A novel centred on food has become the focal point of a fresh debate over the boundaries of literary merit after being longlisted for the Booker Prize. The decision has prompted a sharp response from British literary critics who argue that the award should remain a bastion of serious fiction rather than embracing works they consider to be genre or lifestyle pieces.
The book, which interweaves culinary themes with a narrative of familial estrangement, was praised by the judging panel for its “sensuous detail” and “emotional resonance”. But detractors contend that its emphasis on gastronomy undermines the literary depth expected of the Booker, an institution that has historically rewarded works tackling weighty social and political subjects.
Writing in the Daily Telegraph, critic John Harker described the longlisting as “a symptom of the prize’s drift towards populism”, warning that it risked “diluting the very standards that have made the Booker a global benchmark for literary excellence”. He argued that while food writing can be artful, it belongs to a separate category of non-fiction or memoir, not the novel form.
The controversy reflects a broader tension within the British literary establishment between those who see the prize as a gatekeeper of high culture and those who advocate for a more inclusive definition of serious fiction. The Booker has long been a site of such disputes, from the inclusion of genre fiction to the recognition of works in translation.
Supporters of the novel have pushed back, noting that food has been a potent vehicle for storytelling in classics from Marcel Proust to Laura Esquivel. “To dismiss a novel because it treats food seriously is to misunderstand how the best fiction works,” said critic Elspeth Nathan in the Guardian. “It reduces the complexity of the novel to its subject matter rather than its execution.”
The debate has played out across broadsheets and literary journals, with opinion divided along generational lines. Younger commentators tend to view the longlisting as a welcome departure from stuffy conventions, while older voices frequently invoke the spectre of dumbing down.
At the heart of the dispute is a question about the purpose of literary prizes in an era of fragmented readership. Should the Booker defend a canon defined by formal innovation and thematic gravity, or should it reflect the diverse ways in which fiction can engage with contemporary life?
Neither side shows signs of backing down. The novel remains on the longlist, and the judges have declined to comment further, stating only that their criteria for excellence are applied uniformly.
For now, the controversy has achieved what few Booker longlist announcements manage: it has thrust a relatively unknown novel into the national conversation. Whether it will go on to win or be remembered as a footnote in the prize’s history depends on how the debate resolves. But the argument itself reveals a literary culture still fiercely protective of its traditions, even as it grapples with the forces of change.
