Kate Mosse
The FLIP spoke to Kate Mosse about her experience of setting up the Women's Prize For Fiction, how it has changed over 25 years and the importance of putting a value on your work, even if you love doing it. There is so much good advice in this interview – we hope it brightens your day.
Kate was an editor/publishing director at Hutchinson & Radius (now part of Penguin Random House) before her first book was published in 1993. She remarks: ‘I didn't start my own writing career for a long time, in a way because I was focusing on other people's novels and nonfiction.’ Now, Kate's books have sold over eight million copies worldwide and been translated into thirty-eight languages.
As well as being a hugely successful author, Kate is a passionate advocate for women in culture, sitting on the Executive Committee of the Women of the World festival, alongside her role as a co-founder and Founder Director/spokesperson of The Women’s Prize, which this year celebrates its twenty-fifth year. The prize was set up in response to an all-male Booker shortlist announced in 1991; a list which, Kate says, was ‘acceptable in one way, in so far as judges have the right to choose the books they love that they consider best fit the judging criteria, but what worried us all was that nobody noticed there were no women. Can you imagine what the reaction would have been like if it had been six women? There would have been an immediate assumption that it was political, and that men were being deliberately discriminated against. Often when you flip, you immediately see the reality of a situation.’
'There were two main camps when we launched the prize: this is discrimination against men and if women were any good, they'd be on the real lists.'
What was your experience of launching The Women’s Prize twenty-five years ago?
Getting the money took a while, though not as long as it might have done - helped by an anonymous donor who put up the prize money in perpetuity and the statue, the Bessie, presented to each year's winner. I stood up on the stage of the Institute of Contemporary Arts in 1995 to announce that there would be a major new annual prize honouring and celebrating writing by women, with a significant financial award, and sponsored by the telecommunications company, Orange. I did genuinely believe that every single person who loved books would throw their hat in the air like a Brueghel painting, but that press conference was a taste of things to come. When the time came for questions — and I was very unskilled in PR back then — a tweedy arm went up at the back of the room and the journalist, who I later found out was from a tabloid, asked me: are you a lesbian?
That was the very first press question asked of the prize; it was a very aggressive first few months and a real trial by fire. There were two main camps: one was 'this is discrimination against men', to which you just keep repeating the stats, and the other was ‘if women were any good, they'd be on the real lists’. It was a tough time and, in my opinion, one of the reasons that it was so confrontational in the early days was the amount of money that we were offering as a prize. It was at that stage the biggest amount of money of any UK based literary prize. I am absolutely sure that if we'd been offering £1000, or tuppence ha'penny and a warm glass of liebfraumilch, nobody would have paid any attention at all.
'We don't all have to agree but we can agree to respect one another's point of view.'
We took the criticisms seriously, of course. It's important to always question what you're doing and keep recommitting yourself to the project. I did understand the objections of some older feminists and writers who felt that they had spent all of their lives fighting to be allowed in the room, only to have a younger generation of women coming and saying, we're going to take you out of the room again. Though I didn't agree that's what we were doing, I had lot of sympathy for that view. In all of those cases, we would engage in a dialogue, and with one very notable exception every single one of those women has subsequently come to feel differently. Several have even been judges. That's what comes of women listening to each other. We don't all have to agree but we can agree to respect one another's point of view, and sometimes you change your mind, which shows strength, not weakness.
The #ReadingWomen campaign celebrates all previous winners of the prize. Photo © The Women's Prize for Fiction.
'I think a lot of women hold themselves back because they are afraid that their failure will be judged more harshly than that of their male counterparts.'
That must have been very difficult, having put so much energy and time into the launch. Did you experience any doubts?
I didn’t, no, I just believed it was the right thing to do and therefore it was worth the trying. I'm not put off by the thought of failing. Of course, I'd much prefer to succeed but I'm not scared to fail. I think that a lot of women in particular hold themselves back because they want to be perfect and are afraid of being judged, believing that their failure will be judged more harshly than that of their male counterparts. They're not wrong, but the only way of getting through that is to just embrace the possibility of failing, and do it anyway.
A wonderful moment was when — at the third Awards Ceremony and having been criticised in the press for three years — some of the most vociferous critics of the Prize tried to gate-crash the party. It gave me great pleasure to go and allow them in. Sometimes, the high moral ground is a great place to be!
'You can love doing something and also put an appropriate value on it.'
Looking back, is there any advice you would give to your younger self?
I'm really glad I didn't know how hard it would be actually, because that was the joy of it, to have the idea and just jump. There's a wonderful Julia Margaret Cameron phrase: leap and the net will appear. I'm a great believer in that. There is of course no doubt that if I'd known more, a lot of things would have been much quicker! I didn't know how to raise money and then I learned. I didn't know that we would have an organisational structure that would really become creaky quite quickly because we didn't have any full time members of staff – all of these sorts of things.
