2007 Scotiabank Giller Prize Winner: Elizabeth Hay

Posted 7 November, 2007 in Scotiabank Giller Prize |

The wrong book won. Again.

Not that the jury left themselves much to choose from this year. But even given the relatively lacklustre quintet of books on this year’s shortlist, in my estimation there were at least two — A Secret Between Us and, despite its problems, Divisadero — that were demonstrably better than the eventual winner, Elizabeth Hay’s Late Nights on Air. I’d even suggest that, notwithstanding my lack of enjoyment of it, Effigy is a better book: better writing, more fully realized characters, a more successful structure.

To illustrate why Hay’s book is not the best of the five, take as an example a single paragraph from the very first page:

It was the beginning of June, the start of the long, golden summer of 1975 when northern light held that little radio station in the palm of its hand. Eleanor Dew was behind the receptionist’s desk and behind clever Eleanor was the studio. She looked up, surprised. Harry rarely darkened the station door except at night when he came in to do the late shift and got away with saying and playing whatever he liked. He paused beside her desk and with a broad wink asked about the new person on air.

This paragraph is replete with shopworn phrasing (”the long, golden summer,” “darkened the station door,” “a broad wink”), expository writing meant to stand in for character development (”clever Eleanor”), and prose rhythms that are, at best, twee (”saying and playing”). The clichéd writing and verbal counters continue throughout the novel: “Harry knew the coastline like the back of his hand” (p. 12); a woman hired to read the news in Dogrib is “a real live wire” (p. 116): “Gwen stood rooted to the spot” (p. 204); “He’d told them they were barking up the wrong tree” (p. 212).

Then there are the passages of exposition that stand in for character development, informing us or clarifying for us things that would be better left implicit:

To hear herself spoken of disparagingly — it hadn’t happened since she was a child at camp. At the age of ten she’d stormed into the tent with her objections: I heard you. I heard what you said. And all the other girls looked at her, embarrassed, but also sorry for her. And what had come after the anger? More anger, but in a different form. Anger with herself for having spoken out, and with the situation that goaded her into speaking.

There is the heavy-handed use of the changing seasons to represent shifting tones or subjects in the story: “They were heading towards the first day of August, the street lights were noticeable again, and a few leaves were turning yellow, indicating in their minimal, elegant way an end to this long, warm summer and the beginning of a darker chapter.” Or this: “By late April, the long hours of light were back. In town all the snow was gone, and all the garbage, so thinly but effectively disguised, had resurfaced, soft and soggy and in unbelievable amounts. It was the time of year when winter secrets got revealed.”

This is writing with a sledgehammer; it beats the reader over the head with things that — provided the reader is at all attentive — it should not be necessary to make explicit. Similarly, the constant foreshadowing (”There would be a later letter, too, signed by others”; “February brought a second loss, which unfolded far from town. March would have its own misfortunes”; etc.) is intrusive and annoying.

I dwell on these points because Late Nights on Air was awarded this country’s most lucrative prize for best work of English-language fiction this year, and to say that the writing in Hay’s novel is better than that in Ondaatje’s or Poliquin’s or York’s is demonstrably false. None of those three writers (four, if you include Donald Winkler, Poliquin’s translator) stumble the way Hay does. It therefore becomes necessary to ask, by what criteria did the jury determine that this book was the “best” out of the five candidates?

I’m no conspiracy theorist, and far be it from me to point out that Hay is published by McClelland & Stewart, which also publishes David Bergen, one of this year’s jurors. (If you want to win a Giller, it helps to be published by M&S; since the prize was inaugurated in 1994, the house has published the eventual winner eight times, more often than any other publishing house.) Nor would I suggest that the award has anything to do with the fact that Camilla Gibb, another of this year’s jurors, was nominated for her novel, Sweetness in the Belly, in 2005, the year that the jury consisted of Warren Cariou, Richard B. Wright, and … Elizabeth Hay.

