I would like to say a few words about the mini-hysteria that has erupted on social networks in recent days around Georgi Gospodinov's "nomination" for the Nobel.
This was commented on "Facebook" by Manol Peykov.
First of all – there are no – – nominations" for the Nobel. To the extent that they exist at all, they are internal (to the members of the Swedish Academy) and are declassified 50 years later.
And secondly – the recent sensational article in "Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung" does not say that Georgy Gospodinov (or any of the other six) is "nominated".
What the article claims is that he is "worthy" of the Nobel Prize. Which in fact – for me personally, as his reader and publisher – means more.
Today in Frankfurt I had a meeting with Georgi Gospodinov's publisher in Sweden, my long-time friend Ola Wallin from "Ersatz" publishing house.
Before he reached out to Gospodinov's books ("Time Shelter" in 2024, "The Gardener and Death" in 2025 and "The Physics of Sadness" a few months ago; shortly after that – and "The Recluse" by Rene Karabash), no book by a Bulgarian author had been published in Sweden for more than 50 years (!!), somewhere since the early 1970s.
One of the things we discussed today is that in the history of the Nobel Prize in Literature there is only one case in which the prize was given to an author (the playwright Harold Pinter) who was he did not have a single published book in Swedish (but he did have quite a few plays translated into Swedish).
The Swedish Academy, Ola tells me, is not at all interested in the popularity of an author abroad (including in his own country); they are only concerned with the reception of the author in question in Sweden itself.
He gave as an example Herta Müller's Nobel Prize in 2009, which - in his words - greatly surprised the vast majority of German literary critics, partly due to her relatively limited popularity (at that time) in Germany. At the same time, however, Müller was one of the most widely read authors in Sweden for several years in a row.
Together with Ola at my Bulgarian stand, the director of the prestigious Gothenburg Book Fair, Johan Kollen, was also a guest. We talked for more than 40 minutes (which, by local standards, where one holds between 10 and 15 meetings a day, is quite a lot).
He told me about Georgi's visit to the Gothenburg Book Fair this year – and about the extremely serious attention he received from both the public and literary critics.
They also shared that as part of the book fair, there was a gathering of the diplomatic corps – where Georgi Gospodinov was invited to deliver a special address. "Several of the diplomats were so impressed that they came to me after the event to ask for a copy of Georgi's speech," Johan added.
Ola added that Georgi's speech is expected to be published in one of the leading Swedish newspapers in the coming days (the Gothenburg Book Fair was held at the end of September). "It is only in the last few months that articles have begun to appear in the Swedish literary press that place Gospodinov side by side with the greatest writers of our time", he noted.
After Ola and Johan left, I thought about how long it took Georgi to break into the foreign scene (over 15 years – which I witnessed firsthand) – in the complete absence (at that time) of Bulgarian literary agencies and constant turmoil in our national program for funding literary translations into foreign languages.
I also recalled all the arguments, explanations and battles with the Ministry of Culture over the funding of Bulgarian authors abroad, in which I have personally participated in recent years. And about the total unpredictability of every newly announced program, in which old mistakes are repeated again and again, which we thought we had long ago discussed and overcome.
I also thought about the long-standing lack of funding – as well as the fact that it is largely responsible for the lack of sufficient translations of Bulgarian authors abroad in the first two decades of the 21st century. And about the website of the National Culture Fund, intended for foreign publishers, in which the information was only and only in Bulgarian until last year – and it was not possible to fill out a single word of your application if you did not have a Cyrillic keyboard.
I also remembered the long-standing absence of a Bulgarian stand from the fairs in Frankfurt, London and Bologna - the three absolutely obligatory book fairs for every self-respecting country in Europe. As well as for at least five years after that, during which we had a hollow, empty stand for tens of thousands of euros, paid for by the state at the last possible moment after long arguments - a stand that evoked more shame than pride.
Finally, the impossible images of the handful of dreamers - whose number, thank God, is slowly increasing from year to year - materialized in my mind. who sincerely believe in the present and future of Bulgarian literature and work tirelessly for its well-being, self-esteem and international visibility.
All this led me to several important conclusions.
The first is that no matter how talented an author is, he cannot receive international recognition (let alone the Nobel!) in conditions of cultural isolation.
The second - that (without detracting in the least from the exclusivity of Georgi and his work!) the Nobel is very rarely the result solely of the presence of a native thunderbolt talent and far more often - the creation of an adequate social and cultural infrastructure for the flourishing of creativity, as well as appropriate conditions and context for sharing it with the world.
The third conclusion (which is a direct result of the first two) is that it would be far better if we viewed the Nobel Prize in Literature not simply as a way to stroke our national ego (that, you see, we also have people with intelligence and talent who stand tall above the gray mass and determine the paths and directions of this world) – but as a recognition that we have created the appropriate social conditions for this talent to flourish and bear fruit that will be visible far beyond the borders of our small country.
If we achieve this – the Nobel Prize will be just around the corner. Although then it will hardly be so important to us.
Because our personal complicity in the pursuit of meaning - as a nation, a people, a cultural and linguistic community that supports and invests in its great minds - is not only more important but also significantly more satisfying than any pat on the back, even from the Nobel Committee itself.