by: Tom Rachman
TURIN, Italy — A novelist craves solitude. Reality TV craves intrusion. So, what happens when writing becomes a broadcast spectacle?
That question will soon be answered on Italian state television, which on Sunday is introducing “Masterpiece,” a show in which aspiring authors vie at literary challenges until one contestant wins a major book deal — and a level of publicity that few novelists achieve over a lifetime of quiet toil.
All the conventions of the TV talent show are present: the tantalizing possibility of fame, excruciating exposure, an expert panel delivering life-changing verdicts. There’s even a “confessional” room where contestants can express their anguish (on video, naturally).
If “Masterpiece” turns out to be a hit, the producers may try the concept in other countries — a prospect likely to both appall and intrigue the publishing industry. At first glance, many consider the concept crass; then again, how often do novels get even a mention on prime-time television?
To develop “Masterpiece,” the Rai 3 channel collaborated with FremantleMedia, a company that has produced and distributed reality franchises around the globe, from “American Idol” to “China’s Got Talent” to “X Factor Indonesia.” The challenge was to create captivating television while avoiding farce — like the Monty Python sketch in which sports announcers call the play-by-play while Thomas Hardy writes “The Return of the Native.”
During the shooting of an episode last month, the expert panel — the novelists Andrea De Carlo, Giancarlo De Cataldo and Taiye Selasi — sat behind a desk while makeup artists darted about blotting foreheads and touching up lipstick. Facing the judges, four contestants perched behind their keyboards, with every typed word projected on screens for all to see, as a timer above their heads counted down and cameras swooped in for close-ups.
Afterward, Maria Isabella Piana, a 66-year-old retired schoolteacher from Sicily, stood backstage awaiting the verdict on her assignment: a diary entry from the perspective of someone who has gone blind. Ms. Piana applied to be on the show after failing to find a publisher for a novel she wrote tracing the lives of a group of Italians from the 1960s to the present. “Not being known was the impetus that pushed me here,” she said. “Maybe with a tiny bit of visibility, there’s hope.” Minutes later the judges voted her off the show.
Alessandro Ligi, a 49-year-old Roman lawyer with an unpublished novel about failed love, found it a struggle to work before the cameras. “There’s nothing more intimate than writing,” he said. “It’s something I do alone and I don’t tolerate anyone even peeking at my computer.” His assignment was a one-page story from the perspective of a man who must watch his lover marry someone else.
Soon Mr. Ligi was summoned to read his work aloud. He entered the darkened studio and took his place on a red carpet under hot spotlights in front of the judges. He clutched a sheet of paper and attempted to give his reading a little oomph. The delivery was stiff; a bead of spittle trembled on his lip.
The panel decided that Mr. Ligi could stay for the next challenge. The next day, he would pitch his novel to a celebrity guest during a 59-second elevator ride.
Alessandro Baricco, a prominent Italian novelist who has appeared on more conventional literary TV shows, declined an invitation to participate in “Masterpiece.” “If you have someone capable — young, with talent and desire — and you want to make their life difficult, then make them into a TV star,” he said in an interview.
“Masterpiece,” he said, “will give many people an idea of literature. But it’s not the idea shared by most people who actually do it.”
Whatever ideas Italians have about literature, many want to produce it. Rai 3 required prospective contestants to submit an unpublished novel. Within a month, nearly 5,000 had flooded in.
A team of readers worked through the slush pile, and producers then conducted screen tests, selecting a dozen contestants for each of six episodes. The judges winnow that down to four hopefuls per show, based on their submitted manuscripts and responses to the judges’ questions.
Each of the four participates in an event (watching a wedding, in Mr. Ligi’s case, for instance, or spending a day with the blind, Ms. Piana’s task), then returns to the studio for a writing assignment. Participants have 30 minutes to complete it, and then must read it aloud. The judges deliberate, then dismiss two writers. The last two compete by giving 59-second pitches to literary celebrities and revising their manuscripts, with one contestant then chosen to proceed to the finals.
In February the six finalists will be joined by three expelled contestants brought back by the judges and three chosen by the public in online voting. After further challenges, one writer will triumph.
A leading imprint, Bompiani, is to publish the winner’s novel in May, with an initial print run of 100,000 copies — a huge number in the struggling Italian book market, where a first novel that sells 10,000 copies is considered a success. Even in the United States, sales of 100,000 copies of debut fiction would be outstanding.
Ms. Selasi, a British author who lives in Rome, initially had misgivings about appearing on Italian television, which is notorious for featuring goatish old men among young dancing girls. “Doubt No. 1: ‘Women on television in Italy’ is not a phrase synonymous with literary fiction,” Ms. Selasi said, laughing. “But at the same time, I loved the idea, the presumption that this could work.”
“Masterpiece” won’t necessarily identify the best new author in Italy, she acknowledged. It seeks only the best of those who dare participate. And a little daring is required to succeed in writing, Ms. Selasi said.
“Shy or not shy,” she said, “you’re going to have to — if you want to be a published writer — expose yourself in some way.”
The exposure that a writer must undergo to become published and promote sales can pose tricky issues. Increasingly, authors are encouraged to wade into the marketing and publicizing of their work, supplementing traditional readings with Facebook author pages, personal websites, online reader forums, Twitter feeds and YouTube trailers. Some writers relish communicating directly with readers; others recoil at hawking their work.
But brash self-promotion is not new in literature. The ancient Greek historian Herodotus paid for his own book tour, and Maupassant sent a hot-air balloon over Paris emblazoned with the title of one of his short stories, according to Tony Perrottet, an author who wrote an essay on the subject, prompted by his reservations about “peddling my work like a Viagra salesman.”
One of the “Masterpiece” judges, Mr. De Cataldo, noted that even illustrious Renaissance artists indulged in brazen self-advancement. Michelangelo and Caravaggio, he contends, “would have been completely at ease” in a talent-show setting. As for a writer like Kafka — well, perhaps, he would have stayed at home. Still, reality TV?
“Italy is a country where people read less and less — they’re publishing more books and selling fewer,” Mr. De Cataldo lamented. “The book is dying, and we must do everything we can to save it. Even a talent show.”
from: NY Times
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