spinofflive
New Zealand’s literary festivals are constantly evolving (Design: Archi Banal)
New Zealand’s literary festivals are constantly evolving (Design: Archi Banal)

BooksSeptember 6, 2022

Are Aotearoa literary festivals doomed?

New Zealand’s literary festivals are constantly evolving (Design: Archi Banal)
New Zealand’s literary festivals are constantly evolving (Design: Archi Banal)

Books editor and longtime lit festival maker Claire Mabey responds to the question of whether writers festivals will last the distance.

A clutch of people sent me this article, recently published in The Guardian, titled “Are literary festivals doomed? Why book events need to change”. The article asks why UK literary festivals are experiencing decreasing attendance levels. 

Maybe numbers are down because a proportion of the usual crowd is reluctant to come out for fear of Covid. Maybe it’s because the cost of living has gotten so high that people simply don’t have the cash to spend on tickets. Towards the end of the article it is put forward that some of the more traditional book festivals simply don’t cater to a wide enough audience, so interest is waning. 

‘He mea tautoko nā ngā mema atawhai. Supported by our generous members.’
Liam Rātana
— Ātea editor

All of these things are likely to be true, at least for the UK. They could be true for us here too, though it’s a dodgy game to assume that what’s true over there also fits for us. What I would add is that perhaps the waning numbers may also signal the reconsideration of an obsession with scale. For a long time the bums-on-seats mentality ruled, particularly where funding was concerned. The pandemic has helped us see that small can be beautiful; intimate is powerful. 

Festivals are responding, with relief I might suggest, and downscaling is a pattern I’ve noticed in Aotearoa and around the world. Biggest doesn’t necessarily mean best anymore. Particularly when the costs of production are higher and when the makers themselves are stretched by the pressures of the last few years.

At first, contemplating the state of literary festivals at large made me feel tired. I have wrestled with the beasts for over a decade as the founder of Verb Wellington and LitCrawl Wellington, trying things, learning things, and then unlearning them. That is the way of the festival to my mind: constant and deliberate evolution. Trial and error; back and forth; listening; pushing ideas; playing. We tried a pop-up container venue in a park one year… not a hit (the door broke on day one). A LitCrawl event celebrating Kirikiriroa/Hamilton in a record shop on a Saturday night = huge hit.

This process is different for every festival: they are each on their own trajectories and timelines. They have their own genesis stories, their own pattern of ups and downs. The most fundamental principle for me is all about the vibe. I believe in vibes. I think there are ways to create good vibes and surefire ways to make bad ones. Every interaction from the core of the organisation outward should attempt to evoke a sense of joy, of celebration, of respectful engagement. The reason is that festivals exist to bring people together. In a word: manaakitanga. 

It’s true that festivals in Aotearoa haven’t always got this right and I think the reason is simple: the standard book festival model didn’t come from here. Like the classic Edinburgh-derived multi-arts festival, the model came from somewhere else – the UK. We’re still deep in the process of adaptation: of breaking down and re-making that model so that these festivals become our own. 

LitCrawl 2018 (Photo: Vanessa Rushton)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that for a long time literary festivals were for the entertainment and edification of a narrow band of followers. I have always felt wary, however, of criticisms aimed solely at the sight of groups of older people, mostly white women. As though there is something wrong with women above a certain age gathering and thinking and talking.

Nevertheless, the clusters of grey hair are held up as symptomatic of the fact that the festivals don’t offer enough choice – that they are a habit of a particular few. While I don’t think it’s the crowd of curious older, pākehā women who are the actual problem, it’s true that there is a perception that book festivals don’t look like an option for anyone else.

A famous performance artist said to me once: “But what is a writers festival? What do people do there? I really don’t get it.” I could see where he was coming from. It sounds like a bunch of people are coming together to celebrate making marks on blank pages. It’s not a particularly evocative concept. Writers/book/literary festivals aren’t quite what they say on the tin. Their job is to air the thoughts and ideas of writers. They’re about conversation and performance. They are about celebrating that a writer has finished the extraordinary act of faith of completing and publishing a book (or have offered up their stories via other mediums) and now they are allowed to be seen and heard in conjunction with that work.

As good as it can feel to be a part of such a gathering, with such a mission, making a festival can be an uncomfortable thing to do. When I started out I didn’t fully appreciate that while I was trying to make more space for the kind of casual/chaotic bookish gatherings that I thought were more accessible, I was actually also turning myself into somebody that decided what books to talk about, and by default what not to. 

This question of gatekeeping – who designs what goes on stage and the way in which that stage is crafted – is at the heart of the jostling in the Guardian article and in the art world at large. If your festival only has room for a certain type of curator who is going to curate a certain type of writer in a certain kind of way, then you’re only ever making something for a certain type of attendee. Your audiences will shrink. We’ve known this in Aotearoa for a while now. 

