From the Washington Post (”Australian Author Wins Lindgren Award,” by Malin Rising):

STOCKHOLM, March 12 — Australian author Sonya Hartnett is the winner of the $818,000 Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award for Literature, the largest children’s book award in the world.

Hartnett, 39, published her first novel, “Trouble All the Way,” at the age of 15 and since then has written 18 novels for children, young people and adults.

The jury praised her “linguistic virtuosity and brilliant narrative technique” and said her works are “a source of strength.”

According to the jury’s citation, “Sonya Hartnett is one of the major forces for renewal in modern young adult fiction. With psychological depth and a concealed yet palpable anger, she depicts the circumstances of young people without avoiding the darker sides of life.”

Recent books by Hartnett include The Silver Donkey (2006), the Printz Honor Book Surrender (2006), and Stripes of the Sidestep Wolf (2005).

Kate Christensen is the winner of the 2008 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction, for her novel The Great Man (Doubleday). From the Washington Post (”Behind Every Great Man . . . ” by Bob Thompson):

“I’m really shocked,” she said in a telephone interview. To her, an award like the PEN/Faulkner “always seemed unattainable.” Among other reasons, in the 28 years it has existed, only four other women have won.

“It’s me and John Updike and Philip Roth. I was like, do women actually win this thing?” Christensen joked.

From Donna Seaman’s Booklist review:

Christensen’s arch and gratifying novel (think Margaret Drabble) pairs the ridiculous with the sublime, and reminds us that nothing human is simply black or white. 

The runners-up:

Annie Dillard, The Maytrees (HarperCollins)

David Leavitt, The Indian Clerk (Bloomsbury)

T. M. McNally, The Gateway: Stories (Southern Methodist)

Ron Rash, Chemistry and Other Stories (Picador)

The National Book Critics Circle Awards have been announced.

Criticism

The Rest is Noise, by Alex Ross (Farrar)

Poetry

Elegy, by Mary Jo Bang (Graywolf)

Biography

Stanley: the Impossible Life of Africa’s Greatest Explorer, by Tim Jeal (Yale)

General Nonfiction

Medical Apartheid, by Harriet Washington (Doubleday)

Autobiography

Brother, I’m Dying, by Edwidge Danticat (Knopf)

Fiction

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz (Riverhead)

Ivan Sandrof Lifetime Achievement Award: Emilie Buchwald
Nona Balakian Citation for Excellence in Reviewing: Sam Anderson

Nominees for the Los Angeles Times Book Prizes have been announced. I don’t have time to list or link them all, so I’ll just do the fiction:

Fiction

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Díaz (Riverhead)

Be Near Me, by Andrew O’Hagan (Harcourt)

Last Night at the Lobster, by Stewart O’Nan (Viking)

Out Stealing Horses, by Per Petterson (Graywolf)

The Shadow Catcher, by Marianne Wiggins (Simon & Schuster)

Booklist reviewers liked these books, too.

Also worth noting is the inclusion of Ishmael Beah’s A Long Way Gone–not surprising, because it’s showing up on a lot of lists, but the category is interesting: Current Interest, not Biography. Clever people there at the Times.

Jim Shepard has won the 2008 Story Prize for his 2007 collection, Like You’d Understand, Anyway. Runners up were Tessa Hadley (Sunstroke and Other Stories) and Vincent Lam (Bloodletting & Miraculous Cures).

Details and video on Galleycat.

…has been announced. Visit the Bookseller.com to vote for your favorite.

In the Guardian, Sarah Crown has words from the delightfully named Horace Bent on the prize’s raison d’etre (”Shortlist announced for the year’s oddest book titles“):

“I confess, I have been anxious that as publishing becomes ever more corporate, the trade’s quirky charms are being squeezed out,” he said. “But happily my fears have been proved unfounded: oddity lives on.” He also paid homage to those titles that just failed to make the shortlist, with honourable mentions going to Drawing and Painting the Undead, Stafford Pageant: The Exciting Innovative Years 1901-1952, and Tiles of the Unexpected: A Study of Six Miles of Geometric Tile Patterns on the London Underground. “All sound like they are positively thrilling reads,” said Bent. “I do hope that the authors will try again next year.”

Jerome Weeks (who you may know as book/daddy) on the plucking of the Quills–and on awards in general:

More than any critic or well-meaning organization, publishers have helped inflate the profile of book awards, although there’s relatively little evidence they influence sales much (beyond the Pulitzer). And I’m certain the vast majority of readers couldn’t distinguish among the American Book Award, the National Book Award, the National Book Critics Circle Award and the American Kennel Club. I once jokingly asked a leading book editor that if a Pulitzer could actually increase sales by, say, 10,000 to 50,000 copies, had anyone ever thought of bribing a judge?

