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For the top dog in British book awards, it’s remarkably uncertain of its authority Now that Booker’s Bainbridge beano is over, the plaster has stopped falling from the ceiling, and the revellers have moved on, it’s a good moment to ask the question, Why? What profound institutional insecurity is it that provokes a respectable book prize to focus less on its main responsibility (the annual selection of a readable shortlist) and more on involving itself in the kind of diversions that make many regular book lovers shake their heads in disbelief. My informal straw poll of friends and co-workers finds almost universal dismay at Booker’s recent antics. The Beryl Bainbridge saga, which has come to a close with the selection of Master Georgie, is the latest in a sequence of stunts whose chief justification must be “all publicity is good publicity”. This suggests that, somewhere in its collective psyche, Booker has a deep sense of inferiority, and feels it has to justify its place in the world. But does this add up? Booker is routinely said (by people like me) to be the UK’s ” premier literary prize “. It’s hard to dispute this. From a massive field of competing trophies, only Orange and Costa (formerly Whitbread) come close. Internationally, too, thanks to the clever promotional skills of Colman Getty, Booker has become a global brand. Booker night is celebrated throughout the English-speaking world. Significantly, not one US prize (neither Pulitzer nor National Critics’ Circle) can rival it. If that’s not enough, then perhaps the Booker’s record of nominations is suspect. That, after all, is the unspoken admission of the Bainbridge prize. Possibly, this explains Booker’s self-doubt. In fact, Booker’s track record stands up quite well to scrutiny. There have been some truly great years, a lot of middling winners, and a few outright duds. Generally, however, the prize has done what it sets out to do, which is promote good new fiction to the reading public. More than that, the so-called “Booker novel” has become almost a genre in its own right. You can deplore this if you want (loads of people do), but you can’t escape either Booker’s power or its influence. So why the Bainbridge-style side-shows? The answer, I think, lies in the recent evolution of the literary marketplace. Book prizes, like publishing, reflect cultural change. In the 40-something years since Booker started, the literary scene has morphed from serious to showbiz, from prose-conscious to promotion-savvy. That’s simply The Way We Live Now. However, as a leader in its field, perhaps the time has come for Booker to show a bit of responsibility and become slightly more grown-up. Mind you, I’m not sure Beryl Bainbridge, wherever she is, would approve. I remember that she always treated Booker night as basically a terrific party. Which it used to be, when she was around. Booker prize Fiction Awards and prizes Robert McCrum guardian.co.uk