Between prizes and the pen profession

While many writers say prizes and awards are not the essence of writing and do not define the best of literary works, CHUKS OLUIGBO reports that these reward mechanisms, nevertheless, have remained an incentive to the writing profession

When asked, in a recent CNN interview, about her literary awards, Chimamanda Adichie, multiple award-winning Nigerian-born writer, answered that prizes, in general, are good but are never the final arbiters of good writing. “It’s lovely to win,” she told CNN. “But that isn’t why I write. If I hadn’t won anything I would still be somewhere today probably unemployed but writing. What matters the most for a writer, I think, is to be read.”

Many writers have also echoed this same opinion in diverse ways. Yet, every day, literary prizes are springing up in the country, and these prizes are recording innumerable entries. The ANA (Association of Nigerian Authors) literary prize has been on for many years now and has seen uncountable entries and produced many winners along the way. So has the Nigeria Prize for Literature sponsored by Nigeria Liquefied Natural Gas (NLNG) Limited, which 10th edition held this year. Etisalat, a telecoms company operating in Nigeria, introduced its short story prize earlier this year. Its online flash fiction contest, which came later, recorded over 400 entries.

But the biggest prize so far has remained the NLNG Prize. The prize, which was instituted in 2004, aims at bringing Nigerian authors to public attention and celebrating excellence in literary craftsmanship in the nation, according to its organisers. At inception in 2004, the prize was worth $20,000. This was increased to $30,000 in 2006, $50,000 in 2008, and $100,000 in 2011. It thus became the largest African literary prize and one of the richest literary prizes in the world.

The prize, which rotates among the four genres of fiction, poetry, drama and children’s literature, was awarded to Gabriel Okara’s The Dreamer: His Vision and Ezenwa Ohaeto’s Chants of a Minstrel in 2005. They were followed by Ahmed Yerima who won the prize in 2006 with his drama entry Hard Ground. Mabel Segun’s collection of short plays Reader’s Theatre and Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo’s My Cousin Sammy emerged joint winners of the prestigious prize in 2007. The 2008 prize went to Kaine Agary for her novel Yellow, Yellow. In 2010, Esiaba Irobi, who died of cancer earlier that year, won the prize posthumously with his play Cemetery Road.

In 2011, Mai Nasara (real name Adeleke Adeyemi) won the prize with his book The Missing Clock, beating fellow finalists Ayodele Olofintuade and Chinyere Obi-Obasi to the top prize. Chika Unigwe’s On Black Sisters’ Street won the 2012 prize. On October 9, 2013, Tade Ipadeola, an Ibadan, Oyo State-based lawyer and poet, was announced as winner of the 2013 prize. Ipadeola won the $100,000 prize with his collection of poetry The Sahara Testaments. There were no winners in 2004 and 2009.

Everyone may agree that some progress has been made, through these literary prizes, in giving a boost to the writing profession. Yet, not everyone will agree that award-winning works are always the best entries in a category. Chika Unigwe, winner of the 2012 NLNG Prize, says because literary prizes and awards are judged by readers with particular tastes – and tastes are subjective because the judges are human – “not everyone is going to agree that a particular book is the best book to win any award”.

But that does not in any way diminish the place of a literary prize in a writer’s career. Because the writing industry is a very tough one, in Nigeria as well as elsewhere, Unigwe tells me, coming up to be recognised becomes a difficult task. “Do you know how many books are published every year? In the USA alone, a million books are published every year. In Nigeria, there are many independent publishers churning out books every day,” she says.

“To be able to stand out,” she adds, “one needs a podium. Oftentimes, that podium is a well-recognised prize. It guarantees that your name is remembered. It doesn’t mean that your book is the best, but it means that people are more likely to have heard of it, and therefore to want to read it.”

That seems to be what the NLNG Prize has done for her. “I am not a confident writer,” she says. “I never think that anything I’ve written is good enough. Winning a competition like this gives me the confidence I need to continue pursuing this dream. Personally, I need that kind of validation to be able to continue writing. I am grateful I got it. The NLNG award is very well publicised within Nigeria, and winning it has brought me more to the consciousness of Nigerians.”

So, what impact does she think literary prizes, especially NLNG Prize, have had on Nigerian literature? “I think the competition is making Nigerian writers less complacent,” she replies. “Our writers know that to stand a chance, they have to send in their best. I have been reading works by as yet unknown Nigerian writers, and I assure you, Nigeria has got amazing talent.”

For Uche Umez, who has won several literary laurels (He was the runner-up for the 2007 Nigeria LNG Prize for Literature, where he was shortlisted alongside Mabel Segun and Akachi Ezeigbo, and his Runaway Hero also made the shortlist for the 2011 NLNG Prize.), issues bordering on literary awards will remain contentious as long as writers keep entering their works for prizes.

Umez, who once told Henry Onyema in an interview that he doesn’t think prizes define the strength of Nigerian literature, maintains that he thinks that in matters of arts and aesthetics, one’s view is largely defined by his subjectivity, experience and knowledge, and for anyone judging a literary prize, his definition of what stands for good literature depends on the criteria of evaluation with which he is obligated to work.

He adds, however: “If any writer enters his work in a competition, I think he should be gracious enough to accept whatever decisions, however controversial, the prize committee comes up with. As a famous literary critic one said, Shakespeare never won any prize, but every learned person has heard his name more than thrice.”

Umez agrees that many writers remain relatively unknown until propped up by one award or another. “This is often the case in countries with relatively low reading culture and institutional support for humanities,” he adds.

On what the literary prizes he has won have done for him as a writer, he tells me: “Using the cliché, literary prizes tend to make you feel much validated as a writer, because writing is not only a solitary practice but mostly a depressingly tough practice to pull off. So, I think the few prizes I’d clinched along the writing way had quite spurred me to shake off the pull of despair, which happens to be inhibiting much of creative life in Nigeria.”

Like Unigwe, Umez thinks literary competitions have impacted on literary output from Nigeria, one way or another. “Writing draws on motivation; it could be intrinsic or extrinsic. So one can say quite confidently literary competitions have stimulated literary output in Nigeria of late,” he says. “With the LNG prizes, you now get to know that many writers are blossoming out there. The recent Etisalat prize for flash fiction drew over 400 entries…who would think that no less than four hundred Nigerians would be participating in a literary competition?”

As for what the future holds, Umez says he is ambivalent, “mostly because we are not getting our socio-economic and political bearing right. Anyhow, optimism doesn’t cost a kobo”.