We’re in the midst of the book awards season, which should have an air of finality (and the winner is…). But for me this year’s Booker Award winner, Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss, just raises more questions. Does it really matter that Desai is the youngest woman ever to win the award, as the New York Times reported? Is Desai’s relative youth, and the relative obscurity of the other contenders, a (good) sign that the awards committee made an effort to look for vigorous new literature—or what was good, regardless—as opposed to settling for name authors? Or were committee members just being in-your-face? Was Desai’s evocation of India really better than David Mitchell’s Black Swan Green, Peter Carey’s Theft: A Love Story, James Lasdun’s Seven Lies, or Claire Messud’s The Emperor’s Children, all longlistees (not even final contenders) that were excellent reads (and personal favorites)? What does it mean to be better, anyway? Actually, our reviewer found Desai’s book a snore; is this evidence of healthy diversity in reviewer opinion, differences in taste across the Atlantic, or a real rift between high-profile judges and daily readers (our reviewers are mostly in-the-trenches librarians)? And why does the Man Booker Prize get featured in the A section of the New York Times, complete with a big picture of Desai flashing her winning smile, when I remember as National Book Critics Circle president battling to get Times coverage for our awards, which always ended up in the B section (sans photos)? If nothing else, awards have the advantage of making one think; I’m glad to give The Inheritance of Loss another look. And now on the next awards.