You are right about Nobel laureates being of two kinds. One kind produces books that continue to excite the interest of an international readership, while the other shines momentarily on receiving the prize, then fades. And you are equally right that I am fortunate enough to be of the first kind, yes, with continued interest in works previously unknown abroad. Books continue to be translated and published; and all I can say is that I am grateful that my endeavours have not ceased to satisfy.
But I think it is largely due to circumstances. The Nobel sometimes arrives as the icing on the cake. With writers already well known, well established, it has little effect on the attention paid to them worldwide. When Bernard Shaw got the Nobel prize, for example -- and the same applies to Thomas Mann and Ernest Hemingway -- he was already famous, had reached the height of his success, and so the prize couldn't have much of an effect on his achievement. With Third World writers like myself, however, the Nobel plays a different role -- that of making their work known elsewhere in the world. And so, with me, the relatively large body of work that is available continues to be excavated. I believe this, rather than any particular merit, is the secret behind me being among the first kind of laureates.
You are right about Nobel laureates being of two kinds. One kind produces books that continue to excite the interest of an international readership, while the other shines momentarily on receiving the prize, then fades. And you are equally right that I am fortunate enough to be of the first kind, yes, with continued interest in works previously unknown abroad. Books continue to be translated and published; and all I can say is that I am grateful that my endeavours have not ceased to satisfy.
