The Emirates Foundation has announced a new literary prize. Will this, the latest in a string of incentives, asks Rania Khallaf, send ripples through the stagnant pond? In collaboration with the Booker Prize, the Emirates Foundation has launched a kind of Arab equivalent with an estimated value of US$60,000. With this step undertaken last week, an important mover hopes not only to reward excellence, but also widen the readership base of Arabic literature both at home and beyond; the prize provides for translation into a series of languages, and guaranteed publication in Europe and the United States. According to the Organisation representative in charge, Omar Ghobash, the award is a step on the way to international recognition of the significance and diversity of the Arabic tongue, and... ahem... the role literature plays in Arab societies. In effect what the prize aims to do, then, is spawn an internationally recognised generation of Arab literary celebrities. Still, new voices and a wider readership base are stressed. What is puzzling is whether "new writing" refers to young, emerging voices or the latest work of older, relatively established writers (their achievement notwithstanding, very few of these are celebrated on a national let alone international scale). Jonathan Taylor, Chairman of the Booker Prize Foundation, seems to be unaware of existing efforts at translation; or perhaps he is assuming that they are insufficient, which they are. But having followed literary progress for years, it is hard not to feel perplexed before the number of prizes recently emerging from the Emirates: the biannual Sultan Uwaiss Prize; the annual Sheikh Zayed Prize; the brand-new Prince of Poets Prize, an initiative of the Abu Dhabi Authority on Culture and Heritage announced last week... They are all "major" and very financially rewarding, but what will be their effect on the literary scene? This raises a different set of questions, among which perhaps the most significant relates to the criteria according to which decisions will be made. Judging by the Nobel Prize for literature, only figures who have challenged the religious or national identity -- Naguib Mahfouz writing Sons of Gebelawi or Orhan Pamuk raging against Ataturk, the Armenian and Kurdish massacres -- are seen as up to par. Judging by the Emirates' own conservative inclinations, only the "safest", usually also the dullest work will be worth celebrating. The Egyptian member of the new prize's board of trustees, critic Marie-Therese Abdel-Messih believes the originality of this prize relates to its international dimension. Others, she insists, are Arab-oriented; including British judges among the members of the board, and looking at the texts from an international perspective, marks the uniqueness of the present initiative. Compare Arabic writing to writing from Eastern Europe, Indian or even Latin writing, she says, and you will immediately realise it is very inadequately represented in the West. There are 16 members of the board, she further explains, coming from all over the world; they will in turn nominate the five-member jury. A new chairman will be elected every year. There should be precious little chance of favouritism or agism. Arab publishers will be encouraged to submit three books each: among the judges gender and age will be fairly represented, with everyone receiving a fair chance in the final decision. Still, prize culture is puzzling, if only from a financial standpoint. A writer of Ibrahim Aslan's stature, for example, is penniless enough for the Ministry of Culture to cover the costs of his treatment for heart disease; and the ministry's budget cannot even accommodate that. A prize from the Emirates is preferential in essence, in the way it favours one over the vast majority in financial terms. It is also doubtful what prizes can actually do for the book market, or how a greater presence in the West might actually expand the readership base back home. Perhaps such money should be spent on developing writing programmes, or patronizing the work of the hundreds of Arab writers forced to undertake other jobs in order to make a living.
