In a recent experiment, a number of leading Australian publishers of fiction received, then rejected, a pseudonymous submission of a chapter from 'The Eye of the Storm', the novel that garnered Patrick White the Nobel Prize for Literature, a first and only for Australia in that context. The results of this experiment highlight significant shifts in publishing attitudes and paradigms since White's life came to a close in 1990.
From some of its prospective publishers, the merchandise on offer seems to have received the cursory once-over a grocer might give stock before deciding to purchase, and was summarily rejected, with or without some trite and patronising advice on how to make the material more publishable.
In some of the press coverage of this literary non-event, the entire institution of the literary classic was given short shrift (although Banjo Paterson, presumably, is still up there), and White and all his works were consigned to the realms of anachronism.
It would seem that we live in a place and time that does not esteem literature so much as the next big thing. Sales and sensation are the order of the day. Those who deal in creative products are subject to, and also help to generate, the same market forces as those who trade in any other commodities. In such a climate, it is hardly surprising that the attitude implied by some of the responses to White's manuscript submission, after its author's identity had been revealed, was that if it didn't measure up to current publishing criteria, it didn't measure up, in any context. If he were embarking on a literary career today, he would no doubt find it even tougher than he did yesterday. We may be reading more, but are we reading better?
The question of the literary classic - what it is; why it is; its authenticity and legitimacy - is a thorny one. While literary classics may tend to be works very much of their place and time, they are not bounded by these parameters. Jane Austen and Thomas Hardy spring to mind, both enjoying a revival through numerous recent film adaptations.
There are always going to be contentious issues surrounding the notion of 'the canon'. Debate and reflexivity; re-vision and its -ism; rejection, redefinition, and other forms of intellectual activity are all, to my mind, signs of a dynamic cultural process. However, the apparent dismissiveness, pettiness and small-mindedness of some of the comments by White's detractors would scarcely qualify as healthy cultural debate.
The Greeks of classical antiquity excelled at many things, including the arts of war, but what they are most widely remembered and respected for now is their other arts, among them the dramatic works that have survived; the poetry (in stone as well as in language), including the epic narratives in verse attributed to Homer. These works occupy a significant place in world consciousness while continuing to generate further creative activity.
Great cultures flourish on their creativity, and the converse also holds true. Many of the publishers' editors who rejected White's manuscript would possibly do the same if the work submitted pseudonymously were by any of the other Nobel laureates in literature. Understandably, though regrettably, those publishers' talent scouts are applying different criteria from those which help to define a culture in the broader sense and in the longer term, as opposed to the market-driven, shelf-life-oriented publishing culture of a particular era.
If a literature is to be greater than the sum of its individual parts, surely its architects and custodians need to be capable of vision, generosity of spirit and awareness in acknowledging those who have helped to nourish that literature, both by example and through their literary legacy.
While iconoclasm may have its temptations, cultures whose roots go deeper honour the classics of their literary tradition. Moments of awareness in the life of an individual imagination and the life of a community can leave their trace in the literary consciousness, passing from writer to reader, from mind to mind, transforming perceptions and in turn being transformed by them; providing food for reflection, provoking debate, questioning all kinds of assumptions, becoming a dynamic element in the creation of a social and cultural entity/ identity while giving pleasure to generations of readers. The turnaround time in today's book trade tends to be less accommodating of such expansive approaches. Interestingly, however, members of some book clubs seem as keen to discuss literary classics as newly-published titles.
If current industry practices had prevailed for the bibliophiles of yesteryear, the French would have had little time to get properly acquainted with Flaubert, much less Proust; Russians would have been hard put to finish 'War and Peace' before it was whisked off the shelves; Hans Christian Andersen's stories would not have been around long enough for him to become a household name to the Danes; James Joyce would possibly have received a much sharper rap over the knuckles than the wayward though oblivious Patrick White.
While new work injects vital new energy and adrenalin into the literary bloodstream and mainstream, it is nevertheless unfortunate if the tastes of the readership are moulded in the image of marketing mythmakers and arbiters of publishing trends to the point where White and his ilk come to be seen as no more than items on a backlist, and hence of no further interest. When balance, depth of field and a sense of perspective are missing from the big picture, the effect tends to be superficial, two-dimensional, and not very challenging.
Following the announcement (on November 3, 2006) that, contrary to his explicit instructions, many of Patrick White's papers have survived, it is interesting to speculate how many of those who decried White's lack of style and credibility would jump at the chance to publish his literary remains.