What is a prize like the Nobel in Literature for? In creating the honor, first awarded 115 years ago, Alfred Nobel stated it should be awarded to “the person who shall have produced in the field of literature the most outstanding work in an ideal direction.” And, officially speaking, Bob Dylan wonbecause he “created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition,” which is inarguable. But is that tradition literature? There is no Nobel Prize for music, nor one for the arts in general. If there was, Dylan would certainly deserve to win it, and chances are he would have a long time ago.
“Is Bob Dylan great?” is not a parallel question to “Does he deserve the Nobel Prize in Literature?” As an editor at O-entertainment, I am well aware of the value and power of music, yet it was still somewhat shocking—even disappointing—to see that Dylan had won this year’s prize. His work, certainly, is monumental. His words changed songwriting—culture, even. And he has been awarded for that repeatedly in appropriate forums—with Grammys, an Oscar, the Presidential Medal of Freedom. But he is a musician, and his relationship with words is as a lyricist, someone whose prose exists inexorably with music. To read his lyrics flatly, without the sound delivering them, is to experience his art reduced.
Consider one of Dylan’s most powerful songs, “Hurricane,” about the false imprisonment of Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, an anthem whose words are delivered with a rhythmic urgency that mirrored the situation his writing described. “We wanna pin this triple murder on him!” is not the greatest sentence on its own, but rendered through the character embodied by Dylan’s voice, the line becomes fierce. Reading him is fine, but considering Dylan’s words without his music is like watching a cooking show and declaring chocolate cake superb without ever having taken a bite. Sure looks good, but is that all that makes it delicious?
Along with all the holy prestige, recipients of the Nobel Prize in Literature are granted a near-million-dollar windfall. Not having an intimate understanding of Dylan’s finances—though knowing he performed at a concert with a talent budgetreportedly in the tens of millions last weekend—it seems like a safe bet to say he doesn’t need the money.
But even ignoring the legitimate labor involved in its creation—if Toni Morrison, America’s last winner of the lit Nobel all the way back in 1993, wrote Song of Solomon in 20 minutes, well, good for her—literature is a less glamorous cousin of music. Both may provide portals to new worlds, but presuming they do so similarly because both use words shortchanges the specific merits of either form. In short, it’s weird they gave one of the world’s biggest literary prizes to a singer-songwriter. That’s at best. At worst, it’s an enormous missed opportunity.
Most Nobel Prize winners in Literature are, at minimum, 60 years old. They may have been creating work that is going untranslated, unheralded for decades. A recent recipient like Alice Munro, who works in the short story form, has ended up having her work now fully canonized since winning three years ago. Ideally the honor serves to highlight past work—of writers whose purpose is entirely dedicated to putting words on a page, mind you—and foster more of it, since that spotlight has finally been turned on. Recognizing writers who have achieved enormous feats—people like Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o or Colm Tóibín, not household names because of the fact they are writers—would have been much more exciting to see. Celebrate someone whose work the world may not know, so that we may read it and learn its secrets. We already know Dylan is a genius. Congratulations, though.
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