It sounded easy until I read the fine print

Last year, I decided to run for the board of directors of the National Book Critics Circle, the professional organization for book critics in this country. To my surprise, the NBCC members apparently think that being the book editor for The Seattle Times is a pretty cool job — I was elected. I attended a swell party in New York City where the winners of the NBCC Award for the best books of 2005 were announced. Because I was new, I got to goggle at the celebrities (Joan Didion! E.L. Doctorow!!) without having to break much of a sweat.

The "no sweat" interlude was a short one. The next week board members started reading for the best books of 2006. For the entire past year, my nights and weekends have been consumed by reading books, thinking about books, arguing about books and saying thanks to the UPS man as he delivered more books. (Did I mention that I have a day job? Involving books?)

Before I became part of an awards-bestowing process, here was my impression of how such things worked: Smart people in tweed jackets sat in a paneled room in carved oak chairs (sipping sherry, perhaps?) and made arguments of such power and persuasion that the rest of the dazzled assemblage fell in line. A "best book" is a best book, right?

It doesn't work that way in the Vatican when they choose the pope, and it doesn't work that way in the Book Critics Circle.

Bevies and boxes of books

The NBCC gives out six awards a year in the categories of fiction, general nonfiction, criticism, biography, poetry and memoir/autobiography. The board does most of the heavy lifting in this process, though the membership at large can also vote books onto the finalists lists.

The Internet has transformed this process from a couple meetings a year in New York where a lot of folks with superheated opinions argued, at times bitterly, in a stuffy room to a collaborative and time-consuming process.

I signed up for the general nonfiction and biography committees. One tech-savvy member created a bulletin board where members could post nominees for each category.

It was gratifying — and scary — to see how quickly the lists filled up. It was horrifying to realize how very, very long most biographies are. Over the summer, I waded through two or three 800-page tomes; one took me two months to read. I developed an odd attachment to one of the subjects: Andrew Mellon, the very rich, very repressed and probably very unhappy secretary of the treasury under Presidents Harding, Coolidge and Hoover. He was crabby, conniving and conservative, but I wanted to cry when he died.

In December, by e-mail, we winnowed the lists to between 10 and 13 each. Last weekend, we flew to New York from Milwaukee, St. Petersburg, Fla., and Seattle, or took the train from Connecticut and Long Island, and straggled into a ... stuffy room. Starting at 10 a.m. Saturday, we haggled, pleaded and preached over which books deserved to be one of the five finalists in each category.

The "vote" couldn't be simpler. Anyone could talk (and did), but only committee members could vote in each category. We wrote down our five preferred titles in each category on little white sheets of paper, folded them up and gave them to the book editor of the Chicago Tribune (I kept thinking of student-council-president elections). She and the NBCC president took the little pieces of paper away and tallied the vote. Invariably one or two books would get a lot of votes.

Then the debate began over the rest.

Passion and politics

It was fascinating to see how a good argument could sway the vote. In nonfiction, there were several splendid books that could be categorized as science writing, and one of the board members, a science writer, spoke to just how good these authors were at making something difficult (translating science for the layman) look easy. One of those books, "The Omnivore's Dilemma," made the finalist list, and one, "The Family That Couldn't Sleep," was a near miss.

It was also a reminder of the subjectivity of criticism. I was gratified to discover that the book editor of the Chicago Tribune agreed with me about one book's limitations. I was nonplussed to learn that the Time magazine book critic thought we had missed the point.

The combustible politics of our time complicated things. We are a politically diverse group, and we had to work hard to fairly evaluate the reporting, the writing and the organization of books about Iraq and the Middle East, even though we might not agree with the author's conclusions.

I also learned that a splendid biography probably won't win if the subject is, well, a little dull. "Mellon: An American Life" didn't make the short list. "Flaubert" by Frederick Brown did — Flaubert thought nothing of sailing down the Nile in his pajamas, dallying with the local courtesans during layovers.

By 3 p.m. we had worked through lunch and were guzzling soft drinks full of high-fructose corn syrup to keep going.

Our job was made a little easier by the fact that the NBCC membership also participates, and if 20 percent of members who vote in the contest nominate a specific book, it makes the final list. Members voted in two finalists: "The Omnivore's Dilemma," where I learned about the horrors of high-fructose corn syrup, and Alison Bechdel's "Fun Home," a graphic memoir about growing up gay with a gay parent.

Poetic justice, parting jab

By the time we got to poetry, our general attitude was "let the poets do it," so the poetry experts went out in the hall and compiled their own list, which is probably a very good thing for the field of poetry.

We adjourned at 5:45 p.m. and jumped into cabs, headed for a 6 p.m. party in the Village where the finalists were announced. Like all literary parties, it was packed with chatty, charming people dressed in black. I was so tired I could barely stand up, but I woke up when Elliot Weinberger, the vehement anti-Iraq-war author and former NBCC winner tapped to announce the criticism category, said one of our criticism finalists showed "racism" ("While Europe Slept: How Radical Islam Is Destroying the West From Within" by Bruce Bawer).

Did he think the book was racist, or that we were racist for honoring it? He didn't say. But his outburst was roundly booed by the book editor of the Raleigh News Observer, who is a feisty guy. I thought dark "ungrateful wretch" kinds of thoughts, but I was raised to be a good Southern girl and did not boo.

That was how it was done: an exercise in masochism but so very satisfying. In an age of spin, hype and insta-info-bytes; I can't tell you how bracing it is to talk books with people who actually read them.

In March we'll pick the winners from the finalist list. Every board member votes in every category for winners, so I have to read all these by — ack — March 8. Daunting? You bet. But enlightening, exhilarating, and fun.

Mary Ann Gwinn: 206-464-2357 or mgwinn@seattletimes.com