Article written by Rory Hawkins.
This year, I volunteered for the Brisbane Writers Festival (BWF) for the first time. Organised and hosted by the State Library of Queensland (SLQ), the festival is the Australian literary community’s contribution to the Brisbane Festival. This year’s theme, the ambiguous title of ‘What the world needs now…’
Though the big ticket items were Irvine Welsh, Lauren Weisberger and Veronica Roth – authors of Trainspotting, The Devil Wears Prada, and the Divergent trilogy, respectfully – SLQ truly came to life over the past weekend. Australian writers and public figures spoke on their works and the issues they’re most passionate about.
Posted behind bar, my time between shifts and my volunteer pass gave me free reign of events.
My attendance included (but was by no means limited to): Ode to the Ocean with Philip Hoare and Dr Karl Kruszelnicki, discussing the former’s relationship with non-fiction and the sea; Community, Gender and Identity with Nevo Zisin, Jay Carmichael, Krissy Kneen and Laura Roberts, speaking on current LGBT writing; Non-fiction & Fiction: Balancing Threads of Past & Present, Maria Tumarkin, Justin Heazlewood, and David Burton on intricacies of writing creative non-fic and memoir.
With its “the big three” authors, all fiction writers, thematic scales were tipped in favour of non-fiction and “inspired” writing. For all the schedule’s colourful coordination, most panel topics covered the realities behind all, if any, written fiction. In this way, Australian literature remains acutely Australian, never far from people and country.
Overall, production value was spot on. Day pass in hand, attendees could pick and choose from 25 events a day, as well as a select number of workshops. With so much happening at once, peppy captain and Volunteer Coordinator Meg Vann always steered us in the right direction with the best possible attitude.
Every panel was staged and set up with professional airs. You could even imagine conversations being podcasted (if they’re not already doing that, SLQ should really consider). Chairpersons were clearly chosen for more than just public speaking – all had established expertise on their subject. When they moved conversation along, it felt like the refined version of an audience question, exploring writers’ answers on the spot.
‘Isn’t satire cruel?’ asked a chairperson. ‘How can you treat your characters like that?’ A passage had just been read about a young Parisian woman who ‘undoubtedly cooked dinner before practicing pelvic thrusts every night’ for her significantly older artist-boyfriend.
‘No, I don’t think it is,’ replied author Michelle de Kretser. ‘We use satire to look past the nuances of our behaviour, to poke fun at the pattern of things. I don’t consider pointing that out as cruel.’
‘But we’ve all known someone like that. Or at least can imagine.’
‘Yes, and that’s the point.’
For any cut and dry title (I’m looking at you, Contemporary Fiction), panels always varied with their writers. I wasn’t just listening to a writing process or how well a new book did, I was getting to know the personalities behind the pages. My personal favourite: author Justin Heazlewood on his family memoir. A millennial in every sense of the word, he recounted and introduced his family as they were attacked by mozzies in the living room, accents lathered on thick.
As he finished the passage, he looked back to us; ‘I was a weird kid, and I had some weird hobbies. Sometimes I liked to record my family when they didn’t know it.’ He picked up one of his ‘props’ – an old tape recorder. With one button press, every piece of dialogue, accents and intonations exact, was played back to us. If we hadn’t been laughing before, we were now.
The close runner-up:
‘…And let’s be honest guys, we need to dismantle capitalism!’ a writer cheered.
Chairman and panelist heads all bobbed and mhmed enthusiastically in unison – one an aspiring Labour candidate. The front rows gave a little applause. Having entered from the back only a few minutes earlier, I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d missed.
I think that’s part of this BWF experience: the line between direct and indirect commentary. You needed to peruse the schedule, pick out every odd phrase or topic that caught your eye, and go to everything and anything you had the energy for.
Every year there’s maybe one or two writers I specifically go to see, but there’s so much more to try out. And who knows what you’ll discover.
In that way, this year’s theme was great. Some events were very in your face about how they connected to ‘What the world needs now’ but walking out of every one I would think: “Yes, if we had a little more clarity, understanding or humour – whatever was demonstrated – we could all be better off.”
What really concerns me is the disconnect between the BWF’s theme and the audience they’d drawn. ‘What the world needs now’ echoes a longing for new answers and change, something that’s always been linked to the next generation.
Points made by younger panelists (even the socialist-alternative types) always linked back to the importance of our generation being active in society.
Yet looking around, attendance was almost entirely one demographic. For any talk of diversity, you’d be hard-pressed to not be arm’s length from a late-to-middle-aged woman. Not the hands you’d imagine holding up the flag on high, heralding a new social order. Forget the future, the (arts) present is female.
Panels headed by young writers weren’t any different. Young People These Days: no one onstage wasn’t under thirty and without a published book. Including the chairperson, there was five people – the joint-most out of any panel. Yet, as ironically as the name implies, it felt like a quick check-up on younger literary voices just to balance out the age range. “These young people, what are they up to nowadays?”
And I wasn’t the only one to think that. While talking with other student-volunteers, a manager asked us how we thought the BWF could bring in more people our age. Sure, during the week SLQ was flooded with school groups, but the largest free gathering of our generation was for the volunteer’s sausage sizzle.
Despite events being presented by Griffith University and the University of Queensland, any students on site only knew about the BWF from prior experience or individual research. I wonder how much participation was from the universities and where in the departments this came from. It might just be bad timing that a lot of exams and assignments are due this month.
The time or connections to spread the word might’ve made all the difference. Equally, had university music departments been involved, students could’ve been given the Festival Hub space to liven up between events. As with the panelists, creativity has many facets – more festive could’ve been put into the festival.
This is gonna sound cheesy, but make writing cool already! I think it’s awesome – there is so much behind actions and messages that we communicate through the stories we tell. SLQ must think so too; why else would you theme a writers festival ‘What the world needs now’?
But I want a BWF that appeals to vastly different audiences, not just literary socialites and the moral bourgeoisie. Rather than just using public speakers on social issues to bring in another crowd, time needs to be spent thinking on how the BWF can be more outside of a niche community. And that doesn’t mean bringing in another niche-er one.
Any student can tell you how uncomfortable Q&As are – most questions are overzealous, only backtrack or ask something completely off topic. Add a few “How can I as a white woman be an ally?” to that mix and you’ve affirmed a particular audience. But I won’t go there – this critique is first and foremost on 2018’s BWF.
As the new adage goes: ‘use your position of power.’ Use this position to appeal to everyone - not just down one line of culture. Make reading and writing something to be celebrated by the all people you want questioning and imagining – not just those already using it to do so.
Opinions aside, congratulations to the team at SLQ for delivering another amazing Brisbane Writer’s Festival! If no one reads this article or no feathers ruffle, you’ll see me volunteering next year, hopeful and ready to listen.
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