However, while I honestly do believe that there were no backroom deals being made to determine this year’s winner, Canadian writing is, as has been pointed out ad nauseum, a small pond, and there can’t help but be the appearance of back-scratching and quid pro quo under such circumstances. (Remember back to last year, when Vincent Lam was given the prize by a jury that consisted in part of Michael Winter, who was listed in the book’s acknowledgements.)

It might behoove the prize administrators to consider a jury composed of journalists, critics, or other less interested parties rather than writers. I’d be fascinated to see what kind of a list a jury composed of, say, Sandra Martin, Ben McNally, and Geoffrey Taylor would come up with.

Beyond the appearance of conflict-of-interest, however, watching the Giller broadcast last night solidified in my mind the impression that this is an award given by the literary establishment to the literary establishment. Scanning the room at the Four Seasons Hotel in Toronto, I would have guessed that the average age was around fifty-five. Remove Vincent Lam and the average age spikes to sixty.* I was vividly reminded of Howard Davies’ comments in his preamble to awarding Anne Enright this year’s Man-Booker Prize: “I think a little more distance, and critical scepticism, is required by our reviewers, together with greater readiness to notice new names.” The same might be said of awards juries.

*Okay, math was never my strong suit, but you get my point.

8 comments to “2007 Scotiabank Giller Prize Winner: Elizabeth Hay”

Kerry, November 7th, 2007 at 12:13 pm:

• Okay, excepting the distinct possibility that everyone is stupid, I would love to hear your opinion as to why so many people did enjoy this book, why it received the reviews it did, if it is so terribly bad. That I adored it was certainly the result of no conspiracy. How were we all so duped? And as tone is so difficult to convey online, may I say that I’m not being antagonistic, but I am genuinely curious as to what you think. I’ll post an emoticon to prove it– :) See?

B., November 7th, 2007 at 12:42 pm:

• I chose to watch “Gossip Girl” on tely instead. When I woke up this morning and heard the result, I was not a bit surprised.

  Nice to read your impressions on the crowd at the Four Seasons. Not only did you pretty much nail down the average age, but I’d be interested to know how many book people were there; the ballroom is usually stacked with as many TV and film personalities as possible. And we can’t forget the pride in Canada’s diversity. Last year, when Lam made his acceptance speech and included a few words on multiculturalism, a quick glance around the room showed very little. Just sayin’.

  But do juries really select the “best” book? Or does it come down to consensus on a second or third choice? What would be really interesting would be to have members of the publishing community vote, like AMPAS does for the Oscars.

Steven W. Beattie, November 7th, 2007 at 1:38 pm:

• Kerry: No, I don’t think that everyone is stupid, and of course I don’t begrudge people for liking Hay’s book. I realize that you enjoyed it immensely. From your comments both here and on your own site, I take it that you enjoyed the book for reasons that are completely removed from my quarrels with it.

  In large part, I think that has to do with nothing more or less than different literary sensibilities. I don’t tend to go for fiction that is all about luscious descriptions of landscape or the history of the North. I gravitate more to psychological novels, satires, and novels with a tone that’s a bit more arch or aggressive. Given my predilections, it’s little wonder that I didn’t find much in the Giller shortlist to attract me; that just means that I don’t share the same literary sensibilities as the jurors. (It’s also an indication that it might be advisable to try to come up with a jury that has more than one literary sensibility among the three participants …)

  Having said that, I do think that Hay was the wrong choice, for the reasons I’ve elucidated. Perhaps other readers aren’t as concerned about prose on a line-by-line basis, but I find the stylistic infelicities in the novel impossible to ignore. One or two might be excusable — even Homer nods, as the saying goes — but the sheer preponderance of them in LNOA can’t, in my view, pass unmentioned.

  Again, my problem is that this was deemed the best book of English-language fiction published in Canada this year. Best how? Best written? Clearly not. (In my comments above I didn’t even mention Hay’s consistent use of verbs other than “said” in dialogue attribution — “‘Drink,’ he coaxed”; ‘Come on,’ protested Teresa” — or her use of adverbs to modify her dialogue attribution — “‘She can’t take what you have,’ Harry said quietly”; “‘He eats so fast,’ Gwen said thoughtfully.”) Best story? Again, I’d argue no. Best characterizations? The use of exposition instead of drama to develop character is something any writing school teacher would warn her students away from, yet Hay does it all the time in this book.

