonder what possible criteria the judges use while curating their longlist. There were one or two books on this year’s longlist that, for me, didn’t meet the level one would expect from an award seeking the best written books by a U.S. writer. Finishing those books left me wondering why other, better written books weren’t in their place. When I recently made this observation to a fellow reader, they argued that I was coming across as pretentious or elitist, and maybe they’re right—they said that any book that evoked feeling was, to them, a great book. But in all honestly, I just don’t think that’s true.

The basis with which we consider a books value varies from person to person. After reading Less by Andrew Sean Greer for a recent newsletter, one man reached out to tell me how much he hated it, because the book just “rambled on, with no real plot, a lot of just…thinking. It was boring.” He was dissatisfied because, to him, a book is only of value if it’s entertaining. This man’s favorite books aren’t concerned with prose, with the delicate nature of the human condition, but with exciting stories that keep the reader turning the pages. Several other people mentioned that they loved Less, either because they thought the stream-of-consciousness style was well done, or they were happy that it was a story where the queer character lives at the end, and some even said they liked how it was in conversation with other books. I think the various ways we consider books are equally valuable. Any time someone gives me a new way to appreciate a book, I consume that and remember it as I approach my next read. But I think, at least regarding things like the National Book Award, we should be considering a book in multiple ways, not just academically, not just based on feeling, not just because of what it represents or how it operates within the landscape of literature—I would hope that all of these things are considered together.

While I don’t know the inner workings of the National Book Award, how the judges arrive at their longlists or if there are exact parameters set forth, I have spoken to several people who’ve helped judge other literary awards. There are some awards where each judge is sent a certain number of the books submitted for consideration, and they are the only judge to receive their respective books—this is to make sure that the judges can get to each book, as it would be unreasonable for one person to be expected to read however many are up for consideration. But at the same time, there have been judges who weren’t assigned a certain book but happened to read it on their own and loved it, but because it wasn’t one of their assigned books, they apparently couldn’t suggest it. So it really becomes dependent on each individual reader. One would hope that a judge for a book award could distance themselves enough to consider if a book is right for the award, even if not right for them as a reader, but that isn’t always the case.

A few years ago, while talking to someone who was selected as a judge for a book award, I asked what criteria they were judging the books on. They said, “I just want it to make me feel.” They weren’t that concerned with the work on a craft level, and the more I discuss books with people, the more common I’ve realized this is. There’s actually an academic named Rita Felski who’s talked about how academia can be too sterile in its discussion of books, attempting to remove feeling from the conversation and look beyond that. Her argument is that feeling is just as significant to the work as craft, and that lay readers at times are even better at articulating this than those in academia. I know that back when I first started posting reviews on Instagram, my focus was on my personal connections to books, how they made me feel, the ways they shifted something internally. I was still in the early stages of learning how to articulate what I thought about a book outside of the way I experienced it emotionally. And I think that’s another component of this, is that most of us don’t have the language, weren’t brought up in academic circles to discuss art in more technical ways.

I want to argue that part of the reason feeling isn’t sufficient on its own is because some great books won’t resonate with every reader, and so if we consider the book on its technical merits, we’ll be less likely to pass on a book just because of our own biases as a reader. But that in itself isn’t true. The reality is, if we aren’t interrogating our own biases, becoming aware of our own limitations, and considering the ways we’ve embraced the rules of a flawed establishment when considering books, we will always overlook deserving books. I keep thinking back to 1953, when Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man won the National Book Award, and how the conversations around that book, the ways that book was placed in opposition to other books by Black writers at the time, highlights all of this. White critics praised the book for “transcending the genre of Black literature”, which not only shows that they considered whiteness and the aesthetics popularized by white writers to be their measuring stick for greatness, but also showed that they were ill-equipped to legitimately consider works by Black writers who chose to pull from less euro-centric styles.

While we definitely see more diversity in the books selected for these awards lately, it does still feel sometimes like people don’t exactly know how to engage with works by writers who aren’t white, cisgender, heterosexual—one has to ask, what measuring stick are we measuring against now? When we consider what is successful in a work of literature, are we developing an awareness of how our own ideology surrounding literature can be based on a flawed rubric? I should also clarify that I am coming at this from a more American-centric lens—as I read more literature outside of the U.S., see the ways people discuss those books, I don’t think these problems are as prevalent in some places. But I notice it a lot here.

All of this is to say, is it enough to just say that a book is good just because it made you feel something? I don’t think so. We love to think that any book worth its salt will be loved by most because it finds a way to tap into a more “universal” truth—but isn’t that a bit lofty? Isn’t that a bit flawed? Some experiences will never be universal because they’re inherent to certain aspects of identity. But I also don’t think that saying a book is well crafted is enough if we aren’t considering the basis of this.

If this all sounds like I’m struggling with this, it’s because I am. This is what I meant when I said that I am ambivalent about these awards, that I can more clearly see their limitations. It’s also what I meant when I said I am ambivalent about the ways we engage with art. It’s inherently flawed.

Going back to how this award is judged, I can’t say if each of the judges reads every book that is submitted. I would love to know this, and also if they have a checklist of some kind or something, or anything that prompts questions for them to consider, when reading for this award. I just want to know how they’re making these decisions, because it feels like such a mystery to me.

When I said that I was ambivalent about his year’s long list, here’s what I meant: I genuinely enjoyed almost every single book on this list. These authors have created exciting works that challenge narrative, that explore and play with style in new and creative ways, that showcase characters that are “unlikeable” and complicated and messy, that do things with their works that has me excited for the future of fiction. But I also found that some of the books didn’t quite hit their marks—one books prose was questionable at times, two or three had structural issues, small things that might not have been as evident to me as a reader if I weren’t trying to be so discerning in considering these books in the context of this award. Of course, I have to ask myself if my qualms are legitimate, if I’m not just guilty of all of the things I have mentioned above. I’m considering my own ideas about these books just as much as the books themselves. But I do find it disappointing that some very strong books from this year were completely overlooked in comparison to one or two weaker entries.

I’m struggling to figure out exactly what I think about all of the things I’ve mentioned today. I want to be able to say definitively what I think about art, about awards, about all of the things I’ve discussed. But I guess that’s also part of the nature of engaging in art, in the culture. There are no clear answers and it’s forever just debating with yourself and others as you try to defend your ideas and consider new ones. If anything, my discomfort over my own ambivalence is hopefully a sign of growth.

I’ve spent almost a year reading and discussing the National Book Award—I still have a ways to go in this project, and I’m sure i’ll continue to have conflicting feelings about all of this as time goes on. But hopefully it just means that I’m engaging in a meaningful way.

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Thanks for wading into these murky waters with me today—If you have any thoughts or ideas relating to all of this, please chime in. I always enjoy engaging in these discussions. Next week, for those subscribed to the paid subscription, we’re diving back into the 1960’s, where we’ll be discussing Katherine Anne Porter, John Updike, and Vladimir Nabokov. I think it’s gonna be a good one, so stay tuned! If you’ve got the general subscription, I think I’m going to be discussing another trio of Pulitzer books soon, so stay tuned for that! Again, thanks to all of you for sticking with me. You’re all the bomb (dot) com!

Until next time,

XOXO