Gore Vidal once observed that there are more prizes than writers in the United States.
Ours does seem to be an age of unrivaled excellence. Never before have there been so many "award-winning" authors, actors, journalists, doctors, plumbers, car mechanics, librarians and quilters -- the Mary Diamond Butts Award, for example, honors fiber artists under 40 residing in the Canadian province of Ontario.
The standard reference work "Awards, Honors & Prizes" (Gale) runs more than 2,000 pages. And as James F. English observes in his provocative new book, "The Economy of Prestige" (Harvard University Press), it is adding "new prizes at the rate of about one every six hours."
If this "prize frenzy," as English calls it, seems straight out of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," that's because it is. Remember the Cacus race where "everybody has won, and all must have prizes."
I write not to bury awards and top 10 lists but to praise them. I do not dismiss English's claim that the proliferation of prizes and top 10 lists casts a Darwinian pall over the culture, dividing artists into two groups: winners and losers. He has a point when he describes awards as "one of the glaring symptoms of a consumer society run rampant, a society that can conceive of artistic achievement only in terms of stardom and success, and that is fast replacing a rich and varied cultural world with a shallow and homogenous McCulture based on the model of network TV."
However, the expansion of tributes is not simply a sign of softmindedness; it is also a necessary cry for help in a world of plenty.
In a note to me, the writer Annie Proulx said, "Lists, unless grocery shopping lists, are truly a reductio ad absurdum." Shopping lists are handy. Like all lists, they reflect a stab at organization and choice, providing a well-honed battle plan as we attack the giant warehouses called supermarkets.
Awards and top 10 lists serve the same function, helping us focus on what deserves our attention from an ever-expanding menu of choices.
The need for such guidance has never been greater. Technology has powered a fundamental shift during the last decade, dramatically decentralizing culture and empowering the consumer. Thanks to the iPod and online services such as the iTunes music store, the album has given way to the personal playlist, enabling us to buy only the music we want, and much more of it. TiVo means we no longer have to pick a particular television show at a given hour, but can watch what we want, when we want. The Internet has increased exponentially our sources of information so that we are no longer limited by the number of magazine and newspaper subscriptions we can afford.
When everything is available, anything is possible. Technology is allowing us to replace mass culture with personal preferences. Each of us is an impresario and ringmaster, designing lavish entertainments for an audience of one. Man, do I have good taste!
With choice comes responsibility. Which songs? Which programs? Which publications? It can make your head ache. In "The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less" (2004) Barry Schwartz, a professor of psychology at Swarthmore College, argues that our cornucopia culture is damaging our mental health.
Perhaps. But that ship has sailed -- the future will only bring more choice. In this context, prizes and top 10 lists are cheap forms of mass therapy, reducing the stress of selection. Consider them cultural Prozac.
Paradoxically, they also reflect how the traditional lines of authority are both collapsing and expanding. By making each of us a master of our own cultural universe, technology has diminished the power of the editors and record company and TV executives who once shaped a small menu of available choices. This autonomy has empowered certain cultural advisors -- from music, book and TV critics to Oprah Winfrey -- who act as cultural machetes clearing paths through the thickets of our abundant culture.
The future will bring more awards and top 10 lists. On the whole, this is for the good. They reflect a vibrant culture full of choice and liberated consumers seeking guidance, and they define their own tastes in a world of puzzling possibilities.
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