On not winning the William Hill
Written by Nicholas Clee writing in Book Brunch
Friday, 04 December 2009

If you are going to fall at the last fence at a literary award, you would do well to experience the blow at the William Hill Sports Book of the Year. There is, first, financial compensation: each shortlisted author receives £3,000 and a £1,000 free bet (as well as a beautifully bound volumes of his or her book). Second, the award has excellent PR support from Anwen Hooson at Riot Communications, and is backed in-store by Waterstone's. Third, at the awards ceremony, broadcaster and judge John Inverdale gives eloquent and enthusiastic summaries of the six competing titles.

Still, it is excruciating. Last week, when my book Eclipse was up for the Wm Hill, I did of course tell myself that I had no chance of winning. But a small, unsuppressable part of me entertained a shred of hope - and that, as John Cleese said in another context, is what kills you. As the announcement approached, my emotions were a terrible, blurred jumble of pessimism, excitement, pride, and dread. My palms were not just clammy, but wet. When Duncan Hamilton's name was announced, the relaxation of tension overrode the disappointment.
The disappointment finally evaporated when I read the Sunday Times' sports books round-up at the weekend. Eclipse got a very nice review; but the ST's sports book of the year - in a piece that went to press before the Wm Hill announcement - was Harold Larwood by Duncan Hamilton. It is clearly a very good book (which I shall read sometime), and a deserving winner. As sports people say: you've got to hold your hands up.

And there were the cheque, the PR and sales boost, and the acknowledgement of Eclipse at the ceremony. I have been to Booker dinners at which the six shortlisted novels - the reasons why we were there - were barely mentioned. At many awards, being shortlisted but missing out must feel like a kick in the teeth rather than an honour.
Read Clee's full piece at BookBrunch.