  I’m not denying that it’s possible — or legitimate — to authentically enjoy the book, although most of the reviews I read were mixed at best. I just don’t think, given the five shortlisted books, that it was the strongest.

  As to whether everyone was “duped,” I don’t think this is the case either, but I do think there is a culture of timidity when it comes to book reviewing in Canada. As I said, the Canadian literary scene is a small one, and people are generally loath to say negative things about someone who may be standing next to them at a party, or presiding over a granting committee, or (ahem) adjudicating a literary prize in their future. So I think often reviewers say what nice things they can and let the rest pass unsaid. The problem with this approach, of course, is that it stifles authentic literary discussion and tends to promote a culture of mediocrity. But that’s a topic for another day.

  B: I’m not sure we want to go the route of the Oscars, either. Remember that it was the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences that, in its wisdom, awarded Best Picture of the year to Ordinary People over Raging Bull, and to Forrest Gump over Pulp Fiction. Something about the wisdom of crowds rings a bell …

Alex, November 7th, 2007 at 2:19 pm:

• Steve, LNOA is a good bad book. I was asked a couple of times to recommend a book from the shortlist and both times I said LNOA without hesitation. It was the only book that was at all enjoyable. Hay’s prose is boilerplate, but the story and characters have charm. That’s not a lot, but it was enough given the competition. (I didn’t think there was anything funny about the Polinquin.)

  The best English-language fiction published this year? Of course not. But the best on this list.

  I’m surprised to see you criticizing the Canadian literary/reviewing scene, correctly in my opinion, after suggesting a jury with Sandra Martin on it. Good lord. Maybe they could get Aretha van Herk as well so they could ** **** ** Michael Ondaatje together.

Steven W. Beattie, November 7th, 2007 at 3:13 pm:

• Interesting, Alex. If I were asked for a recommendation from among the five shortlisted titles, I’d have suggested Poliquin and, with reservations, Ondaatje.

  But you’re right: the best English-language fiction published this year wasn’t on the list.

Claire Cameron, November 7th, 2007 at 10:03 pm:

• Alissa York should have won for her tattoo alone. She is ‘young’, or she is the way I define it anyway (ahem).

sashi, November 8th, 2007 at 12:23 pm:

• I hear you loud and clear Stevie.
  Canadian literary critics are a timid bunch.
  LNOA definately wasn’t the best book in the bunch and would have little resonnance with those unfamiliar with the North.
  The critics may say what they want but when it coes to the book-buying public,we are selfish.We like(definately in Canada)to stay on familiar turf.
  I read an excellent book in 2004 called IN THE PLACE OF LAST THINGS by Michael Helm and it surprised me that it wasn’t up for any major award that year.
  I am a voracious reader and tried twice to get into LNOA after it was nominated but just could not get into it.
  Hope we will have more eclectic bunch next year.
  Sashi.

jpz, November 8th, 2007 at 4:53 pm:

• Couldn’t agree more with pretty much everything you say, SWB. And kudos for using one of my favourite words: twee.

  In a way, it’s not fair to single out Hay just because she copped the trophy. The problem is sytemic–the small pond dilemma that you allude to. In the absence of a mass market in Canuckistan, there is no easy solution to the further sleepy, timid granolafication of our, um, literary scene. The reviewers are timid, the publishers are lemmingular, and many of the writers play along with the oh-so-dull status quo. I would agree that the scotiatastic giller prize could possibly sidestep bonnie burnard syndrome next time if the trustees ran with your idea to–shudder!–introduce a couple of jurors who have different literary sensibilities from the prevailing one of the herbal tea-swilling rural flouncers and their urban acolytes sprinkled among the pub houses. Is it time for a five-person jury?

Your comment:

Name (required)

Mail (requried)

Website

Security code (Required)*
To prove that you're not a bot, enter this code