Festivals here have been working hard at evolving to make space for new ways to do things, for new curators with fresh ideas and values. We’re figuring out what to chuck, what to keep, what to upend and make anew. We are also getting used to the fact that it’s OK, more than OK, for festivals to be different from each other.

Verb Wellington (Photo: Vanessa Rushton)

As festivals have focussed on the fact that they are specific to a particular place and time, they are evolving more unique identities. And that is a brilliant thing. Festivals should offer choice. They should be as specific as they like. And they will continue to diversify as we work out even further what a breadth of Aotearoa book festivals can be. Programmes will get even richer, better, more interesting, and as a consequence audiences will refresh.

I can’t imagine festivals ever settling on one form. By nature they need to be responsive. For example, in response to the need to have a kaupapa Māori literary festival, the first Ngā Ringa Tuhituhi Kupu Māori Writers Festival was held; a brilliant addition to the landscape of lit festivals in Aotearoa.

Even still, the pace of change will appear to be slow for some. There are still a lot of knotty conversations to be had to dig deeper into these models and pull them apart. I am impatient for this myself. 

There are structures around the making of festivals that are even harder to break down than the festival itself: funding patterns, timelines, the publishing industry, expectations about size, scale and a city’s return on investment. Sometimes it can be difficult to take the time needed when you’re constantly racing against the ever-quickening wheels of money and time. 

In order for book festivals to survive they need to feel free to embrace the chaos of change. They should be allowed to pause to re-make themselves. Or even come to a healthy end if the lifecycle has reached that point. They should step out of comfort zones, make mistakes and from those hard conversations see what new shapes emerge. 

I have seen great shifts in the last five years. I see audiences made up of all kinds of people, of all ages, with various interests. From what I can see, I think Aotearoa book festivals are already working hard to build vibrant and beautiful experiences from the inside out. WORD Christchurch just delivered its 25th Festival with a beautiful, rich programme; Auckland Writers Festival shifted its model this year with multiple curators weaving their own events throughout outgoing director Anne O’Brien’s programme.

Whānau, audience and speakers Stacey Morrison, Qiane Matata-Sipu and Georgia Latu keep the kōrero going over kai after WORD Christchurch Festival’s session NUKU:100 Kickarse Indigenous Women. (Photo: Supplied)

In short: no, I don’t think book festivals are doomed. When I imagine the end of the world I see some iteration of a literary gathering. There will be a poet surrounded by a sea of faces and that poet will ease things with a slant explanation. With a story. My most idealist self believes that festivals are our planet’s own flares. A bright blaze in the expanse. Chaotic, shapely, quick to burn out into pale smoke but leaving something with you all the same – the memory of brightness, some impression that helps expand your inner eye. Literary festivals are not doomed, but they will change. 

Claire Mabey is currently The Spinoff’s books editor and is also founder of Verb Wellington, which holds a festival every November.

Keep going!
FeatureImage_UnityChildrensV2.png

BooksSeptember 4, 2022

The Unity Books children’s bestseller chart for August

FeatureImage_UnityChildrensV2.png

What’s the best way to get adults reading? Get them reading when they’re children – and there’s no better place to start than Unity’s top-selling kids’ books.

Give us a children’s book any day of the week. We don’t even need a kid to go with it. But make it daring. Children (your inner child included) run dark by nature – they’re adventurous, weird, extremely capable of finding their way into big, daunting ideas. The best children’s books honour that capacity and lead us unashamedly into unknowns. And they do that with a terrific glint in their eye. Danger, surprise, comedy, opportunity. If more adults read children’s books with the bravery that children do then the world would be a better place. There, we said it.

AUCKLAND

1  Atua by Gavin Bishop (Puffin UK, $40, all ages)

The winningest of all of the children’s books this year. Atua scooped the top prize at the New Zealand book awards for children and young adults. And rightly so. Bishop’s sweeping illustrations and vivid language captivates from the depths of Te Kore and into Te Ao Marama and the gripping beginnings of Atua Māori.

2  Noisy Book by Soledad Bravi (Gecko Press, $25, 0-3yrs)

A classic. Our copy is barely alive, held together by tape and jammy smears. The at times disarming illustrations make this book beguiling in its simplicity in more ways than one.

3  Maui & Other Legends: 8 Classic Tales of Aotearoa by Peter Gossage, (Penguin, hb, $40, 4+)

The startling and iconic world of Peter Gossage is a right of passage for all Aotearoa kids. An essential on all bookshelves.

4  Big Book of Words & Pictures by Ole Könnecke (Gecko Press, $30, 1+)

Charming. You’ll find yourselves going off on wonderful tangents thanks to Ole Könnecke’s playful approach.

