How to Judge the Booker Prize

 

Well, I’ve now had chance to absorb the entire longlist for the Booker Prize 26, and herein lies my thoughts. The Booker describes itself as looking for sustained fiction that challenges, even innovates, in style, voice and subject matter. That suggests it will focus on fairly experimental fiction which pushes boundaries, and, although I don’t think they overtly state that claim, it’s often true. 

I’ve been reading the Booker list since the 70s, and seen it lose its way a few times (see below…), but also pinpoint trends and discover amazing voices. It certainly allows people to focus their reading if they want to explore contemporary literary fiction. 

It’s my observation that the difference between the Booker and The Women’s Prize is that the latter often goes for a rollickingly well-told story, above innovation and experimentation even though, in the past, the prize has rightly gone to experimental work such as A Girl is a Half-formed Thing. 

This year, I’m heartily hoping that the Booker doesn’t forget that, ultimately, what people long for is a great story is told well. 

I’d say this year is a weak year. There’s certainly plenty of experimentation to be had on the longlist; a lot of the books omit speech marks, and one of these has no dialogue at all. Two are quite absurdist, which is fun, but often means that story is lacking. 

May We Feed the King by Rebecca Perry isn’t short on storytelling despite a very experimental approach, which includes, as far as I can glean, no mention of the protagonists names. A curator of a grand house reveals the story of a centuries-dead king who’s work she is celebrating. We’re deeply into her thought processes which are focused on work to the point of wanting to sleep in the grand house. Perry describes everything with a lyrical tone–she’s a poet and this is clearly demonstrated. 

I enjoyed her story, although it is rather thin, but it was hard to get into the medieval story. Even so, it won the Waterstones Debut Fiction Prize 2026, perhaps because of the deeper meanings which focus on the history of power, it seems to me. I don’t rate this as a strong contender, but I’ve been surprised (shocked!!!) before now. 

The End of Everything by M John Harrison. I was unrecommended this book by reading friend…unrecommended in that she described it as ‘ultimately shite’. And she’s partly right, it does move rather slowly, when we examine actual story content. Like the novel above, it seems to be Cli-fi; focusing on the scenario of what will happen when civilisation eventually collapses. Something arrives on a beach which is clearly a threat. Harrison is a major stylist in the fantasy and science fiction genres, and I like his writing, but this did, in a wierd way, drag…it may have made a better long short story. 

Black Bag by Luke Kennard is witty, entertaining, makes sense even though it’s rather absurd, focusing strongly on our obsession with internet living and influencing It actually uses a real psychological experiment conducted in 1967 at Oregon State University as its basic plotline. 

This story was also longer than it’s actually content should dictate, but Kennard is a veteran novelist, and knows the secret behind hiding their ‘soggy middle’ successfully. Sex! Lots slightly kinky sex! Worked for me. I think he fell down on his deneoument, but I didn’t care, fully enjoyed this. However, I was surprised to see it pop up on the shortlist and I don’t think it will win. 

The Disappeared by Marlon James was my next read. I loved his earlier Booker winner (7 killings), but his later books failed to capivate me. Now we’re back in Jamaica. I’m already used to his Tolstoyianly unwieldy cast list and his gloriously complex plotting, not to mention having to get my head around the Jamacan accent in all its glory (for 7 killings, playing Bob Marley as I read did the trick), but I enjoyed this thoroughly.  The book has its detractors, but these might be the same readers who are not keen on Tolstoy et al. It is the longest book on the list; the longlisted Helen of Nowhere is 460 pages shorter; a large percentage of the books are quite short. And, I'm wondering–do the judges have to be careful about awarding the prize a second time? Is there an unwritten rule? This is book I feel I sometimes skimmed through, and this is book I'd really like to read again, properly this time. 

John of John. Douglas Stuart may fall into the same trap as James…in 2020 he won the Booker with his debut novel,  Shuggie Bain. I loved that book, whic was so emotionally absorbing. John of John is mature, as if in the meantime, Stuart had decided to really become a writer (his day job is fashion designer). It’s a rollicking, slightly heartbreaking story, which pulls you in and holds you fast and gets your turning the pages quickly. Will its storytelling qualities be as much a problem for the judges as being a previous winner? I get the feeling this is the pick of ‘the guy on the tube’, and deservedly so. Real characters and a gripping story with–yes really–a proper, satisfying ending. 

