I just returned from the Hay festival, where I took this picture. I challenge anybody to look at it and tell me that Book History doesn’t have some interesting things to say:

This is an honesty bookshop in a castle, and it’s sort of by the way – but I did think it was interesting that the Hay festival, which takes place in a series of marquees just outside the famous ‘town of books’, is not really a site for bibliomania at all. There, apart from the Oxfam tent and a stall selling those (academically very interesting) ‘classic penguin’ mugs and deckchairs, the cult of the author reigns supreme. It’s very much a show for people interested in the personalities behind books – and, because this is the twenty-first century, the personalities behind TV, journalism, film, illustration, politics, music. The ‘literaryness’ can often fade into the background, for all the bookish props and slogans.
Would it be better if this wasn’t so? Certainly, ‘loving books’ feels more like an aesthetic choice than anything else at this event, but I’m not sure how good a festival it would be if we were trying to prioritise literary culture all the time. Living authors are a great resource (that ‘living’ is important – we don’t always see ‘life’ in our field, and perhaps its at the heart of what a festival is), and I went to some really interesting, and moving, talks.
On the other hand, I think a ‘Festival of Literature and the Arts’ could usefully stop to think, if only for a moment, about the extent to which it represents those things, and the extent to which it simply represents the people who create and consume them. I think this is a more serious distinction than it sounds, because there’s an opportunity here to really foreground some of the things that are great about books, and writing, and literature. These things, and the study of them, are increasingly being viewed with some scepticism by culture at large, as I noted in my previous post. Consider the public image of the literary arts which Hay brings – the trope of the Guardian reader – and consider the kinds of arguments which you could make for them, given that platform. Books aren’t (just) intrinsically wonderful – nor are they (just) the status accessories we litter our shelves with. Nor, indeed, are they (just) access points into the interesting lives of the famous people we want to know more about. They have a greater power, and a greater relevance, and some of that is being lost at Hay right now.
Don’t get me wrong – I loved the festival. I saw Quentin Blake live, and he drew the Enormous Crocodile, and I’m really never going to deny that I got a lot out of that. But I think there’s room for a deeper kind of public engagement here, and I think that at the moment there’s still lots to be said for popping back to Hay when the festival isn’t in season and poking around the many fabulous bookshops by yourself.


