John Boyne refuses to be cancelled Britain’s literati betrayed him

The pen used to be mightier than the sword, but these days the Twitter mob is more powerful than both. Once upon a time, literary prizes were delightfully straightforward: a panel of luminaries would read a few books, argue over wine about narrative and vocabulary, and then write a cheque for their favourite story. The winner went home with a gong and a few hundred extra book sales in the bag.

But then the culture wars hit. And now our literary awards are no longer about merely recognising artistic merit; they have become battlegrounds for ideological conformity. Well, in England they have.

That’s one of the reasons I travelled to Paris for the Prix de Roman Fnac. John Boyne was about to receive it for his latest novel, The Elements. He is only the sixth non-French writer to win it since it was inaugurated in 2002, and the only non-French nominee among this year’s 250 books. But though celebrated in France, Boyne is persona non grata in England after an ugly spat over his inclusion on the longlist for the LGBTQ+ Polari Prize.

It all kicked off after a transwoman judge resigned from the Polari’s first novel panel when she discovered that Boyne, a gender-critical gay man, was up for a prize. Cue the storming out of another two judges and 10 authors, and a petition signed by over 800 writers and publishing industry workers calling on the Polari organisers to remove Boyne’s book from its longlist. Despite the bullying, though, he stood firm.

“The irony is,” he tells me, sipping a mint tea in a café outside Gare du Nord station, “I would have felt like an idiot, stepping down. I just thought, ‘you can all have your tantrums and scream and shout. But it’s really nothing to do with me.’ I had never heard of the Polari prize ’til I got on the list.”

His crime? To describe himself as a Terf. There is no greater sin among the LGBTQ+ community than for a gay man to be gender critical. And though the prize describes itself as inclusive, it was unable to withstand such contradictions, and the awards were entirely shelved this year.

Boyne laughs when I point it out. “I thought, ‘let them kick me off the longlist and see what happens then. But I am not doing their dirty work’.” At first, he urged those new writers who had asked to be removed from the list to re-enter the award. “It was obvious to me they were either misguided or had been bullied or intimidated into withdrawing,” he says. Then, as the matter dragged on unresolved, he suggested that if these writers returned, he would ask judges not to consider his book for the shortlist.

It all represented a new low in literary politics, with personal ideology taking priority over literary merit — “pure vitriol” from “grown-ups who work in an industry which should be defined by freedom of thought and freedom of expression,” as Boyne puts it. In France, though, things are different.

Full of verve, ready for the awards ceremony, he is keen to address the madness of recent years. “When it comes to a literary award, it should really just be about the best book. Nothing else should matter. Not who’s the most famous, who has the most acceptable, popular views on stuff. It should be just about the writing.”

It’s never just about the writing, though, as Boyne discovered when his book My Brother’s Name Is Jessica was published. This was a novel told through the lens of the brother of a boy who believed he was a girl. “It’s where my troubles began,” he says.

“When I decided to write about a boy growing up wanting to be a girl, I decided to do it from his brother‘s point of view. He’s trying to understand it, and by the end of the book, he realises that the person he’s always loved hasn’t changed in any way.”

But the abuse he got after Jessica was the worst he had ever received. “I was called a transphobic bigot for ‘misgendering’ Jessica!” he still seems baffled at the outrage. “What was I supposed to do? Call the book, ‘My Sister’s name is Jessica’? Which would mean absolutely nothing to people. The walls came crashing down on me after that. I was officially transphobic.”

From then on, Boyne was targeted whenever he spoke out in support of women, lesbians and gays, and, in particular, J.K. Rowling. She is an unspeakable in certain circles. And it was after he published an article in support of her earlier this year, proclaiming himself a Terf in the Irish Independent, that the gloves truly came off.

“What’s worse is that during the whole furore, not one person from Polari made contact with me,” he says. “Which is pretty disgusting and unprofessional to say the least.”

Things couldn’t be more different on the other side of the Channel. Boyne is greeted at his incredibly glamorous awards ceremony with rapturous applause from the literary crowd, not a cancellation. And he makes the most of the opportunity to contrast his experiences in the UK with France.

“We live in a time when culture is often denigrated,” he tells the room. “I learned this recently with a prize that I was nominated for in the UK, where the personal ideologies of the authors were considered much more important than the qualities of the books.” He then plays to the crowd: “It was a French writer, Voltaire, who pronounced this famous phrase, I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend your right to say it. Unfortunately,” he continues, “some today prefer: I disapprove of what you say, and I will not allow you to say it. But not here, not in France.”

Afterwards, as Boyne is besieged by cashmered crowd, I ask a few of those milling around whether they’ve heard about the transgender controversy. They either didn’t know what I was talking about, or couldn’t care less. “We are French, we believe in liberty, this nonsense has nothing to do with our values”, said one, with a gallic shrug. I asked another if Boyne’s views on the trans issue had influenced her view of his work. “I also don’t know whether he likes French cheese,” she replied, gnomically.

Boyne is clearly relieved that these awards have been a sort of bookend to the cancellation. It shows that there is still hope for writers. “The Prix du Roman has reminded me of what’s most important: the books that I write, the support of readers around the world, and the friendship of those fellow novelists who believe in freedom of thought, freedom of expression, and the importance of literature.”

The worst thing about the whole episode, he says, was the tenor of the interventions by all those 800 people who signed the open letter against him. It’s impossible to be blasé about personal safety, he says. And it made him think very carefully about his response. “Forget about the gender issue for a moment, it comes down to whether or not you are capitulating to bullying,” he says. “I’ve seen some bullying in my time in the literary world, but I’ve never seen it quite like that.”

Boyne’s refusal to hide away, though, and the fact that he didn’t retire to lick his wounds following the onslaught against him has made a big difference. It has shown the British literary establishment in its very worst light. And, even under that spotlight, it has only doubled down.

Perfectly representing our cultural cringe, a trans activist tweeted about John a few days before the French award. “Appears you’re done getting awards. You’re an embarrassment to our country”, it read. Soon after he won the Fnac prize, Boyne retweeted it with a series of laughing emojis, adding, “That tweet aged well, dude. All of nine days.”

But it’s not only Boyne who’s laughing. France, too, is surely mocking our small-minded pretensions. As one of our great writers heads off to be courted by some of France’s finest literary critics, and as our literary world grows ever more timid, it’s hard not to feel a little embarrassed on Britain’s behalf.

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