The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout. Finally, my pick. Okay, if John of John wins, I’ll be delighted, but I think this one will tip the balance. Strout has been ‘the bridesmaid’ long enough. She was longlisted in 2016 for My Name Is Lucy Barton and shortlisted in 2022 for Oh William! and won the Pulitzer Prize in 2009 for the wonderful Olive Kitteridge. The reason I’d like her to win is not only because this a great book, but also I think it’s her greatest novel yet, suggesting she’s still growing as a writer. As always, there’s exquisite prose and profound insight into the way we humans live, but I do adore the way it does what it says on the tin…it’s about the things we never say. 

Which brings us onto the also-rans. Often, it's easy to decide which books will fall by the wayside, but this year, the judges did plump for some quirky literary preferences; rather obsurdist, rather sparse, wide psychic distances from the narrator, too much playing around with surrealism, satire, language, structure, length, grotesque meanings, strange symbology, wickedly confusing layers…so much playing around with our minds, just as the Booker always loves to do…it became quite impossible to see which of these novels would find there way through to the shortlist. I've read four of the seven that didn't make it, and am happy to say none of them were on my 'yes please' list. Apart perhaps from The Shadow of the Object. This is a book of two halves and I think the second half might have 'done for it' Flora visits her parents in Mexico, and gets bitten by the family dog, when she creates a shadow on the wall with her hand. In hospital, she makes a close friend, an elderly woman called Wilhelmina, who is obsessed with her collection of magic lanterns. When Wilhelmina dies, Flora takes her ashes home to Max, Wilhelmina’s son. They begin an on-off affair, and Max holds a magic lantern event at her workplace, where she polishes silver. A thinnish plot but with lots of symbolic reflections, and an enjoyable, chewy story, with a lot of meaning beneath the many shiny surfaces. While Wilhelmina believes ‘we have but a finite number’ of emotions', in Missouri Williams The Vivisectors, Agathe tells us she has almost no emotions at all. She’s happy to work for a fraudulent professor at a crumbling university, and in doing so support her position on a modern, college crime; upsetting someone without meaning to. Meanwhile, nature is on the move, taking over gardens and even the concreted city. It's hard to make sense of all this, although there does seem to be sense, deep below the nonsensical surface. Makenna Goodman’s Helen of Nowhere is equally obtuse. It is structured as a six-act play of monologues with some exchanges of dialogue. Ironic and illuminating, I did like the way it looks at self-delusion, but I felt underwhelmed by the sad, pointless characterisations. Finally, I read Switzy, by Emma Cline. This is reasonably well done; an elderly man looks back on his life, the failings and failures, while on the way to Dignitas. It has a formula that has already won the Booker, Penelope Lively’s lovely Moon Tiger had a similar ‘look back in sorrow while dying’ theme. 

This motely crew is picking the winner

I always want the great story…rather than the experimentally challenging novel…to win, and yet, of course, we must experiment, we must challenge. Anyway, on Tuesday, 9th November, at an evening party, the winning title will be announced and we will all know who’s this year’s Golden Writer. Time to make your choice; do let me know in the comment section. 

Exploring The Great American Novel

 I've just closed the back cover on The Dutch House by Ann Patchet. And as I did so, satiated by the story I'd just read, the thought came to me, unannounced, that this was a Great American Novel.  But then I thought, what do I even mean by this? What is a Great America Novel? My mind went back to perhaps 20 years, when I was gifted a lovely copy of Moby Dick, in a tiny, fat format of hardback, complete and unabridged. When I started it, I was really worried I'd get bored, but the opposite happened. I got absorbed. Surely Melville's classic story of whaling is a GAN, and yet it could not be more different to The Dutch House, or for that matter, books I know are GAN, like Huckleberry Finn and Little Women. Or books I hear being given that accolade like The World According to Garp (Irving), Pastoral (Roth), and Breathing Lessons (Tyler). 

I had to sit and finish thinking about this, the dog at my chair asking for her walk, the washing up still piled, my cuppa going cold. 

I associate with GANs with familial stories that examine the human condition by following life's struggles within a family. The writing has a mostly pragmatic style. They often following a single, larger-than-life character (apart from Overstory, which has seemingly thousands) with whom it is surprisingly easy to emphathise. Add to that compassionate, rich, storytelling, and (commonly) a small town setting, a feeling of the pioneering spirit, and a sense of revealing the 'understory', even when that is less than palitable. 