We didn't set it up as a business, if you like, but in a way I think it was our energy and our naivety that got it off the ground. One piece of advice I'd give myself looking back is not to shy away from talking about the money: what hasn't changed enough is women devaluing their own worth and being encouraged to see the arts and the business as opposites, rather than two sides of the same coin. I can see looking back that I was a big culprit of that, caught up in thinking 'the maths and the money stuff is over there, and the arty stuff, which is the interesting stuff, is over here and, of course, you don't need to be paid for any of this because you love it!' That is the firmest warning I'd give to my younger self, that actually you can love doing something and also put an appropriate value on it.
'We want the Women’s Prize to be about honouring and celebrating exceptional, accessible, original, brilliant, spine-tingling writing by women.'
In the twenty-five years since the prize was set up has the judging process changed?
Now, as then, we want the Women’s Prize to be about honouring and celebrating exceptional, accessible, original, brilliant, spine-tingling writing by women. It's beyond genre; we don't want any snobbery. As a writer myself, I'd say there are two types of book: those that achieve what they set out to do and those that don't. That applies to domestic fiction, thrillers, science fiction, and to what we call literary fiction. Pretty much every year for the past twenty-five years I have stood in the room at the beginning of the process and said to the judges: your job is to choose a longlist, a shortlist of six and one sole winner – the prize can't be withheld or divided. Your responsibility is to choose a novel that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up on end; your responsibility is to choose books that embody excellence, originality and accessibility. You are not rewarding an author, or deciding that a writer 'needs' it more than another writer, but simply judging the text by its own lights. 'Excellence, accessibility, originality' are the same three words now as they were back in 1996. The only thing that we've kind of introduced is asking ‘is this a book that speaks to now, and will it endure?’ It's not about being topical, because obviously, the books on this year's list are radically different and there's quite a lot of historical fiction. It's more about whether they matter I suppose, and whether they are - as I often put it - the classics of tomorrow put into the hands of the readers of today.
The 2020 shortlist: books that embody excellence, originality and accessibility. Photo © The Women's Prize for Fiction.
'It goes back to the importance of honouring all women's voices, not only those who already have easier access to publishing opportunities.'
What excites you about the future of The Women’s Prize?
Although of course we are proudly celebrating 25 years of the WPFF in 2020, what matters is the future. Last year we became a charitable trust, which will enable us to formalise and do even more of our educational, research, diversity and engagement work and involve an even broader range of readers and potential writers. For 2020, we have a new campaign called 'Discoveries' — in partnership with Curtis Brown and NatWest — which will be a massive project to try and mentor, support and engage with women who perhaps haven't previously thought of themselves as potential writers. The principle goes back to the importance of honouring all women's voices and a far more diverse range of voices — class, ethnicity, geography, educational opportunity, age — not only those who already have easier access to publishing opportunities.
I’m excited for a new generation of reader to discover previous Women’s Prize winners through our #ReadingWomen campaign, which celebrates the previous twenty-four winners of the prize. I think that multigenerational draw of good books is what has given The Women’s Prize its enduring appeal. This is the point to look to the next twenty-five years, when the next generation are going to take The Women’s Prize and run with it, and teach us older feminists new things. The prize will evolve, and it should, so that it's always a breath of fresh air and it's always just a little bit ahead of the curve.
'If you can’t finish that novel, put it down. Don’t feel guilty about these things, it is enough to live.'
What would you say to somebody who is struggling at the moment?
However inspiring the banana bread baking and yoga and fitness craze is all over social media, I think the really important thing is to be kind to ourselves. I'm sure we all are in awe of the incredible health care professionals and key workers, putting their lives on the line every day. Many of us are appalled by the incompetence of the government and the fact that the UK has the highest death toll in Europe. We might be lucky enough to be able to work from home, or have job security when others do not, and it's important to be aware of our own good fortune compared to that in other sectors. But, everyone has been knocked-off course in one way or another. This is an exceptional moment in history. You don't have to acquire new skills or 'make the time count'. Rather, take each day as it comes and take pleasure in the small things: the fact that the sun is shining. If you can’t finish that novel, put it down. Don’t feel guilty about these things, it is enough to live. My creative brain has certainly vanished for the time being and the only reading I seem to be able to manage is revisiting the old crime classics such as Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh!
'Never put the phone down without recommending another woman, because that’s the way we change things.'
What is the best piece of advice another woman has given you?
Baroness Helena Kennedy was on my original advisory board, and she said ‘if you can’t do something, never put the phone down without recommending another woman, because that’s the way we change things’. It's a brilliant piece of advice because that's how we get a wider and more diverse range of voices involved in everything. As the prize became more and more successful, and I was juggling it with beginning my life as an author, I simply couldn’t do it all.
The Women’s Prize is not my main job - I’m a novelist and playwright, I’m also a carer with responsibility for my wonderful 90 year old mother-in-law who has lived with us since 1998. There’s not enough time to say yes to everything so I always try to recommend another woman, particularly someone different from me and more often than not a younger person.
We’ll leave you with the wise words of Kate’s dad, a 'very old-fashioned English gent' who - when Kate was explaining why they were setting up the Prize - said: ‘I see. So it's actually not about leaving people out. It's about simply getting a bigger table and more chairs.'
Meet the judges of the 2020 prize. Photo © The Women's Prize for Fiction.
