I was stupid when I was young.

My daughter Clara - age 8 - in the midst of eating breakfast and watching Blues Clues, just asked me who won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2016.

"Are they talking about The Nobel Prize on Blues Clues?" I asked. 

"No," she said. "I was reading something about inspirational people in the world yesterday. And I just thought that the Nobel Peace Prize winner from last year would probably be inspirational."

She reminds me every day about how incredibly stupid I was at her age and for many years thereafter. 

Novelist Jose Saramago quit writing in 1953. Part of me wants to reach back in time and hug him. The other part wants to smack him.

Nobel Prize winning novelist José Saramago submitted the manuscript of Skylight – his firstto a Lisbon publisher in 1953. Receiving no response, Saramago gave up fiction altogether. His wife says that her husband fell into a "into a painful, indelible silence that lasted decades."

Saramago returned to fiction in 1977 and would eventually write more than 20 novels before his death.

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In 1989, having published three novels, he was at work on a fourth when the publisher to which he had sent Skylight wrote to say that they had rediscovered the manuscript and it would be an honor to print it. Saramago never re-read it and said only that "it would not be published in his lifetime."

His wife published the book in 2014 after his death in 2010.

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When I first heard this story, I felt great sympathy for Saramago. A publisher ignores his manuscript, not even bothering to decline the work, and an author loses 25 years that could have been spent writing. By all accounts, his first manuscript was excellent, and the book has received rave reviews, so it’s not as if Saramago needed the 25 years for his talent to germinate. He was already brilliant in 1953.

He simply lost a quarter century of work.

That sympathy for Saramago lasted for about ten seconds, then I was reminded of all the authors I know whose first, second, third, fourth, and even fifth manuscripts were turned down by literary agents and publishing houses. Yes, as far as I know, all of these people at least received some kind of response from the entities that received their work, but still, I know authors who struggled for decades with rejections before finally breaking through.

Saramago was ignored once and decided to quit. He took his toys and went home. 

My second reaction was decidedly less sympathetic.  

I’ve read four of Saramago’s books, including Blindness, which won the Nobel Prize in Literature and caused my wife to weep for a week while reading it. I’m not much of a fan of his work. I think he was an exceptionally talented writer, and I have enjoyed his stories a great deal, but Saramago forgoes the use of chapters and paragraphs almost completely in his books. His sentences can run on for more than a page. He goes pages and pages without the use of a period, preferring instead to use commas. He doesn’t use quotations marks to delineate dialogue. In Blindness, he stopped using proper nouns completely. I can’t stand any of it. I think it demonstrates a complete disregard for the reader and an unnecessary barrier to his stories.  

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Still, a small part of my wishes I could reach through time and tell him to strengthen his resolve and try again rather than waiting for 25 years before writing again. I want to hug him and tell him that it will be alright.

Another part of my wants to smack him for acting like such a fool and not having the courage to stand up and demand acknowledgement.

Ironically, my friend, who has read Skylight, reports that Saramago was not using long sentences when he wrote it in 1953. Perhaps if he had found success with the book, he would’ve continued to write more conventionally and found a wider audience.  

Posthumous vindication sucks.

On this date in 1456, Joan of Arc was declared innocent for heresy.

Unfortunately, she was declared innocent 25 years after she was burned at the stake.

Being incorrectly burned to death is certainly worse than losing your bout with cancer and dying just hours before being announced as the winner of the Nobel Prize for your work in cancer research that actually prolonged your life, but anything that happens posthumously to a person sucks.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:

Death is hardest on the dead. 

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I did not like Doris Lessing’s response to winning the Nobel Prize

I was saddened to hear about the death of Doris Lessing. I read a lot of her work while in college and some of her short stories since then.

I like her work a lot.

That said, I wasn’t a fan of her response to winning to Nobel Prize back in 2007. While nonchalance can be charming and a disinterest in competition can seem noble, this is the Nobel Prize. Out of respect for all those who came before her and all those who toil for a lifetime in hopes of achieving this level of recognition, I thought it was disrespectful to dismiss the news of her win so offhandedly and follow it up by stating that “I’ve won all the prizes in Europe. Every bloody one,” as if none of them matter anymore.

I felt like the reporter understood the importance of this win better than she did.

Also, and perhaps more importantly, what the hell is hanging on the neck of the person who was in the car with her? And what is in his hands?   

Spite is right

I’ve often said that spite is the best reason to do anything. Here is further evidence of this fact:

British scientist John Gurdon is told by his high school teacher that there was no hope of him ever studying science, and that doing so would be a complete waste of time for him and anyone forced to teach him.

Gurdon was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology this year for his discovery that mature cells can be reprogrammed to become immature cells, capable of developing into all tissues of the body. Their findings have revolutionized our understanding of how cells and organisms develop.

Though it is highly unlikely given Gurdon’s age, I hope that his high school teacher lived long enough to eat his words.