Singing Evie Wyld’s praises for Miles Franklin win

CONGRATULATIONS to English writer Evie Wyld on winning this year’s Miles Franklin Literary Award for her second novel, All the Birds, Singing.

Miles Franklin winner Evie Wyld is an English writer — and there’s nothing wrong with that.

CONGRATULATIONS to English writer Evie Wyld on winning this year’s Miles Franklin Literary Award for her second novel, All the Birds, Singing.

Wyld, 34, was born in London to an Australian mother and English father and spent periods of her childhood on her maternal grandparent’s sugarcane farm in NSW. She has lived in London most of her life and runs an independent bookstore, Review, in Peckham. When Granta last year named her one of Britain’s best young writers, she said that as a child she pretended to be Australian to sound more interesting, but “however I try to spin it, I’m really from southeast London’’. This is why I call her an English writer — and there’s nothing wrong with that. The Miles Franklin is open to non-Australians, as long as their novels reflect “Australian life in any of its phases”. All the Birds, Singing does.

Wyld was relieved to hear this when I talked to her on the big day: “Oh, good, so they won’t throw eggs at me.” Not at all. What they will do is buy your book, as the Miles Franklin is the one local literary award guaranteed to boost sales. All the Birds, Singing, published 12 months ago, had sold only 1200 copies ahead of last week’s success. I’m sure Wyld will welcome any increase on that, and not just for financial reasons. What writers want most is to be read.

WYLD was a bit of a boilover winner of the Miles Franklin, with the pundits (including this one) rating Tim Winton (Eyrie), Alex Wright (The Swan Book) and Richard Flanagan (The Narrow Road to the Deep North). Though perhaps the surprise was not as great in Britain, where the book has won awards. It’s Winton’s first miss, by the way, as his previous strike rate was 100 per cent: four shortlistings for four wins with Shallows (1984), Cloudstreet (1992), Dirt Music (2002) and Breath (2009).

I know shortlists were not published in 1984, but one has to assume Shallows was on the judges’ unpublished one. And I do feel for Flanagan, shortlisted five times without success (including for the beautiful Death of a River Guide in 1995, the year of Helen Demidenko and The Hand That Signed the Paper). He poured his heart into Narrow Road, a deeply personal book that took 12 years to write — and in my view an Australian classic. He must be wondering what he has to do to win.

WHAT we need now, of course, is an Aussie triumph at this year’s Man Booker Prize, especially following Eleanor Catton’s win for the Kiwis last year. The Booker is literary rocket fuel when it comes to sales. When DBC Pierre won for Vernon God Little in 2003, for example, the book had sold 5151 copies before the award, according to an excellent database compiled by The Guardian. Total sales since the award are about 360,000. Multiply that by $30 or so and carve off 10 per cent or so, and you see why the prize cheque is just the start of the party.

Even with the Booker open to Americans for the first time, I fancy the chances of a couple of Australians when the longlist is announced on July 23. Two-time winner JM Coetzee for The Childhood of Jesus, ignored by Australian prize panels to date, would be a good start. Twice-shortlisted Winton must be a chance, with Eyrie’s exploration of the seedy side of the mining boom having international appeal. And I will not fall off my chair if another neglected book surfaces on the Booker radar screen: Christos Tsiolkas’s Barracuda.

Quote of the week: “Most Australian writers seem to see questions about their home life, parents, upbringing or schooling as savage violations of their privacy and nothing to do with their work. Handily, I have some advice for you: How about you grow the f..k up?’’

Journalist and novelist Mark Dapin deconstructs the author interview in
Australian Author magazine.