5  Spark Hunter By Sonya Wilson (Cuba Press, $25, 10-14yrs)

We are fans of this YA story about fairies in Fiordland. You can read about the childhood adventures that inspired the book right here. Also appreciate this comment from Sofia (age 11) on Kete Books:

“The book made me think about how harshly we treat wildlife in New Zealand. The nature-filled book made me go outside and look at the trees several times. I would recommend it to someone who likes bush walks and nature.”

6  Big Ideas For Curious Minds: An Introduction to Philosophy by Alain de Botton and Anna Doherty (Affirm Press, $40, 9+)

From the School of Life website: “Big Ideas for Curious Minds is designed to harness children’s spontaneous philosophical instinct and to develop it through introductions to some of the most vibrant and essential philosophical ideas from history. The book takes us to meet leading figures of philosophy from around the world and from all eras – and shows us how their ideas continue to matter.”

Sounds like a good one for adults wanting to brush up on their Philosophy skills, too.

7  My First Pop-Up Dinosaurs by Owen Davy (Walker Books, $23, 4+)

A worthy precursor to Jurassic Park. The T-Rex’s gaping mouth pops right out of the page in a satisfyingly aggressive manner. While you’re waiting for the right time to introduce your child to Sam Neill, Laura Dern, and the angel Jeff Goldblum, this book will satisfy that freakish need for kids to know all the brands of dinosaur and to say the word Pachycephalosaurus before they can say teeth.

8  A Perfect Wonderful Day With Friends by Philip Waechter (Gecko Press, Hbk $30, Pbk $20, 3+)

A bucolic delight. We all need spring to arrive more than ever before. This book staves off the apocalypse of this winter in delightful, comforting ways. Lots of cake.

9  Year Full of Stories: 52 Folk Tales from Around the World by Angela McAllister (Frances Lincoln, $28, 6+)

The gift that keeps on giving. Folk tales live on for a reason: they’re deceptively complex, memorable and at times unsettling. Love a good anthology that can be dipped in and out of and revisited over time.

10  Bedtime Book of Animals Take a Peek at More Than 50 of Your Favourite Animals (Dorling Kindersley UK, $30, 3+)

Factual and fanciful at the same time. This helps populate a child’s world with the magic of animal lives. If only we held onto that as we aged. Another one that could be for the grown ups, too. To remind us about the weird and wonderful creeps we share the planet with.

WELLINGTON

1  Atua: Maori Gods & Heroes by Gavin Bishop (Penguin, $40, all ages)

2  Adventures of Mittens: Wellington’s Famous Purr-Sonality by Silvio Bruinsma (Penguin, $20, 3+)

I mean, sure. But he lives in Auckland now guys. Brutal.

3  Cluster of Stars, A Cluster of Stories: Matariki Around the World by Rangi Matamua & Miriama Kamo (Scholastic, $35, 4+)

There is something entirely magical about the universe, the way stars connect our stories from Aotearoa all the way across the globe. This book by two of the greatest communicators of our time is a generous and beautiful addition to the growing expanse of literature on Matariki.

4  The Assignment by Liza Weimer (Random House, $24, 12+)

A rousing YA novel about two teens who stand against their history teacher when he asks them to defend the indefensible for an assignment. Fast-paced and plot driven, and comes with a content warning: contain sdepictions of anti-Semitism and hate crimes.

5  Counting Creatures by Julia Donaldson (Two Hoots, $25, 4+)

Vibrant illustrations and flaps for little hands to lift, from the author of The Gruffalo et al.

6  The Lighthouse Princess by Susan Wardell, illustrated by Rose Northey (Puffin, $18, all ages)

A beautiful, watery adventure with a feminist heart.

7  Big Feelings & What They Tell Us by Rebekah Ballagh (Allen & Unwin, $30, 2+)

A very useful book for all ages. From School Library News: “One of the best books I’ve seen about emotions. Rebekah goes beyond linking emotions to colours or naming them but also describes how they make your body feel and how to manage them. I highly recommend this book for all parents and educators.”

8  Hairy Maclary from Donaldson’s Dairy Board Book by Lynley Dodd (Puffin, $16, babies+)

The Spinoff recently released this documentary on Lynley Dodd and her beloved creations. Everyone deserves the chance to read ‘Yeeoooowwwffttzzz’ aloud at least once and forever instil in a child the sheer godliness of Scarface Claw. See also Tara Ward’s ranking of all of the creatures in Hairy’s world.

9  Amorangi & Millie’s Trip Through Time by Lauren Keenan (Huia Publishers, $26, 9+)

An inventive time-travel adventure. Amorangi and Millie have to rescue their Mum from the murky depths of history and this makes for a brilliant premise from which to learn about Aotearoa’s past and just how far we’ve come.

10  The Boy, the Mole, the Fox & the Horse by Charles Mackesy (Ebury Press, $40, all ages)

A collective of those enigmatic illustrations you’ve probably seen everywhere.

But wait there's more!