Literature's Main Event

By Karen Templer

The book world is a largely eventless place, isn't it? Think about it: It takes J.T. Leroy-style shenanigans to get the book world all abuzz. For a book to make mainstream, headline news, it has to have some celebrity scandal attached. (Think O.J. Simpson or Mrs. Seinfeld.) The only thing that gets lived in anticipation of, in any broad sense, is midnight release parties for boy-wizard books. That is, unless you count the five minutes, every few months, when Oprah announces her latest pick. And you must count that — it's what amounts to a literary event in today's culture. In the US, we marvel at the notion (if we're even aware of it) that, in the UK, bookies make odds on literary awards. Can you imagine anyone betting real cash money on the National Book Award outcome?

To be certain, there are "events." There are occasions on which certain people put on well-pressed clothes and sit in auditoriums or around dinner tables as literary award results are announced, the lucky few making their way onstage to accept one. Someone tried to televise one of these affairs, making it viewable — and votable — by the public. "The Oscars of books," they liked to say. The public yawned. But even if we had the equivalent of the Oscars for books, awards shows leave out the actual event. Imagine if two sports teams played a game and then, a night or two later, people filed into stadium seats to be told who won. What fun is that? The fun is in watching the game. And in the case of literary awards, the real game is the part where the judges gather in a room (literally or figuratively) and hash out who to give the prize to — arguing their opinions, betraying their biases, and eventually coming to an inevitable compromise as to the selection.

Fortunately for us, the genuises at The Morning News figured this out a few years ago. Borrowing from sports (and specifically from March Madness — not just a major event but a season unto itself in the sports world) Rosencrans Baldwin and Kevin Guilfoile, and possibly some others unnamed on the site, created the Tournament of Books in 2005. Here's how they've most recently described the impetus:

A few years ago some of us were up late and we were talking about ... how much we enjoy literary awards in spite of the fact they are also silly and arbitrary. The idea that we should accept the word of any small group of people — people in most cases whose names we don't even know — about a topic so subjective as the best literature of the year is pretty ridiculous, and forcing authors to compete against each other is just stupid on its face. We were also drinking quite a lot, which I mention because by the next morning we had the rough outlines of something called The Tournament of Books, in which we would seed the year's most celebrated works of fiction in a March Madness-type bracket and pit those novels against each other in a "Battle Royale of Literary Excellence." In honor of our favorite character in contemporary literature, David Sedaris's brother, aka "The Rooster," we decided to present the winning author with a live chicken.

... The Tournament of Books, we vowed, would be completely transparent. The names of the judges would be known to all, and the judges would admit to their own personal biases as well as their reasoning for every decision. The winner of this award wouldn't be any less arbitrary or any more legitimate than the winner of any other award, but the crowning of our arbitrary and illegitimate Best Book of the Year — the Champion Book of the Year — would be lots more fun.

Apart from the live chicken, which they may or may not be still working on, that's exactly what they did. Like the NCAA's, each tournament begins with 16 challengers paired up in head-to-head competition, with the 8 winners advancing to the next round, and so on, until a winner is declared from the final two. For each pairing a judge is selected. The judge reads both books, picks which one to advance to the next round, candidly writes up his or her reasoning, and discloses any associations or affilitions with the authors under consideration. There's even color commentary: Guilfoile and (Readerville Forum denizen) John Warner weigh in daily with their equally candid thoughts on the judges' calls. Unlike March Madness, there's also a "Zombie Round" — a pairing formed of two books that missed the cut earlier in the contest but are given a second chance by way of a readers' poll. The whole thing plays out over the course of weeks, and while I've never had the luxury of following along religiously, I think it's fair to say there's never been a dull moment.

Now in it's fourth year (and currently in Round Two), the Tournament is nothing short of fascinating. It's not just the upsets and scandals, either, though there are those. Since everyone is so candid about their preferences, allegiances and contacts, and because Guilfoile and Warner are so simultaneously sharp and entertaining with their remarks, the entire event has become a strange meta commentary on books — from the way they are published to the ways they are promoted, reviewed, blurbed, and, yes, considered for awards. The outcome is never the point, especially given that the contestants are chosen for having already reached a certain level of critical acclaim. The point is in the proceedings: week after week of daily insights and biases and pure, raw praise (or disdain) all spelled out right here on the web. And all for nothing other than the joy of having an actual, full-throttle literary event to look forward to each spring.

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—Karen Templer is the founder and editor of Readerville. She's still reading Bridge of Sighs.