Art is Activism
The Obsessive diary at London Book Fair
“Books are radical technology” said Louisa Joyner on the Main Stage yesterday and although London Book Fair can sometimes feel like the slick debut from an Enfant Terrible; overly wordy and as pleased with itself as all hell, I’m with Louisa. Reading is an act of protest and rebellion and books are the latest and oldest in the fight.
The watchword at every talk seemed to be libraries, especially on the PEN stage which was less doused in entry-point, evergreen and content viewing habits than the bigger spaces where Netflix sat alongside Penguin Random House and reshaped this sacred act to fit an industry-language modal. Fascinating as those key notes were, it was PEN where I found the literary activists; the publishers, writers and librarians that felt like home. I found myself drawn back there again and again, up the metal stairs with the bannister rail that unnervingly stopped and started, and steps strangely carpeted in beige, a pace along the balcony and random dive through the swing doors, a glance at what was on and often getting lucky with a seat. But let me take you by the hand to the beginning, of walking in through Olympian arches on Day One.
I met AW, SB & JN for breakfast. Tea, and tables moved to fit us all, in a little cafe a minutes walk from the venue. Already we were talking in that way when industry professionals get together, like an AA meeting meets falling off the wagon, therapy while happily digging ourselves deeper; to have found myself in a career that involves what I would be doing anyway for free is what makes this writing life such an excitement and a heartache. We care and we cannot stop. I spotted others at other tables, the conversations to come of nods and negotiations; LBF hasn’t always welcomed the writers, it is, primarily, for the publishers and all who sail with her. LBF is where deals are done. Or rather, relationships are cemented, as these days many deals are already in the bag before early March rolls around and the hurried, harried faces of agents have been hurried and harried already non-stop since Frankfurt.
I was feeling peculiar as we stopped at bag check, the river of this certain type of us; large glasses, decisive boots, crumpled suits having carried us across the Hammersmith Road and down the wide side street to ribbons herding lines. Was it a rogue wave micro dose (they happen)? Or just a complete lack of sleep (weird dreams and 3 am wakefulness)? Or the sheer impact of Olympia in full book fair swing, massive and crowded and What’s On boards only adding to the sense that whatever this was, it was already Too Much? I decided to adopt the festival stance of old; a refusal to take in maps and timetables or any planning whatsoever, a commitment to let the flow take me. And take me it did.
It’s been two days of bumping into people I haven’t seen in years - a random stop in a quiet spot to eat my salad and who should be beside me but C who I haven’t seen since the Festival of Writers back in 2017. An aimless left and right and hey presto I found myself at Salt and the lovely Chris Hamilton-Emery who gave me my first deal. Standing up from his table, about to go and literally at the one beside, AG from school who now works in distribution. And without any meet me there or see you here AW and I managed to coincide not only events but seats next to each other repeatedly. When you catch the current, the overwhelm of crowded places with too much choice becomes a simplified matter of not worrying what else might be going on. Yesterday, tired and wondering if this really was enough now, I took an empty chair at someone else’s table, got talking to the someone else who turned out to know exactly who I need to call to get FALLOUT into prison libraries, an idea born of attending the PEN event on supporting targeted communities. It went like that, each leaning to feel a little lost straightened by some fantastically coincidental connection that said, no, keep going, you’re in the right place.
JS and I had a thoroughly lovely catch up in her very busy day, both work and personal, we sat on quilted stools near the Main Stage while she refuelled, and parted with a hug; her to relentless rounds of meetings, me to find what next to inspire my day. And have I mentioned the large glasses, decisive boots and crumpled suits of this uniform of choice? In the queue to the toilets I met my favourite, an eavesdropping heaven between a New Yorker in neck brace, pink teddy boy shoes with black flames snaking, the largest glasses possible, and a face intent on living who’d zeroed in on the woman behind her (and in front of me) who fielded this cultural cross over with quiet, respectful Britishness despite the feeling coming off her friend to meet eyes.
All this and more; the urge to pour my tea over the balcony onto heads unexpecting, or the screams of did you see that badge? by young things unsure if Buy My Fucking Book was approved messaging for LBF. Michele Howarth I can tell you that it went down a storm.
And of course, the joy of CB in Empress mode, and FALLOUT there on the shelves and up at Turnaround, of people talking about it, of it out in the world and how it really does take a village to raise a book.
All of this is a joy, as was last night when we skipped off to the Stable Group party. I could only stay for a small slice, and we looked forward to meeting again in NYC. A small slice because it was a Substack gathering night, too.
The best for the end? Maybe it really was - I always imagine I won’t know a soul but even in the doorway writing down our names on sticky labels, there was JF, and on entering the room upstairs a delight in finding PW and a host of others and the chatter and love carried me from one Hello! to another. One of the speakers told of how this place has radically changed his life for the better and that’s me too. I know we sound like evangelists, but Substack saved my writing life and I’ll never tire of saying it. So thank you Farrah @Substack Rosie Gee and Emma Rowley for hosting, and brilliant discussion led by Emma Gannon with Abigail Bergstrom Jess Pan and Mark Diacono . The room was half-filled with those not here yet and I hope it inspired them to join in. Writing is radical technology and Substack is where rebels come to play. There can never be too many of us.
Eleanor
Amen
Oh, I wish I were there!
I love the idea of books as “radical technology.” That phrase stayed with me. Reading does feel quietly rebellious in a world that is constantly trying to fragment our attention. To sit with a book is to slow down, to think, to enter another consciousness for a while. That alone can feel like a small act of resistance.
At the same time, what I appreciate most about spaces like book fairs, libraries, and even Substack is the sense of literary community you describe. That feeling of wandering into conversations, unexpected connections, and shared obsession with words. It reminds me that books are not only solitary experiences. They are communal ones too.
I also smiled at the description of the “uniform” of the literary world. The glasses, boots, slightly rumpled energy of people who are clearly here because they cannot help themselves. That line about doing this work because it is what you would be doing anyway really rang true. For many of us, reading and writing are not hobbies so much as ways of being in the world.
And I agree with you about libraries. If books are radical technology, libraries are the infrastructure that keeps that technology democratic. They are one of the few places left where access to ideas is not determined by wealth or status.
Reading may feel quiet, but its impact travels far. Every reader carries a book’s ideas into the world in ways we cannot fully predict. That is its real power.