When an author says she had to turn down a $175,000 award, what does that say about the world of publishing? | Rhiannon Lucy Coslett

“AA colleague of mine recently told me: “All you need is a five-minute pitch on a morning TV show. Then everyone will buy your novel.” I tried to imagine myself, with my terror of photography, wearing heavy orange makeup, sitting on a sofa in a brightly lit studio while trying to talk about how the French critic Hélène Cixous had inspired me to want to write the first great ovulation novel. It seemed ridiculous to everyone involved.

However, when you’re a writer, you’re supposed to take every opportunity you can get. Such was the attitude towards the news that Helen DeWitt had turned down Wyndham-Campbell’s $175,000 (£129,000) award on the grounds of her inability to fulfill her promotional obligations, which included six to eight hours of filming. The award, given this year to eight writers in recognition of their life’s work, aims to give winners the time and space to work independently of financial concerns.

DeWitt is a critically acclaimed author whose first novel, The Last Samurai – published 26 years ago – is widely viewed as a work of innovative genius. Her latest stance has been deeply divided: some have praised her principled refusal to play the self-promotion game that exhausts so many writers, while others have called her a spoiled nightmare.

An award like this is the dream, and the controversy surrounding DeWitt has somewhat overshadowed the other eight winners. One of them is Gwendolyn Riley, the author of darkly satirical books that explore family relationships. Riley has a certain personality, but her immense talents were long overlooked and she was dropped by a previous publisher. To my delight, she rarely smiles in photos. Upon receiving the award, she looked stunned. It’s a huge amount of money that any writer can’t help but spend in his head.

Unless you’ve written one of the few titles dedicated to bestsellers upon acquisition (which comes with the right marketing budgets), times are tough out there. So some “moments” have the potential to make your career: an award, a TV appearance, Kaia Gerber reading your novel on a sun lounger, or Dua Lipa choosing it for her book club. Literary imagination exists at Vogue in both senses, although whether that translates into actual sales and career longevity is uncertain.

You only have to look at the average author’s income to see that for most people, literary writing is a precarious profession (I’m on track to die as a renter). Yes, to some extent this is our choice, but the fragility of this situation is increasing. Reading through DeWitt’s publications, a picture emerges of an immensely gifted writer, one who faced long periods of daily life, out-of-print, difficult paths to publication causing untold stress, and struggles with depression, executive dysfunction, and caring responsibilities. Many authors can sympathize.

Unable to commit to the promotional work required, DeWitt says she asked the award organizers to make changes, but they ultimately refused. According to novelist Daisy Lafarge, this revealed an “impoverished and outdated” attitude toward disability and chronic disease. “The award’s refusal to meet her halfway reveals something I found endemic in the book world,” says Lafarge, who adds that the art world is making much progress in facilitating artists’ access and assistance needs. In the post “If you are not physically able, your options are to drop out or just grit your teeth.” Both are expensive.

Another writer, who requested to remain anonymous, had a different view. “Someone was offered an opportunity that she had to turn down for various reasons. That’s a good thing. If I had been offered a six-figure sum to run a marathon, I would have had to say no. In all walks of life there are social, mental and physical conditions that make some opportunities inappropriate.” They point out that this kind of thing happens all the time — to people with disabilities, people with health problems, to caregivers and people who don’t have help with childcare. It’s just the amount of money that made people take notice.

However, this controversy does not only highlight issues of inclusivity in publishing. Also, writing no longer feels like the main job. Many writers are eccentric, some are geniuses and their gift is arguably a form of neurodivergence. Artists like this can be sensitive and difficult. They need uninterrupted time to create. They do not fit easily into the world of professional self-promotion that makes up modern publishing. As DeWitt wrote in a blog post: “We can think of many writers we admire and for whom the whole thing is inconceivable — Dickinson, Proust, Kafka, Beckett, Pessoa, Salinger, Harper Lee, Pynchon, DeLillo, Cormac McCarthy, Ferrante, off the top of my head.”

Shining a spotlight on the industry is crucial. How many readers know that awards are not as purely merit-based as they seem? Could they have secret nominations – some allowing only one or two entries per imprint, depending on track record – and come with promotional terms attached? That none of them can be said to be truly fair? Are we all, in the end, striving for scraps?

There’s a lot about publishing that makes me change it, but there’s also a glimmer of hope that the work still matters: Reilly’s win, the return of free public readings in a big way, and anonymous writer Lidan Nyi Chuen being shortlisted for the Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Prize (the organizers cast them using a silhouette rather than a photograph, and let an actor voice their interview answers).

Meanwhile, DeWitt announced yesterday that a conservative university think tank had offered her a $175,000 grant without any strings attached, a move several writers I know described as “hilarious.” Maybe DeWitt isn’t so bad at advertising after all. As for me, I’m waiting for my call from BBC Breakfast.