A RESPONSE TO THE 2023 NOBEL LITERATURE PRIZE, FROM A NOTED AUTHOR?

Do I have a response or reaction to someone named Jon Fosse winning this year’s Nobel Prize? (Do I have a reaction of course I have a “reaction.” Public? Private?– known only to myself: “self.” But after all what is the “self.”)

Of course! I have a reaction very public not squeamish or disappointed to news of this person, nobody, obscurity– this man having won the most prestigious of literary prizes and after all I’ve won my share, garnered accolades, but does any woman ever properly obtain her “share” in this world where male privilege has been constant– constant!– has been overbearing, residue of the father figure, patriarch of the tribe (“tribe”), designated enforcer of tokens, benefits, awards including that most hungered-after of all awards. A prize. For which her mouth watered. For which no alternate compensation Princeton dons with hypocritical smiles is ever enough (“enough!”) compensation for the neglect of too-many years spent waiting for the just-due award– speech at ready– an award which never arrives. No ringing doorbell, no cable of congratulations, no telegram– do people any longer send telegrams? I must ask my students– “students”– those too-hungry animals with avaricious eyes waiting not for “A’s,” for grades, but for something deeper, more dangerous and violent, like cannibals; waiting for word from me to send them to the Big Time– fame! fortune!?– as if I could send anyone to the “big time” (well, there was Mr. Foer, callow and eager, pliable, but he had other connections), as I who await word by my phone in the morning, the important call– how many years has it been? “years”– more like decades, each passing year of months waiting, producing more words, more works, more volumes– volumes!– volumes upon volumes, entire forests hacked away to create, as evidence– does the Nobel panel need more evidence? As I sigh and think, onto the next one! The next novel, the next book of stories, the next volume. The next Nobel, next year. Maybe then.

Have I exceeded my limit? Oh dear. I commend Mr. Foster– Fosse?– for his win. Sincerely,

-Joyce Carol Oops