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I have to confess to not having read any of them; I'm having a manly man reading year and enjoying the pleasures of David Peace and Philip Hensher. I'm not sure I could tell a woman's writing from a man's in a blind practical criticism taste test, but when I know it's a male or female author, I think I'm expecting something different from each one.
In an interesting bout of literary sycnronicity, The Man Booker International Prize also released its long list today. Unlike the standard Booker this prize is awarded for continual success in the field of fiction, rather than one novel in particular. Unexpectedly the Booker heavyweight that is Peter Carey features, but, more oddly, James Kelman gets a nomination. Kelman unexpectedly won the prize in 1994 with How Late it Was, How Late; Julia Neuberger allegedly stormed off the panel when the book was chosen as the winner. Her brief but pithy assesment was: "Frankly, it's crap."
I've actually read this book and I enjoyed it for its experiemntation in form (stream of consciousness) and particularly for its use of Scots in a literary context. I didn't expect anyone else to like it, which begs the question why was he nominated? This year's Costa winner Sebastian Barry's the Secret Scripture was announced with what could only be described as embarassment, chair of the panel Matthew Parris admitted no one liked the ending and described it as' flawed'. Rather odd, for a winner. Perhaps I should pen a deeply flawed, confused novel with an unsatisfactory coinclusion and wait for the shiny medals to roll in. If they don't have chocolate centres, I'll send them back.
Thinks: I always associate Booker with cash and carry, can't seem to shake it.
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