The Athenæum suggests that: A “Great American Novel” is a work of fiction that captures the essence of the American experience. These novels offer insights into the cultural, social, and historical fabric of the United States...an ever-evolving concept that reflects the diverse and dynamic nature of American society. These works offer a profound and multifaceted exploration of the American experience, capturing the nation’s triumphs, struggles, and aspirations. 

Other writers consider it a 'myth', something invented to give US writers a common bond. John William De Forest first came up with this, arguing that the ultimate American book would paint a complete picture of the national soul and society (although he concluded it had not yet been written). This dates back to the-Civil War, that 'joining together of the nation', and the desire to prove that American culture was as rich, mature, and unified as European traditions. 

Myth or not, I believe that there is a definitive American 'voice', which comes through many of these books, with lines like these...124 was spiteful. Full of a baby's venom. The women in the house knew it and so did the children. (Toni Morrison…), and...Garp's mother, Jenny Fields, was arrested in Boston in 1942 for wounding a man in a movie theater. (John Irving), and…Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents,' grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. (Louisa May Alcott ), and..."They were supposed to stay at the beach a week, but neither of them had the heart for it and they decided to come back early." (Anne Tyler), and…First there was nothing. Then there was everything. Then, in a park above a western city after dusk, the air is raining messages. A woman sits on the ground, leaning against a pine. Its bark presses hard against her back, as hard as life. Its needles scent the air and a force hums in the heart of the wood. Her ears tune down to the lowest frequencies. The tree is saying things, in words before words. (Overstory, by Richard Powers).

Or for that matter the book that started me thinking about all this…The first time our father brough Andrea to the Dutch House, Sandy, our housekeeper, came to my sister's room and told us to come downstairs. "Your father has a friend he wants you to meet, she said. (Ann Patchet)

I'll be loaning this book out, seeing it was from a Charity Shop, but make no mistake, I won't be allowing any spoilers to go with it. I might tell people, I thought I could see what the end of this book

Ann Patchet

would be from easily half-way through. In fact I was sure I know the denouément. But actually, that didn't turn out to be the end at all. And that was a shock. Several shocks, one after the other. I might also say that, to me, this is the absolute thesis of the GAN. A perfect example; a family of larger-than-life characters, with a single, identifiable narrator who has a compassionate, yet humanly flawed outlook, offering a cultural example of the society it's set in, while revealling an 'understory' that is uncomfortable.

Danny, and his big sister Maeve, stay trapped in their disruptive and fairly unloved childhoods, where they looked out for each other. They hate the Dutch House, and yet, they can't help going back to it, all the time. The story explores family trauma, sibling bonds and, of course the way our dwellings––the Dutch House in question––might actually shape a person's entire life.

https://www.businessinsider.com/great-american-novel-locations-map-hip-2015-11

How to Build a Staccato Voice in Your Writing

...There were no rooms at the inn. We drove farther until we found a hotel. It was raining heavily and we got soaked on the way to the door. Our socks stank of mildew. We ate dinner there and talked little.

...24 was spiteful. Full of a baby’s venom. The women in the house knew it and so did the children. For years each put up with the spite in his own way, but by 1873 Sethe and her daughters Denver were its only victims.

...I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun.

...Afterwards, she told me to get out

The next week we had lunch.

Later, we were married. 

Later still, she left me. 

...Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarecely better—splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another's umbrellas, in a general infection of ill-temper, and losing their foothold at street corners...

Ernest Hemmingway, Toni Morrison, Raymond Chandler, Booker shortlisted Makenna Goodman and, surprisingly perhaps, Charles Dickens. 

All of these writers are famous exponents of the sparse, punctuated narrative voice.

A punctuated narrative voice uses a variety of writing craft devices to gain that desired effect. These include very short sentences, less conjunctions, sudden stops and breaths that create an abrupt, rapid rhythm. This is often echoed in the accompanying dialogue, which can  amount to a few words per line. 

The style is sometimes called the staccato, or minimalist narrative voice. and sometimes described as Hemingwayesque. See above for a quote from him... lean, strong, silent, punchy, and highly rhythmic. These allied styles ares frequently used in thrillers, and sometimes in Sci-fi. A very sparse style is often called the telegraphic voice; it omits words other than the subject-verb-object in a sentence.

So, instead of: Even though I was exhausted after my long day in the shop, and I was hurrying to get home before John, because I knew he’d get angry if he saw the mess I’d left in the kitchen that morning. 

