It seems literature has swept grandly through the ages, illuminating, educating, saving lives with flair and panache only to stumble over digitization and fall into desperate commercialism in the 21st century.But, what the hell, we’re constantly being assailed by yelling, flashing pop-up promotions anyway, so why not embrace commercialised literature as well? Publishers and authors are following Hollywood’s example and producing sequels and prologues (prequel is not a word) like Joseph Heller’s “CLOSING TIME” and John David California’s “60 YEARS LATER: COMING THROUGH THE RYE”. They’re making book trailers with music, action sequences and special effects that make you want to see a movie, not read a book. There’s even a writers’ wreality show called WRITERS’ ROOM where actual writers chat about how they wrote famous TV series.
So why should literature not go the whole hog? Why not make movies about editors and publishing houses as well as writers? The process of getting a book from discovery to print can surely make a good movie. Editors are interesting people who do all sorts of things besides read manuscripts.
There are plenty of movies about writers even though the less the writer writes in them, the more successful the films:
Michael Chabon’s WONDER BOYS
Stephen King’s MISERY
Nabokov’s LOLITA
Woody Allen’s MIDNIGHT IN PARIS
Michael Tolkin’s THE PLAYER
Joel and Ethan Coen’s BARTON FINK
Michael Cunningham's THE HOURS
Publishers try hard to promote young, good-looking writers to stardom by having them do lots of TV interviews, update blogs, run Twitter accounts and pose for stunning photos but is that enough?
Why not have a heavily promoted awards show (The WRITIES, the LITTIES, the AUTHIES?) where nominated writer stars could swan down a red carpet in extravagant tweed and corduroy outfits, with sparkly scarves and toothy interviewers could ask: “What on earth are you wearing?” and “Is that Windsor and Newton ink on your fingers?” and “That bishop’s mitre goes so well with your white sequined tux, Dan.”
Inside the theater there’d be witty presenters, a live orchestra and lavish dance numbers based on scenes from best-sellers. The prizes could be a gold book, a silver quill, a bronze computer keyboard, something that could be brandished for the TV cameras in a dignified, writerly way. Prizes would, of course, presented by Adam Johnson, Annie Proulx, Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, Toni Morrison and Gabriel García Márquez. The speeches would be fabulous - I’d watch it, wouldn't you?
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