Congratulations are due to Belarus, the former Soviet country still under an iron regime, and rated the worst country in Europe for press freedom. Writer and journalist Svetlana Alexievich's award of the Nobel Prize for literature is a first for the republic, and another indication that the Nobel committee is working hard to reverse a century-long drought on women laureates. A contemporary historian, she is the first journalist to take the prize, joining Doris Lessing, Alice Munro, Herta Muller, and 10 others as female recipients of the world's highest literary honour since its inception in 1901. In so doing she has expanded the horizons of the prize. Apparently she was doing the ironing when the call came from Stockholm.

It is more than a little ironic that Belarus, whose population is almost twice that of Scotland, has been put on the cultural map by a writer unable to be published there. Until four years ago, Alexievich lived in exile, in Sweden, France and Germany. The works that have won her such critical acclaim have focussed on controversial issues, among them Chernobyl and its fallout, and the experience of Soviet women during the Second World War, as told in their own words. Since returning home, Alexievich has kept her head below the political parapet. Until, that is, she received the prize, when she spoke out against Russia's intervention in Ukraine. In response, a Kremlin spokesman dismissed her comments as uninformed.

Although I had previously read about Alexievich's work, I have not, as yet, read her. Not that this is the first time a winner has not been on my radar, let alone my bookshelf. Patrick Modiano, last year's French winner, was also new to me, although I have since rectified that. There are far too many writers I ought to know, and do not, which is painful to admit. At the same time, I surely cannot be the only one to notice that, despite the presence of such well-known figures as Gunter Grass or Mario Vargas Llosa, winners of this accolade are often not what you would call household names. They are, however, frequently outspoken, or dissident, or anti-establishment, and fearlessly so. To this extent, indeed, the Stockholm arbiters are becoming a champion of those writers prepared to tackle oppressive regimes and ideologies, often at no small cost to themselves.

This is to be applauded, but it also risks the Nobel prize becoming distorted, or its purpose becoming more a gatekeeper of literary lionhearts than purely of creative excellence. A century hence, its roll call, so far, of 112 winners will vividly reflect the political struggles and scandals or rebellions of the 20th and early 21st centuries, but will it also give a full flavour of the range of voices in fiction poetry or nonfiction? One fears the picture it will paint will be partial.

And, unless there is some dramatic shift in the way it seeks out prize winners, there will be no acknowledgement of Scottish writers, some of whom have been – and are – eminently as worthy of consideration as their international peers. Scotland need not exist, so far as this panel is concerned. Among today's novelists alone we have two in Alasdair Gray and James Kelman who ought at least to be considered. Others might cite different or additional names, but the point is bigger than the individuals being neglected. I am informed that some writers of other nationalities are put forward by what can only be called lobbyists or pressure groups, pressing their claims or, at the very least, ensuring they are not overlooked.

Unless there is an organisation doing this regularly for our literary figureheads, but keeping their activity quiet, then it would appear Scotland has no voice at the Nobel table. Surely this ought to be rectified? Our writers do not work under a punitive government, nor face imprisonment or penury for speaking unpalatable truths, but many of the best are far from tame in their political views, and have certainly suffered financially as a result. Of course, they might not wish to have a label such as the Nobel hung around their necks. But it would be gratifying to be given the chance to find out how they would react, when the phone call came.