Shorten this dramatically, and we have; Whacked. Hard day at work. Shot home fast. Did not want John’s fist catching my eye. Take out the extra words, and you've gain an amplification in the suspense you're generating in your story. 

Some writers use this style at all times; it's their unique, voice. Others use it when it suits, the style of story, or more often, the type of charcter. If you've ever used it then you are practicing 

Parataxis. This literary term describes this seamless stringing of written words together to gain a style with a staccato rhythm. In high literature, writers use parataxis to create stream of consciousness, in which a character’s continuous train of thought is indicated by the 'paratactic unity' of multiple complex sentences, piling up on top of one another, suggesting a fast-paced, possibly scattered narrative point of view. Thriller writers use this staccato to create a 'suspense vacuum'. 

Sparse narrative often functions alongside sparse dialogue. Really short exchanges work when you want a lot of heightened emotion. Characters under stress are not going to use long speeches. When in jeopardy, you gasp, cry out, use single words, and then the dialogue develops a gritty, urgent reality. Characters who are emotionally overwhelmed often lose the ability to articulate their feelings. Short, fragmented speech realistically mirrors the numbness of shock, sorrow, or profound loneliness. Further suspension is gain with this technique because the emotional mood of a scene will shift with sparse dialogue; it forces the audience to focus on what is unsaid with unspoken subtext––it can also have the effect of suggesting confident control––the person who has the least to say holds the most power. Finally, there are those speakers who are struck almost dumb by intimate situations––love, lust, desire––who can do no more than whisper hoarse phrases through thickened throats. 

Here's Roddy Doyle, famous for his sparse dialogue:

. But that conversation will have to be very gripping and increase in tension all the way through, as Doyle does here:

–Father Damien said it.

–Which one is he?

–Father Damien and the lepers

–Oh, that’s right. He was a good man. 

–Were there ever any lepers in Ireland?

–I don’t think so.

–Why not?

–It only happens in hot places, I think.

–It’s hot here sometimes, I said.

–Not that hot. 

–Yes it is.

–Not hot enough, said my da. –It has to be very hot.

                                                                             

Shaping and Breathing. 

However, very short sentences, especially in narrative, can’t usually be kept up perpetually. Rhythm works best when it's shaped by the writer; when there is variation. You need at times to cut through the pace and slow down. This technique––variety in sentence lenghth and style––is called Hypotaxis.  Grammatically, it's an arrangement of similar but unequal constructs. In otherwords, short, long, sparse, elongated. A varied rhythm is often the most pleasing to read. I hope so, I use it here; 

My house escaped damage. The sluggish, smelly creek at the bottom of my garden moved up several gears, running swift and flush to its brim, but it didn’t reach the top of the gully. I was lucky. Most of Bridgwater had been built above the flood plain, but on the other side of the town, people were sandbagging their front doors.   

Through the Floodgate (Nina Milton)

Here is my list of how to excecute the pace of your work, so that, when you need the craft of terseness, you can up your pace, and when you need a steady narrative voice, you can lower it again. There are various ways to engender pace, including some quite small, but important adjustments:

• To slow pace, use the present participle frequently. (look for ‘ing’ endings)
• To speed it up, take these out
• To slow pace, use longer words, words with a smoother feel, longer sentences and longer paragraphs.
• To speed it up, use short, staccato words, lots of full stops and short paragraphs. 
• To slow pace, use a little of the perfect tense (he had seen her) within the simple past. The passive form, although generally unwise, will also slow pace
• To speed it up, use the present tense, if possible within the context, and avoid the perfect tense.
• To slow pace, use interior monologue, especially deep, unfiltered thought processes from the narrator.
• To speed up pace, use snappy dialogue, no long speeches.
• To slow pace, delve deep into imagery and description.
• To speed up make images clear and precise, sharp sights & sounds. Don’t over-describe, but metaphors and symbols can work as ‘shorthand description – sneak description into the action. Avoid adverbs and clichés.
  
  
  

Look at your presentation of images:

• To slow, give them a dreamy mood.
• To speed up make images clear and precise. Don’t over describe – sneak description into the action

A sparse, pacy voice changes the emotional mood of a scene, so when you speed up you’ll change the mood. Is this what you’re aiming at? Think about what emotional result you want.

