© IE Online Media Services Pvt Ltd
Tags:
Journalism of Courage
The Polari Prize, Britain’s most prominent literary award dedicated to LGBTQ+ writing, will not be awarded in 2025. What should have been a moment of celebration for queer authors has become one of the most divisive cultural debates in recent British literary history.
The controversy began when the 2025 longlist included Earth, a novella by Irish writer John Boyne. Best known internationally for The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, Boyne has in recent years become a polarising figure. A gay man, he has spoken openly about his own experiences of abuse and the long struggle to come to terms with them. On gender issues, he has publicly described himself as a “TERF” (trans-exclusionary radical feminist), defended JK Rowling’s interventions on gender identity, and argued that the rights of cisgender women must take precedence when they conflict with the rights of trans women.
Boyne insists this position arises from his belief in universal human rights and from what he sees as a duty to defend women’s hard-won protections. Critics, however, view his stance as exclusionary and harmful to trans people, and argued that his inclusion in a prize meant to celebrate LGBTQ+ lives was incompatible with the spirit of the award. His presence set off weeks of protests, withdrawals, and public argument, culminating in the prize being cancelled altogether.
Founded in 2011 by journalist Paul Burston, the Polari Prize was named after Burston’s literary salon and is dedicated to works that explore LGBTQ+ experiences. Although modest in scale compared to prizes such as the Booker or the Women’s Prize, Polari has always carried symbolic significance, especially for debut authors and independent publishers. Its winners have often spoken of the prize as transformative for their careers, making this year’s collapse all the more striking.
For some queer readers and writers, Boyne’s inclusion is irreconcilable with the mission of a prize dedicated to LGBTQ+ lives. The longlist announcement quickly drew responses. Author Sacha Coward, nominated for Queer as Folklore: The Hidden Queer History of Myths and Monsters, withdrew, writing that they could not “continue in good faith.” Jason Okundaye, also longlisted, described Boyne’s views as “abhorrent” in a Guardian article, saying he felt “misled about the principles underpinning the organisation.” In the following days, withdrawals escalated. Sixteen authors and two judges stepped aside, and an open letter condemning Boyne’s inclusion was signed by around 800 writers and publishing professionals.
Rowling, however, came to his defense calling him a “talented writer and thoroughly decent human being” who was being slandered by “tinpot tyrants”:
As the withdrawals mounted, Polari’s organisers issued a series of public statements. On August 7, they defended the longlist, stating that “even within our community, we can at times hold radically different positions on substantive issues.”
Four days later, with tensions rising, they released a second statement acknowledging the “hurt and anger” caused and apologising sincerely, while still maintaining their position.
By August 19, however, the situation had become untenable. In their third and final statement, organisers announced that the 2025 prize would be cancelled altogether. “The prize has been overshadowed by hurt and anger,” they admitted, calling Polari “a tiny operation” reliant on goodwill and limited resources. They promised reforms, including a governance review and the addition of more trans and gender-nonconforming judges, and pledged to relaunch in 2026.
Boyne himself responded at length, first in statements on social media and later in an essay in The Telegraph. In his open letter, he expressed frustration at what he saw as a campaign to erase him from queer literary culture.
“For six years, since the publication of My Brother’s Name is Jessica, I’ve been the focus of an extraordinary amount of bullying and intimidation, not just at the hands of trans activists but also by a small group of toxic novelists,” he wrote.
He also reiterated his views on trans rights, “My views on trans rights have never changed and they’re quite simple: All human beings should have the same rights, but if the rights of trans women come into conflict with the rights of what you call ‘cis’ women, then the latter must take precedence. There’s 4 billion of them, after all, and it took them 2,000 years to achieve even a semblance of equality. That’s pretty much my only thoughts on the subject.”
To those who had withdrawn in protest, he said, “You may have meant well. You may have thought you were doing an honourable thing. But you forgot one crucial fact. That the novelist you’re protesting, and the novel you tried to exclude, is part of a sequence about sexual abuse from a gay man who endured that very trauma at school, was denied justice because my abuser died in the months leading up to the trial, and is still coping with not getting my day in court. And how do I cope? By writing books like Earth.”
In the same letter, Boyne expressed the toll of the backlash, describing “endless harassment at the hands of both strangers and fellow writers.”
He admitted to moments of despair, writing, “I came very close to the edge this week because of endless harassment. I remained silent throughout but there’s been a few moments where I thought it would be easier not to go on. There’s really only so much abuse one person can take. However, I’m still here. Because I have too many books in me that I still want to write. And so do all of you.”
Boyne also argued that the authors most harmed by the controversy were the debut writers who had been robbed of the opportunity to win the Polari Prize. “When I published my debut novel in 2000, I would have given my left arm to find myself on a prize list,” he wrote. “It seems absurd and wrong to me that so many debut writers are losing their opportunity for this, either through misguided ideas about who I am or because they too were bullied or intimated into withdrawing. I love fiction, I love literature, and I’ve always supported new writers through reviews and blurbs, so this alone weighs on me.”
Speaking to The Telegraph, Boyne described the prize’s cancellation as “an interesting example of self-cancellation” and said organisers had never contacted him directly. He also insisted that he would have voluntarily withdrawn Earth had it been enough to save the prize.
The collapse of the Polari Prize has left the community grappling with unresolved questions. For some, the decision not to platform Boyne was a necessary act of solidarity with trans writers and readers who felt harmed by his words. For others, excluding him represented an abandonment of artistic merit and a narrowing of space for disagreement within queer culture. The episode has also underlined the vulnerability of small literary institutions. A larger, better-funded prize might have been able to withstand the storm, but Polari, dependent on volunteers and goodwill, could not.
Organisers have promised that the prize will return in 2026, with stronger structures and broader representation among its judges. Whether it can rebuild trust, and whether it can strike a balance between inclusivity and free expression, remains to be.
