In 2003 Sophie Dahl was appointed as one of the judges of the Orange literary prize. Many people doubted the legitimacy of her position, to the point whereby she felt the need to defend herself: 'I don't think there is some sort of specific criterion that qualifies someone to be a judge, I don't need to justify why I was asked. I've always talked about loving books and liking to read. It's lovely now because I can discuss them'. Her rebuttal sounds deeply lyrical and also very simplistic, for reducing the judging of a literary prize to a love of books and reading is on a par with professionally likening the person who hems trousers at the dry cleaner's with the artistic director at Christian Dior.
On one side we have the populist approach, which a few years later allowed Lily Allen to be chosen as an Orange judge, and on the other we have the academic approach, equally repulsive in its inability to see past any fewer than five degrees, twenty-five publications in the field and many years worth of sucking up to one's elders.
When you're a writer, you will find that fighting such conflicting preconceptions is part of your daily quota of bile. I must admit that even I have often felt the need to latch onto my qualifications in order to silence the naysayers who narrow their eyes as they silently wonder whether I've made my degrees, my work and my experiences up. This is because unless you are an extremely high profile author (by which I mean an author as famous to the masses as a comic book character, say Stephen King or John Grisham) non-authors will always regard you as a sad wannabe who really ought to get a proper job. And of course if you are editing or proofing for anyone other than Penguin or equivalent... well, God help you in acquiring even a passing scrap of professional kudos.
My unwillingness to discuss in detail the books I've edited for example is regarded as a cop-out of someone who probably hasn't edited a thing while in fact I choose not to talk about them. As you don't know who I work with or how often, I can freely refer to 'some royal crap I've edited and proofread', the sort of stuff I would never read in my spare time or at any other time, for all that matters. Being able to be this authentic comes at a price: while I protect the innocent and my status of free agent, I am occasionally treated with suspicion, as if one can only really call herself an editor if she is on someone's payroll and is forthcoming about all of her works. But, wait a second, why are there noms de plume? Why do we pay taxes?*
It would not be this hard if every man were an island; unfortunately, no matter how well-developed our sense of identity, we always depend on one another for self-validation throughout life. Literary professionals who work by themselves are often considered sub-standard which, if you think about it, is an extremely odd state of affairs. You will agree that for me to be able to land an editing job I need to work double-extra-hard, as I do not have the backing of an impressive publisher, but only a string of references. Even my PhD does not seem to satisfy anyone, as if my knowledge of critical theory and its application impinged on the corrections I am doing while simultaneously annihilating eight years worth of research.
Equally odd however is the current proliferation of self-styled internet experts who offer supposed guidance right here and now. While it is true that sometimes education is not the springboard of great things in the marketplace and that one does not need a degree to be an expert (many graduates know very little, and very superficially, even of their own subjects), we are currently swimming against a tide of slap-dash gurus who set up websites, take somebody's e-course and, lo and behold, vomit their own version three weeks down the line. I find this depressing beyond belief as the voices of those who have undertaken years of in-depth work are at danger of being drown out in this constant cacophony of crap.
Am I worried that my sense of identity is lost at sea? No, I am never worried about me, but I am concerned that we are moving toward a collective sense of identity that is permeated with populism, superficiality and ignorance while the more traditional learning curve is begrudgingly followed because inescapable and not because enriching. Of course the real twist in the tail is that when you take your education without the validation of the corporate world, you end up a hybrid who cannot possibly have anything of value to say because only those with 'proper jobs' matter (writing doesn't qualify as a proper job, naturellement). And there you have it, a brand new pigeonhole for the literary professional who forever chases the validation of a publisher. I guess that, in this instance as in many others, a middle way would be extremely preferable for all concerned.
*And let us not forget that anonymity is what afforded Miss Snark the freedom to create the crapometer and to tear her readers and their queries to strips-and-pieces.
Comments