Art and parity

Following the recent awarding of the prize for best novel of the year, the controversy surrounding the underrepresentation of women in the shortlist of ten nominated novels has resurfaced. Although the winner was a woman, Antònia Carré-Pons, she made sure to point out in her acceptance speech that there were only two novels written by women on the list of ten finalists (which included a novel by the author of this piece). Did it include me, or did it include my novel? Those who seem to have a certain notion of parity are the very juries that compile these lists. If women publish four out of every ten books, at least this proportion should be reflected in the awards and distinctions, unless we are being told that they do a worse job—which we perhaps cannot deduce if they are ultimately the ones honored…

But that night—the new Grand Night of Catalan Letters—twelve prizes were awarded. Only three women received awards. Many prizes required unpublished works, and the others were awarded based on nominations, with the aforementioned proportion. If fewer women submit their work, they will receive fewer prizes, as is obvious. But why do fewer women submit their work? Why do they write less? Why do they have less time? Or less need for recognition? Is something unusual happening?

Often, even adding more women to juries doesn't address the problem—as has been done in recent years—which may have darker, more deeply rooted causes. Female writers dominate popular fiction and sales, but in the realm of novels that tend to distinguish the more 'literary' juries, they perhaps face—unfortunately—a greater challenge. These kinds of works may be a farce and a display of self-indulgent virtuosity, but they demand time and focus for their creation, which women often can't afford due to everything they have to do in 'real' life, in a country where almost no one (except those who write popular fiction…) can dedicate themselves solely to it. It's—I imagine—like in chess: there isn't a single woman among the top one hundred players in the world right now. Does that mean women are less intelligent? No.

It occurs to me that the literary novel is a field of action as ridiculously demanding and mad as chess, and that only foolish men are capable of pursuing it, while women, more sensible and balanced, prefer to burn their brains with healthy, moral, or ultimately useful pursuits. As if the madness of art were only for men who, by exploiting women's work, have managed to emancipate themselves to dedicate themselves to their obsessions.

Things never seem to be clear, because no one believes anymore that there's an aesthetic realm separate from the gender injustices that shape the world. Or that there's a literary aesthetic that can be evaluated solely by considering artistic forms, mastery of language, and narrative structure. But since no one believes in that either, and everything is about branding, politics, message, and discourse, in the end the award becomes as insignificant, or even more so, than the work itself, the author, the country, and the mother who gave birth to us all.