Written By: Kostya Kennedy

The following is excerpted from LIFE’s special issue Bob Dylan: America’s Greatest Songwriter, available at newsstands and on Amazon.

The unorthodox selection of Bob Dylan as the 2016 recipient of the Nobel Prize in
Literature was bound to cause controversy. He became the first American to win
the prize since Toni Morrison in 1993 and, more significantly, he became the first songwriter, from any country, to win it ever.

Although there had been a quiet groundswell for Dylan-as-Nobelist over the years—supported in part by university academics who teach his lyrics in their classrooms—many within the literary community squirmed. What about Philip Roth? What about Don DeLillo? What about . . . ? The novelist Irvine Welsh derided the Dylan selection as an “ill-conceived nostalgia award.” The poet Natalie Diaz wondered why the late Bob Marley never was considered. Some writers groused about ancillary things: Dylan is rich and famous enough already! He doesn’t need it! Or, Song lyrics aren’t really literature! More than one writer suggested that Dylan follow the path of philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, who in 1964 was awarded the Nobel but refused to accept it.

Yet many others, indeed the heavy bulk of the public commenters, were thrilled at the choice—both in admiration of Dylan’s writing and also because the committee had shown a willingness to buck tradition and test institutional bias. At the vaunted Swedish Academy the times were a-changing. “The frontiers of literature keep widening,” Salman Rushdie told Britain’s Guardian in 2016, while lauding Dylan as a personal inspiration. “It’s exciting that the Nobel Prize recognizes that.” Billy Collins, America’s former poet laureate, gave his blessing to Dylan’s Nobel. Songwriters cheered for one of the own. (“Holy mother of god,” wrote Rosanne Cash.) Barack Obama tweeted his congratulations.

Dylan stood by impassively, letting all the fuss blow in the wind. He didn’t bother to respond to the Academy’s call informing him of their choice. (“Impolite and arrogant,” a committee member griped.) He played concerts in Tulsa, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Albuquerque, and El Paso—even now, at nearly 80, Dylan is frequently on tour—without mentioning the Nobel to the crowd. A note acknowledging he’d won the award went up as a short aside on his website but then was taken down. Weeks went by before Dylan said anything publicly at all. When he finally did, he told a reporter that he would attend the award ceremony, “If at all possible.” Later he said he didn’t think he’d make it there after all. Dylan being Dylan.

According to the official release, Dylan was named literature’s 113th Nobel laureate for, “having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.” The Swedish Academy’s permanent secretary at the time, Sara Danius, compared Dylan to Homer and Sappho and said that reaching the decision had not been difficult. “We’re
really giving it to Bob Dylan as a great poet—that’s the reason we awarded him the prize,” said Danius, who died in late 2019. “He’s a great poet in the great English tradition, stretching from Milton and Blake onward. And he’s a very interesting traditionalist in a highly original way. Not just the written tradition but also the oral one; not just high literature but also low literature.”

High or low, literature—or rather what we might mean by it—is not easy to define. Merriam-Webster has it simply as: “written works . . . that are considered to be very good and to have lasting importance,” a measure by which the writing not only of Bob Dylan, William Faulkner, Alice Munro, and every other laureate clearly qualifies but also such works as, say, the Guinness Book of World Records, Mad magazine, and the 2020 Chevy Impala owner’s manual. Perhaps then, we mean something else by literature, something about texts that communicate implicitly as well as explicitly, that find a way to say things that might otherwise not be said, that have, at their center, a conscience. The will of Alfred Nobel, the Swedish philanthropist who set up the whole Nobel enterprise, decrees that the literature prize go to someone who produced “the most outstanding work in an idealistic direction.” The type of works considered, the Nobel Foundation says, should be “not only belles lettres but also other writings which, by virtue of their form and style, possess literary value.”

Whether heard in song or read on the page, Dylan’s lyrics clearly contain many of the distinguishing qualities of great poems and novels. They’re hewn to engaging narratives. They’re often allegorical and richly emotional. They reveal themselves more fully over sustained analysis (hence the college courses). Dylan’s work is often political, of course, though rarely strident. It’s hard to imagine any writer of English listening attentively to Dylan’s lyrics without being affected by the language, the structure, and the content. They are words that stand the test of time.

The list of Nobel laureates is hardly definitive. (Tolstoy never won it. Pearl S. Buck did.) But many of the giants are there. And the imprimatur of the prize is on a scale of its own. In declining the award, Sartre spoke of the impact that it would have had upon how he was perceived. “If I sign myself Jean-Paul Sartre it is not the same thing as if I sign myself Jean-Paul Sartre, Nobel Prize winner.” He added, “The writer must therefore refuse to let himself be transformed into an institution, even if this occurs under the most honorable circumstances.” In the case of Dylan—who gained his audience partly by pricking the establishment and now, perhaps in spite of himself, has become a part of it—Sartre’s is not an irrelevant concern.

The Nobel Prize, for all its momentous heft, will never outweigh Dylan’s true accomplishment. His powerful, beautiful, transformative and unforgettable songs helped to spur righteousness through the heart of the civil rights movement. Dylan’s words were sung by marchers on the road from Selma to Montgomery. They were sung as preamble to Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech in Washington, D.C. That remains Bob Dylan’s noblest mark. The 2016 Nobel Prize was simply a crowning honor in an extraordinary life.

Here are a selection of images from LIFE’s special issue Bob Dylan: America’s Greatest Songwriter.

David Gahr/Premium/Shutterstock

Bob Dylan In Christopher Park, New York CIty, January 22, 1965.

Photo by Fred W. McDarrah/Shutterstock

Dylan’s handwritten lyrics to “The Times They Are a-Changing,” which he composed in 1963.

Chris Hondros/Shutterstock

Bob Dylan played piano during the recording of his album Highway 61 Revisited, 1965.

Michael Ochs Archives/Shutterstock

Dylan played an electric guitar on stage for the first time at the Newport Folk Festival, July 25, 1965.

Alice Ochs/Michael Ochs Archives/Shutterstock

Dylan with Richard Manuel (left), who was part of his backing band and later gained renown as a member of The Band, 1966.

Jan Persson/Redferns/Premium/Shutterstock

Bob Dylan in London around the time of his noted Royal Albert Hall concerts in 1966.

Photo by Daily Herald/Mirrorpix/Mirrorpix via Shutterstock

French Culture Minister Jack Lang presented Bob Dylan with the Croix de Commandeur des Arts et Lettres (Arts and Literature Commander Cross) in Paris. January 30, 1990

Yves Forestier/Sygma/Shutterstock

Bob Dylan performed during the AFI Life Achievement Award: A Tribute to Michael Douglas at Sony Pictures Studios on June 11, 2009 in Culver City, California.

Kevin Winter/Shutterstock for AFI

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