Many writers resist national labels. Like Salman Rushdie, we'd rather belong to "the boundless kingdom of the imagination ... the unfettered republic of the tongue".
Unfortunately, the world of book prizes is more specific - delineated by markets, publishing eligibility and sometimes citizenship.
For those of us from the Southern Hemisphere - or from continents like, say, Africa - the status accorded to international literary prizes is a constant reminder of our marginality.
Only five of the 107 Nobel literature laureates, for example, have been writers from the Southern Hemisphere. In the English-speaking literary world, we're stuck in outdated hierarchies, looking north to the once-imperial power for cultural leadership and validation. For English-language writers from outside the UK or US, our national or regional prizes don't translate beyond local markets. The Kiriyama Prize, for books about "the Pacific Rim and South Asia" closed in 2008. The Commonwealth Prize ended its main book award in 2011.
The Man Booker Prize - the self-styled most important literary award in the English-speaking world - presents an illusion of internationalism. After all, last year Australian writer Richard Flanagan won; the 2013 winner was New Zealander Eleanor Catton. It's easy to think that we infidels have stormed the palace and can wave more compatriots through the gates. We don't realise how many gates there are.