perhaps there should be no literary awards

During my mother-in-law's last visit, I took her to a bookstore. She was drawn by the latest Richard Russo novel, "Bridge of Sighs", and I stopped her. "Don't waste your money. In fact, you can have my copy if you want, but I wouldn't recommend it." I urged her to get "Fieldwork" by Mischa Berlinski instead, one of the best books I've ever read, an unbelievably engaging and well-crafted first novel. You see, Mischa Berlinski has not yet been spoiled by literary acclaim. Richard Russo, I fear, has been forever damned by winning the Pulitzer Prize for "Empire Falls."

Russo used to be one of my favorite authors of all time. I have lent out my copy of "Straight Man" so many times and reread it so often that it's barely holding together (plus there are still some spray sparkles on some of the pages because I took it to the Burning Man festival). It's a brilliant academic satire, right up there with Kingsley Amis's "Lucky Jim". Indeed, a professor of art I loaned it to ended up buying several copies to give to his colleagues, but when he gave them out, he made sure to tell them, "Don't worry, I don't see you as "Orshee" (a highly annoying young professor who insists upon constantly correcting his colleagues with a lofty "or she" whenever they say "he"). Russo's "Nobody's Fool" is an ubelievably rich and amazing work, with a heavy-drinking, aging manual laborer for a protagonist. It's remarkable how gradually and subtly Russo changes the reader's perceptions of Sully, the loserish protagonist, and his nemesis, a wealthy real estate developer, as the book progresses.

He used to write with such humor and flair, but now Richard Russo is determined to Write A Big Important Book, which evidently means being dreary and focusing on depressing subjects and really, really obsessing about how adolescent traumas can never be overcome. Oy vey.

Tragically the same thing has happened to my beloved, beloved Jonathan Coe. Coe, a British author, wrote one of the most moving and beautiful books ever penned, "The House of Sleep." It's also in places almost unbearably funny. Coe's first big success came with "The Winshaw Legacy", which combined humor with seriousness perfectly. Indeed one of my current literary loves, Scarlett Thomas of "The End of Mr. Y", credits that book with inspiring her to become both a vegetarian and a successful novelist who tries to write about big issues.

It was almost unbelievable that anyone could write so beautifully as Jonathan Coe in his prime. His characters were varied and real (I will never forget the medical student with a fetish for sticking his fingers in the eyes of his narcoleptic girlfriend), and his craft was unparalleled. "The House of Sleep" shifts between decades seamlessly, and an article written by one character ends up libeling the Pope and Maggie Thatcher's husband, among others, due to a footnote labeling error. There's no one like Jonathan Coe... including the Jonathan Coe who is currently turning out depressing downers like "The Closed Circle" and "The Rain Before It Falls."

Like Richard Russo, Jonathan Coe has won awards and is now writing Serious Fiction which evidently means losing all of his sparkling wit altogether. Sad, depressed characters enduring one blow after another, that's what we get with these two authors. Bleh. I wish someone would remind them that Shakespeare used to insert a bit of humor here and there, even in "MacBeth" and "Hamlet", and we don't think any the less of him for it.

Shortly after I had warned my mother-in-law off the latest Russo, I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about "importantitis." The author was addressing music, not literature, but it was just as I'd observed with poor Richard Russo. The writer used Leonard Bernstein as his prime example: after Bernstein won a particular award, he was never able to compose anything of any value again. His pre-award work was innovative and delightful, but what came after was stilted and trying too hard for greatness to achieve it.

Just the other day I read that Doris Lessing has been unable to write since winning the Nobel Prize for literature. Ms. Lessing warns authors to devote as much time as they can to writing while they still have the gift, since their abilities could vanish suddenly and unpredictably.

I really, really miss Richard Russo and Jonathan Coe. Lately the best books I've been reading have been first novels, like "Fieldwork" and also "The Lost City" by Henry Shukman. I can only hope that Mischa Berlinski and Henry Shukman don't win any major prizes any time soon.