John Boyne says LGBTQ+ fiction prize backlash brought him ‘close to the edge'
Ten authors and two judges withdrew from the Polari prize and more than 800 writers and publishing industry workers signed a petition calling on Polari to remove Boyne's novella Earth from its longlist.
In his first response to the row, Boyne urged new writers boycotting the prize to re-enter the award, saying they were either misguided or had been bullied or intimidated into withdrawing.
Boyne, who describes himself as a Terf – the acronym for trans-exclusionary radical feminist – said that if the writers did reenter the list, he would ask the judges not to consider his novella Earth for the shortlist.
In social media posts on X and Bluesky, Boyne wrote: 'I came very close to the edge this week because of endless harassment at the hands of both strangers and fellow writers.'
Boyne, who is best known for his 2006 novel The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, added: '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.'
Nominated writers boycotting the prize over Boyne's inclusion included the Guardian journalist Jason Okundaye, whose Revolutionary Acts was nominated for the first book prize longlist and Andrew McMillan, the author of Pity which was longlisted for the overall Polari prize for a non-debut book.
Alice Oseman, the author of Heartstopper, along with the writers Nikesh Shukla, Julia Armfield, Naoise Dolan, Seán Hewitt and Kirsty Logan are among the hundreds to have signed the statement against Boyne's inclusion on the list.
It said Boyne had 'unequivocally associated himself with trans exclusionary sentiments' and that his inclusion on the list was 'inappropriate and hurtful to the wider community of LGBTQ+ readers and writers'.
'In any year, the decision to include Mr Boyne on the longlist would be, in our view, inappropriate and hurtful to the wider community of LGBTQ+ readers and writers,' the statement read. 'That the decision has been made this year – in the context of rising anti-trans hatred and systematic exclusion of trans people from public life in the UK and across the world – is inexcusable.'
But Boyne has also received support from prominent gender critical writers, including JK Rowling. Last week, Rowling responded to the authors' statement against him by writing on X: 'Oh, fuck off. I hope everyone buys twice as many John Boyne books, a) because he's brilliant, and b) to piss off the Gender Taliban.'
In response to Boyne's statement, the writer and former Guardian columnist Julie Bindel posted: 'I am proud to know you, John. Thank you for your support for women, including lesbians, and gay men. And shame on the bullies. You deserve to stand proud.'
In his statement, Boyne set out his views on trans rights. He said: '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.'
He said he accepted that the organisers of the petition against him may have 'meant well'. But he said they had 'forgotten a 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.'
Boyne said: '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, as I'm aware has happened in some cases, because you too were bullied or intimated into withdrawing.'
He added: 'I would encourage all the debut writers on the Polari longlist to return to the list, to look forward to the shortlist announcement and, in time, the fun and excitement of the ceremony. One of you gets to win the prize, and that's as it should be. The organisers stood firm and didn't expel me from the longlist, which I appreciated. And I am not withdrawing from the longlist. However, should the debut writers all return, I would respectfully ask the judges not to consider Earth for the shortlist. I don't think I can say any fairer than that.'
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Born John Desmond McAlea on 29 July 1946, Lee grew up in the Catholic suburb of Andersonstown, West Belfast, in a relatively comfortable working-class family. He would supplement his pocket money in audacious ways. On 12 July, AKA The Twelfth or Orangemen's Day, the Protestant community would hold rallies at which the likes of Reverend Ian Paisley would vehemently denounce Republicans and Catholics. Lee would go along and blend with the crowd, collecting bottles discarded by the Loyalist throng and claiming the penny deposits. Lee found a job at a plumbing supplier but his head was soon turned by rock'n'roll, and he quit to follow in the footsteps of his nightclub musician father. He served his apprenticeship on a thriving Belfast scene centred around Cymbals instrument shop, where he rubbed shoulders with a teenage Van Morrison ('A strange guy,' says Lee, 'but an exceptional talent') and future members of Thin Lizzy. In 1967, the circuit's leading act, the Miami Showband, underwent one of its periodic reshuffles and drafted in Lee on sax, along with a handsome, charismatic singer-pianist called Fran O'Toole. Fronted by Dickie Rock, who had represented Ireland at Eurovision, the Miami were as big as it got. When Des calls them 'The Irish Beatles' with a twinkle, it's only slight hyperbole: they topped the Irish singles chart seven times. 'When I got the deal to join,' says Lee, 'I thought, 'My God, all my birthdays are coming together.' I jumped at it.' 'Girls were screaming,' he says. 'We would have 2,500 people inside watching us, and 2,500 outside trying to get in. I couldn't go to the shop without people wanting my autograph. It was stardom with a capital S.' Lee developed a close friendship and songwriting partnership with O'Toole, who later replaced Rock as frontman. Lee became the bandleader. His responsibilities included repertoire and finances, and ensuring everyone looked immaculate (70s footage shows them in dazzling-white suits with glittering lapels). He also instilled discipline. 'My job was to make sure everybody was squeaky clean,' he says. 'No going on the piss before a gig. We weren't saints or angels, make no mistake. What goes on afterwards, behind closed doors, nobody knows. But we had to put on a professional show.' The Miami Showband entered the summer of 1975 in an optimistic mood. The band had scored major hits with Charlie Rich's country standard There Won't Be Anymore and Bonnie St Claire's bubblegum-glam nugget Clap Your Hands and Stamp Your Feet. O'Toole was being groomed for solo stardom, and had been booked to play Las Vegas to launch his Lee-penned single Love Is, with the intention of positioning him as the next David Cassidy. But that show never took place. 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'We would be sitting in the van with a bottle of brandy or whiskey, and we'd occasionally offer a drop to the soldier who stopped us.' They were asked to step out of the van – again, not entirely unusual – and made to line up facing the roadside ditch. At first, the soldiers chatted casually, but their demeanour changed when someone with an English accent joined them and began giving orders. McCoy found this reassuring, telling Travers that they were dealing with the British army rather than the less predictable, locally recruited Ulster Defence Regiment (UDR). Before the search, Lee asked permission to fetch his saxophone to show it wasn't a weapon, laying it on the road a few feet away. Suddenly, an almighty explosion tore through the van, throwing all five musicians across the ditch into the undergrowth. The soldiers had not been soldiers at all – at least, not on duty. 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