I would rather be attacked than
unnoticed. For the worst thing you can ever do to a writer is to be silent as
to his works.
Samuel Johnson
Life
of a writer amidst critics is like a candle in the wind which destiny of its
survival is very tentative. That is just it, or that is the way it is when you
are a writer trying to create space for yourself in literary realm. As a writer
I’ve been at the confluence of praise ad curse; endorsement and rejection;
optimism and pessimism, and I sometimes thought I would leave writing for those
that will write when the rood became unbearable to haul. Criticism appeared to
me for the first time like stalwart ‘brothers of the highway’ beseeching ‘nothing’
you said is in your pocket before their rifles hijack soul from your body in
exchange. Heaven cast mercy on me- a South-African critic blushed out on my poem
on All-poetry online forum, which prior to that time received myriad encomiums
from apostles of pen, and some messengers of eulogy on social platform of facebook.
I won’t be the one to have found myself in this as nearly all great writers
encountered such draconian criticism.
John Keat was advised to go back to his cotton, plasters, injection . .
. when he showed his first collection of poetry to literary critics. They told
him writing is for those learned not for people propelled by intellectual
pregnancy. The first question I asked myself after my maiden encounter with
this unknown critic is ‘what literary criticism is all about, is it a curse or
praise, burden or mercy, must or non-compulsory before the works of any writer could
be kudosed and rated best? I was left at the crossroad battling in sphere of
thought.
Ever since
the time immemorial literary criticism has been in existence and has ever been
as aged as literature itself. It involves critical evaluation, in-depth
analysis coupled with unparalleled survey of any literary genre by critics
well-versed in literary judgement. Creative writing and criticism or whatsoever
appellation we may call them, from pedigree are inseparable duo. This typifies
that a writer has nailed himself at the front incisors of literary jaguars
irrespective of whom he may so far he assumes to be writer. However, what
spreads tentacles inside my heart is the question of who these critics are- I
mean literary critics of contemporary Age, our Age? Perhaps some bookworms of
ancient libraries or bookholic wizards who the Canterbury tale of Chaucer as
long as it is, all sonnets of Shakespeare and their entangled deployment of
language, countless poetry of William Wordsworth and critical essay on
criticism of Swift dwell in their bellies? Or if possible those self-acclaimed literary
gurus online who pour on you panegyrics for long love poem written for your
imaginary maiden, Aduke, Asake. . . ?
Contemporarily, there have been different faces of
literary contests but on what medium or grounds are the works of these literary
muscle men judged and evaluated? Nobody
who is literary conscious of the reality of contemporary criticism will dispute
the fact that criticism is firstly being webbed with political mess and moral
bankruptcy. You see people getting over-zealous and fierce thereby creating
synergy and hypocritical syndicate with those in-charge who may also manipulate
things to favour the contestants who have kowtowed and grovelled for them all
for tarnished fame and already belittled prize that their works do not worth.
Secondly, some organizers of these contests find satisfaction in embarking on
internet voting; participants are enjoyed to use the avenue of downy page of
internet for noise-makers who are not literarily oriented but ordinary
messengers of praises to pass judgement
and cast vote. The third plague is that when this award is being won through
all forms of manipulation, the winner takes away his or her prize, goes back to
his or her home and leaves writing in oblivion. My questions are: are there no people who can
critique works and award prizes to those whose works worth it? Are there no
people like Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, John Dryden, T. S Eliot and others?
Is this how the fate of literary criticism will be left at the jawbone of
self-acclaimed literary connoisseurs and those who see facebook and twitter
voting as platform through which literary works can be evaluated? If the
answers to all these above questions are all the same as we perceive it then
the future of writing is at risk.
This reminds me of some contests I will always
relegate to the background if the improbable criteria and feeble procedures for
their criticism and judgment are not amended. If I forget all the memory of Etisalat Flash Fiction Prize still
breathes in the pouch of my remembrance. I can confidently say it without
sentiment or personal temperament that the prize has manifested itself as
undisputable epiphany of intellectual maggotism of the highest order which
displays itself not only as instrument of demoting the literary prowess in
young African writers but also as a resilient stance of literary saintly
sinners who do not only deluge us with their intellectual viruses but make
meaninglessness out of their narrow outlook of literary writing. Irrefutably,
those endorsed through their works cannot publicly boast that there works are
the best. Another clear instance is that
of YimuCentral
poetry prize won by one of my friends who even claims till now that money is
not yet fully paid. Ten shortlistees were selected and were made to beg people on
the street and intellectual larvas and pupa to be voting without knowing the
rudiments for such works to be appraised.
I will never forget Nego poetry contests for patent and apparent display of favouritism
and unambiguous ethnical sympathy coupled with glaring self-confessed literary
junks as their judges who couldn’t solve simple arithmetic of poetry but enjoy
their shortlisted candidates to go through rigorous video poetry performance,
upload it on Youtube, share the links on online pages and implore their
facebook friends and foes, kin and kiths, family and online buddies who are mere
mirages and illusory entities in
literary realm to cast vote and pile up eulogies on poetry with staggering
diction and poor use of words. This is how it goes and the dreams of finest
writers are risked by those who think are watering and nurturing literature to
blossom.
Conclusively, I will say this new face of literary
evaluation is very irksome. Imagine you enter for a contest and the organizers
tell you to post your works somewhere on facebook and the more comments you
have (from noise makers, messengers of eulogy, intellectual robots, and rotten
vegetables) will determine your possibility of winning the prize. It will be
very dispirited and disheartened if this feeble avenue is the platform through
which any artistic work is subjected evaluation all in the name of literary criticism.
