‘Lost’ is probably too harsh a word. Stuart Kelly is a literary supplicant; he has gladly given his existence over to the book gods. He has read a book a day since he was 15, written two of his own, reviewed professionally his entire adult life, and cherry-picked the best young British novelists for Granta magazine.
Two weeks before we meet to sample some of Edinburgh’s strongest caffeinated drinks, came his professional highlight. At a ceremony in London’s Guildhall, he, along with three other judges, picked the winner of the Man Booker Prize, one of the world’s most important literary awards.
Their decision was unanimous: The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton. It was the 28-year-old Kiwi’s second novel, and, at 832 pages long, was the longest ever to win.
For Kelly that was then. This is now – a quiet midmorning café just off the Royal Mile. The ability to tip a cultural axis has given way to choosing to abstain from cake. “It’s funny,” he says, “You are absolutely at the centre of the literary world. There’s something melancholy about moving on from that.”
He is not idle, of course. Far from it. He is programming Aye Write!, Glasgow’s book festival; has been appointed to the e-council to advise on the International Man Booker, which rewards a career, not a singular novel; and is reviewing constantly. JJ Abrams’ puzzle-box of a debut novel, The Ship of Theseus, sits on the table (“It’s astonishing,” he says. “Next year’s judges are in for a treat when they get this.”).
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Two weeks before we meet to sample some of Edinburgh’s strongest caffeinated drinks, came his professional highlight. At a ceremony in London’s Guildhall, he, along with three other judges, picked the winner of the Man Booker Prize, one of the world’s most important literary awards.
Their decision was unanimous: The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton. It was the 28-year-old Kiwi’s second novel, and, at 832 pages long, was the longest ever to win.
For Kelly that was then. This is now – a quiet midmorning café just off the Royal Mile. The ability to tip a cultural axis has given way to choosing to abstain from cake. “It’s funny,” he says, “You are absolutely at the centre of the literary world. There’s something melancholy about moving on from that.”
He is not idle, of course. Far from it. He is programming Aye Write!, Glasgow’s book festival; has been appointed to the e-council to advise on the International Man Booker, which rewards a career, not a singular novel; and is reviewing constantly. JJ Abrams’ puzzle-box of a debut novel, The Ship of Theseus, sits on the table (“It’s astonishing,” he says. “Next year’s judges are in for a treat when they get this.”).
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