Tell me that it isn’t true

When I heard that Bob Dylan had won the Nobel Prize for Literature, I felt like a member of the crowd at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965 when the folksinger first went electric: I booed. Dylan might have been a wonderful musician in the 1960s, with or without electrical amplification, but hardly worth a Nobel Prize for Literature. How does “The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind/ the answer is blowin’ in the wind” compare with the works of previous winners such as John Steinbeck, Alice Munro or Boris Pasternak.

Was the Nobel Committee in some sort of time warp that they would go so far back in history to name such a bogus winner of the world’s most prestigious award? Dylan doesn’t even sing all that well anymore. Ever since 1988, when The Traveling Wilburys was released, Dylan has sounded like Daffy Duck.

This is the worst mistake the Nobel Committee has made since 1973 when they awarded the Peace prize to Henry Kissinger and Le Duc Tho for a war that went on. And on.

What’s next, a Nobel Peace Prize for Bashar al-Assad? Dr. Phil for medicine? How about Donald Trump for chemistry because of his loving ways with women?


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