• Too Slow? Scenes drag on with too much detail or lack a clear goal, causing boredom. Read it through on paper, and use a red pen to strike through parts that drag. 
• Too Fast? Important events and character moments are rushed, leaving the audience confused or emotionally detached.Slow down by getting inside the narrator’s head
• Stop and Go: The story swings wildly between ultra-fast action and painfully slow lulls, creating a jarring, exhausting experience. Don't forget that  Hypotaxis works best when the variation is shuffled within paragraph and sentences. 

Learn to spot the swings and start the scenes again, a new draft written without looking at the original copy.

I'd love to hear  from writers who are experimenting with this, and those who are having a spot of bother. Send you examples through to me!

Flash Fiction Writing: 7 Rules for Success

Flash fiction is usually defined as being under 1,000 words. As a writer who loves the long and complex novel, something that weighs a ton and takes a nice long time to read, I'm quite a stranger to 'less than 1000'. But I'm now trying to write a couple of <1000s, each month, at around 500-700 words and I'm enjoying it. I'm sharing some of these short-shorts on Substack. 

They say it all started with the 'six-word story' written by Ernest Hemingway (which we all know, don't we? For sale, baby shoes, never worn...)  Here's some more recent 6-word attemps, 

"Wrong number," said a familiar voice."

"Ghost seeks body. No experience necessary." 

"Introduced myself to myself. Amnesia hurts."

Six-words stories are clever, but I don't find them very satisfying. I prefer something that has a clear beginning, middle and end, even though it's only hundreds of words long. Every so often I offer one to be read: you can find my latest here, on Substack:

I've learnt a few lessons as I've been honing the craft. And it is a craft, and possibly an art; people continue to debate the difference between these stories and poetry. I'm not going down that wormhole today except to say that flashfiction must tell a story; a poem does not need to. 

Very short fiction depends on having complete control of point of view and language including tense, and working out how much detail to put in your story. Reading Short Circuit, the book about writing short fiction, (editied by Vanessa Gebbe), I noticed that a famous early short-shortist, Edgar Keret, had five staunch rules for the form. 

Number One: Sweat the Title 

'Make it work for a living', Keret recommends. it can anchor the story, or illuminate the theme, click with the surprise in store for the reader, explain the plot, develop character flaws or expand a metaphore you're weaving in. You could steal it  (titles are pretty immune from plagiarism rules), add hidden context, create drama, friction, emotion. The best advice is; don't use vague terms. Don't call your story about your cat, The Cat's Adventure. Call it Midnight Escapology, or something even wilder. 

Number Two: Don't use too many Characters 

A story of  less than 1,000 words can’t hold the number of characters longer pieces can. It must have the least number of characters and one point of view.

Number Three: Start in the Middle

Use your In Medias Res knowledge to drop into the story as late as you possibly can. You don't have time for exposition or scene setting. You don't have space for life stories.

Number Four: Make Sure the Ending is in the not at the End

Creating a microscopic volta can help focus a flash fiction. Volta is a literary term for a turning point which shifts the perspective. this way you can summarise the narrative in very few words, exposing the emotional core of the story. Keret believed that getting to the denouement before the end helps the reader wind the story down as it plays out.

Number Five: Make your Last Line Ring like a Bell.

Your last line isn't your ending; we had that at that volta moment (above). Keret says the last line should leave the reader wth something which will continue to sound after the story has finished...take us into a new place, where we can continue to think about the ideas in the story, puzzle over them.

The more I practise the art of flash fiction, honing it each time I start a new story, the more I realise that, five rules just isn't enough! So I'm adding these two to the mix:

Number Six: Hook your Reader with Voice. 

Character is a defining force in flash fiction, therefore, the voice of the narrator becomes an essential component in hooking the reader in from the beginning. Create a distinct voice that is saying something arresting and original.

Number Seven: Tighten to Get the Word Count Down

Flash fiction thrives on compression. There is no time to stop and smell the roses, so sneak your description in, using powerful imagery to convey emotions and themes You have to imply any world-building with no extra wordage. Flashbacks really don't work, and you can cut down on speech tags––and eliminate adverbs. Avoid exposition; SHOW everthing and TELL nothing. Remove details unless they are critical to the meaning of your story. Take out everything that doesn't move the story on––even dialogue if it holds the story up. In fact, the only thing I insist on including in my short fiction is the name of the narrator. I know writers love to keep that quiet, but readers really want to know. 

But Remember––Rules, are made to be broken! 

Who knows, a flashback may make the story sing. The entire piece could be in dialogue; or description. You might find three characters are really necessary! Nothing is impossible. Because flash fiction is as much fun to write as it is to read.