He laughed derisively. If I’m going to bribe anyone, he said, I’d bribe Oprah’s producer.

OK, he’s recycling a post, but it’s a good one. Follow the link to Jason Cowley’s equally old, equally worth reading piece in the Guardian (”And the winner is?“):

For ours is truly the age of awards. Prizes are becoming the ultimate measure of cultural success and value. One prize inevitably spawns another, in imitation or reaction, as the perceived male dominance of the Booker spawned the Orange Prize for women’s fiction. There are now so many, in so many different fields, that it can be difficult to find a professional artist, writer or journalist who has not been shortlisted for a prize.

The proliferation of prizes is perhaps greatest in the movie industry, where there are now twice as many cinema prizes (about 9,000) as there are feature films produced each year. The troubled pop star Michael Jackson has won more than 240 awards. The architect Frank Gehry has won 130. The novelist John Updike has won 39. Where will it end? Can it end?

The Quills are no more, at least for now. Why? Nobody’s sayin’ nothin’. From Publishers Weekly (”Quill Awards Program Suspended“):

“The Quill Awards have truly helped us advance the cause of literacy for the hardest to reach children in our country, helping to give them the skills and resources they need for a hopeful and successful future,” said Kyle Zimmer, First Book President. “First Book is tremendously grateful to the Quills Literacy Foundation; their legacy will live on through their generous contribution as we continue to provide beautiful, new books to the children who need them the most.”

Oh, wait, somebody’s sayin’ somethin’ (”Co-founder suspends support of Quills book awards,” Canadian Press):

The Quills were marked by black-tie ceremonies in Manhattan, with Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert and Donald Trump among the featured hosts and presenters. Nominated authors, in categories from romance fiction to poetry, included Stephen King, Al Gore and J.K. Rowling.

But few readers voted and sales did not noticeably increase for winning books. The ceremonies, televised on NBC stations, were widely criticized as too long and poorly planned.

“I’m not surprised but it’s too bad that this happened” said Jane Friedman, chief executive officer of HarperCollins and a Quills executive council member.

I’m sure going to miss all that populist glitz and Hollywood-style sensibility.

(Click here to purchase tickets to the 2007 Quill Awards on October 22…wait, someone update the website!)

Last Friday, Galleycat had a post (”Edgars vs. Nibbies“) about ugly literary awards…I don’t have anything to add other than that I was glad to see I wasn’t alone in disliking the Edgar statuette. (Which obviously doesn’t disparage the award itself–who wouldn’t love to win one?)

And I agree completely: the Hugo is boss.

I was trying to find out what the Bad Sex in Fiction Prize might look like and found only this image…no idea if it’s authentic or not. But it sure is appropriate.

Occasioned by the recent announcement of Lucette Lagnado’s The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit as the winner of the 2008 Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature, Robert Cohen asks, “Do Jewish novelists write Jewish novels?” (theblogbooks, Guardian Online):

Upon reading of the lavish new Sami Rohr prize, given to the year’s best work of Jewish fiction or non-fiction, this quote was the second thing that came to mind. The first thing was the $100,000 that went with it, and the need to start writing a new Jewish novel of my own, post-haste.

But in what sense would it be Jewish? This is a perennial but weirdly slippery question among hyphenated writers, so answer-averse it’s almost rhetorical, almost boring. What makes a novel Jewish? The short answer, of course, is that the maker does. Say you are the real, chosen thing, historically and genetically certifiable. Say you have the nose, the one-generation-old name, the ironic, self-deprecating temperament, the face in which can plainly be seen the entire map of Poland. (A Jew, says Sartre, is someone others take as a Jew.) According to this argument, whatever this person - let’s call him, oh, RC - does, is going to be essentially Jewish, in the same way that Mandelstam’s house is going to always have that “little bit of musk.”

Loved this paragraph:

The Jewish writers who came after were raised inside. Most of us weren’t shamed by our immigrant parents or chased in fear of our lives down the mean streets. We were suburban kids, bred with a tenacious but sentimental and also highly confused tribalism, a sense of the Chosen as a kind of embattled, under-funded, small-market baseball team, one whose fortunes, for all the media attention we generated, were forever suspended precipitously over an abyss. Only the financial and spiritual loyalty of the community would keep the franchise afloat.