Alone and Lonely — Missing Books at Literary Festivals

Mandira Pattnaik
trampset
Published in
5 min readFeb 28, 2024

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Photo by freddie marriage on Unsplash

When the New Delhi World Book Fair 2024 ceded space to participating countries to showcase tourism and heritage and promote higher education opportunities available, I felt a certain sadness. It was like the organizers (National Book Trust, Ministry of Education, Government of India) had accepted that books alone, and literature alone, would not attract crowds. Not only was such presence of ancillary purposes prominently advertised, but thought of as a step towards unification of cultures. This further made the books on display and sale look lonely, huddled together in desertion of a population getting crasser by the day.

At seventeen, I remember being excited at the knowledge that India was just beginning to be considered a respectable international venue. For the Kolkata Book Fair, we’d flock to see which countries were participating. Books by countries such as Austria and Saudi Arabia, meaning their interest in showcasing their culture among big and small Indian towns, would make us proud of the progress our newly opened-up economy was making. This hopefulness would stem from how fast India was growing post-economic-globalization, and how I was a witness to it. But now, probably with my age and how I see things, I feel a sense of loss at the same cultural display by the same nations. But it is not books. The Austrian booth lays down pamphlets and brochures on its table for the courses offered by colleges in Austria. Similarly, Cervantes Institute, a non-profit organization run by the Spanish government, had installed a small kiosk to promote the courses offered by it. Books seem to have taken a back seat. Many book-lovers noted this change. At least some of the sadness for me personally was compounded because I am a writer now, and it is offensive to me to club together tourism and marketing in the same bracket as literature.

I look at this change in a Divider-Continuator matrix. Divider is one who hyphenates the story of their life through separators inserted in order of dates, or events, or traumas and triumphs, while a Continuator is one who sees everything as a growth in the process of changing through life. I can logically see how my perspective about literary fairs has changed over the years as something that I aspired to attend, and now, as something that I ‘might’ consider attending if time and opportunity permits. That would point to the ‘Divider’ side of the matrix.

Curiously, unlike a few other fellow writers, I do not envy not being a part of literary circles, physically at least, either in India or elsewhere. In this respect, I am still the quintessential observer I was in primary school, who wouldn’t take stage unless under compulsion. But the personal problem of a compulsive observer is multiplied when they begin to foresee a series of small changes that might result in a future catastrophe. Such an exercise is at best, futile; at worst, more than what is required. Such people often tend to view the problem of others as their own, and which they assume are depending on themselves to suggest solutions. Hence, I made corrections and decided not to bother and sulk whether or not books were missing at book festivals. This thought line of mine was however in direct conflict in the past few weeks, when multiple literary fairs, organized both in India (Delhi, Kolkata, Jaipur) and in the USA (AWP) kept monopolizing press headlines and my social media timeline. True to my fears about the hijacking of literary festivals into a more entertaining potpourri of tourism, music and marketing, with a bit of books thrown in, Ms. Diya Kumari, deputy chief minister of the state of Rajasthan, in whose capital city the JLF is held every year, said: “Five days of the JLF do more for tourism than what the State government does for attracting the visitors during the entire year.” As for the AWP, held in Kansas this year, everyone who attended said it was overwhelming. Everyone who did not attend, also said that it was overwhelming. So that’s that — might tell something about its size and the sheer effect it has on the literary community. One opinion suggested that if you are not editing a magazine and not promoting a book, and without institutionalized funding, attending the AWP can be a costly proposition. Some reported extravagant events that had nothing to do with book sales, while others showed off books they had purchased at the event.

It is interesting how there’s a keen intention to impose order on the chaos among these divergent opinions. They also seem to subscribe to the same pattern every year. This is perhaps the Continuator syndrome of repeating the same kind of feelings, with or without, as the case may be, attending such a big event.

If something outrageous or controversial comes out of these book fairs and conferences, it is dubbed as the design of the organizers and panelists to be ‘in the papers’, and thus to gain publicity. For example, JLF 2013, was controversial for the banning of certain authors, and JLF 2022, for the alleged pressure of including a panelist solely for her association with the ruling party. Similarly, the AWP has been criticized for the removal of its long-time director, for its mask/no mask policy, for its low efforts at diversity, for censorships, for political protests, and of course, for how expensive it is.

If it doesn’t generate controversy, the average book lover might not even know that such a festival exists; it might not be covered by the press, and therefore, at the end of the event, be declared infructuous. Has anyone, by the way, heard of the Trichy Book Festival?

In conclusion, similar to how we order priorities in life, literary festivals and book fairs seem to have ordered their preferences, only one of which seems to be the books they put on display and sell. Simultaneously, affordability and cost-benefit analysis keeps a large section of writers out of these venues. All these, to my mind, have contributed to make literary festivals a niche event undermining their very purpose, and a rethink may serve the reading and writing population well.

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